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Captivation	By : Rina76 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 6307 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Bill or Tom Kaulitz or any members of Tokio Hotel and this story is a complete work of fiction; it is all made up and not true. I am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry it’s been so long – busy renovating my house so fanfic had to be put on the shelf for a bit. Apologies! Anyway, I thank you all for your reviews and for being so patient. Hope you enjoy this update!
Chapter 7. Contact.
After their exhausting little punch-up on the floor, Tom soon gets sleepy lying there in Bill’s arms, the older twin hardly able to keep his bloodshot eyes open, eventually getting up from the carpet, pulling his shirt off and flopping face down onto the bed for an afternoon siesta, mumbling at Bill to wake him if I come into the room. He didn’t sleep at all last night, and probably not the night before that either, so it’s no wonder he’s fatigued. Bill’s not tired yet, though, and the slimmer boy quietly makes himself a coffee and sneaks some cheese and yoghurt from the fridge, while Tom is sleeping and can’t tell him off for it. Bill’s too hungry to wait and he evidently trusts me not to poison them. After all, he ate the waffles I gave him and didn’t die.
He then goes to the bathroom, leaving the door open while he pees. I know I shouldn’t be watching him but I can’t really see anything private from this corner-ceiling angle. It’s just that I’ve never seen a boy pee while sitting down. At least not one over five years old.
Yeah, definitely a female brain.
Out of respect I leave him alone while he strips off and showers, busying myself with editing previously captured footage, only returning to the hidden cameras after he’s changed into clean pyjama pants and a black tank top, Bill seeming happy to be back in his own clothes again. Deciding to get some more rest as well, the feminine young man goes over to the bed. Tom has sprawled across it from corner to corner, leaving no room for Bill.
“Tom.”
The bigger teen grunts as his shoulder is shaken.
“Move over.”
Tom grunts again, laboriously rolling onto his back and flopping an arm across his eyes. His chest is bare but his baggy pants are now all twisted around his legs. It looks uncomfortable.
Also thinking this, Bill offers, “You want your jeans off?”
Another indecipherable grunt. Bill takes that as a ‘yes’ and unfastens his brother’s top button and fly, wriggling the loose denims down over Tom’s hips, thighs and legs, leaving the second male in designer label white boxer shorts and a pair of socks. While it’s exciting to watch Bill taking Tom’s pants off, that’s as far as the excitement goes, the younger boy uninterestedly tossing them aside and crawling onto the bed with a yawn. He looks down at Tom. There’s a long dreadlock wrapped around Tom’s neck. Carefully, Bill unwinds the knotted rope of hair before it tightens up and chokes Tom in his sleep, the smaller teenager arranging it neatly on the pillow with all Tom’s other dreads. Satisfied that his dozing twin is comfortable, Bill turns the lamp off, promptly curling up on his side, shutting his eyes and sighing tiredly, not afraid of the dark anymore, not with Tom right there next to him.
They sleep for ages. Nearly fourteen hours. I know they need it but it’s boring for me because nothing is happening. I go do other things, like work out, shower, shave, grab a bite to eat, answer some emails. I have a few tempting job offers in my in-box, including ones from exotic locations as far away as Rio and Beijing, but since I’m currently busy playing host to a couple of famous twins staying in my basement, those jobs will have to wait until I’m free and can travel again.
Eventually, I decide that I will have to wake my guests or they’ll spend the whole day sleeping. I can’t allow that. I have plans for them. Using the controls in my media booth, I switch on their ceiling lights. That wakes them up. Tom grumbles and shoves a pillow over his head. Bill flings an arm across his face, trying to block out the harsh and sudden illumination. But neither of them gets up, the two boys trying to go back to sleep even though it’s now as bright as daylight in there. Typical teenagers, wanting to stay in bed. Just to annoy them further, I ring the phone. Tom ignores it. Unable to do that, Bill squints at the beeping device beside the bed, rubs his eyes, and then groggily reaches over and picks it up.
“Hallo?” he mumbles, his German accent very thick after just waking up.
“Morning, Bill.”
“Oh. Good morning, Koji.” Nice to see he remembered his manners this time.
“Could you please get dressed? And make your brother get out of bed. I want you boys to meet me in the conference room in fifteen minutes.”
He hasn’t quite woken up fully yet and doesn’t even think to ask how I know that he’s in his pyjamas and Tom is still in bed.
“Okay,” he yawns. “We’ll be there.”
He hangs up the phone and stretches his arms over his head, twisting his spine to get all the kinks out of it. He turns to his brother, shoving him in the shoulder.
“Get up, Tom. We have a meeting soon.”
“No,” Tom mumbles from under the pillow. Bill pulls it away.
“Get up!”
“Nooo,” the older boy whiningly complains, squeezing his eyes shut in a pained manner. “I’m sick.”
Seeing all this before, Bill scoffs. “You’re not sick. You just hate getting out of bed in the mornings.” He yanks the blanket and sheet from Tom’s body, exposing him to the cooler air.
“Up! Or I’ll throw cold water on you.”
Tom swears and curses but finally he rolls his bleary body off the mattress, sitting on the edge of the bed, scratching at his sleep-mussed dreads. He lethargically watches Bill as the younger twin goes to the kitchenette and boils the kettle.
“Did you turn the lights on?”
“Koji did,” Bill answers, ripping open a packet of instant coffee, tipping it into a mug and pouring hot water over it. “He must have some kind of remote control to our room. Like how he unlocks the door.”
The older boy glances around in confusion. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know, Tom. There are no clocks here, remember? But it must be morning.”
“Fuck.” Tom groans. “I need more sleep.”
“You always need more sleep. You’ll be right once you drink this,” the younger teen says, shoving a mug into Tom’s hands. Tom stares blankly at the coffee.
“I don’t want it.”
“I don’t care. Drink it.”
“It’s probably poisoned.”
“It is not. I’ve been drinking it already and I haven’t dropped dead yet. Besides, if he wanted to kill us, he could just snap our necks. Drink,” Bill orders again.
Giving the coffee a suspicious sniff, Tom lets the cup sit on the bedside table. Untasted. This is why I haven’t fed them a meal for two nights. Tom wouldn’t eat it - and he wouldn’t let Bill eat it either - so the food would just go to waste. I’ll wait until tonight when they’re really ravenous with hunger before offering them anything.
Bill gets dressed. After frowning indecisively at all the clothes I gave back to him – each item laid out on the bed for comparison - he selects a pair of indigo boot-cut jeans and a long-sleeved top with a zebra pattern on the front. There are thumb holes in the sleeves that kind of make it look like he’s wearing built-in gloves. Converse sneakers go on his feet and a chain belt around his hips, both to hold his pants up and add a fashionable touch. He doesn’t have three hours to play with his hair so he drags a brush through it and slips on a knitted cap with a small brim, streaked layers of black and white flowing softly from under it to fall over his shoulders and down his back.
“How do I look?”
Still tired, Tom barely glances at him. “Like shit.”
“Thanks. You look like shit too.” Pouting, Bill urges, “Hurry up and get dressed.”
“I gotta shower first,” Tom mumbles, trying to scrape the crusty bits out of the corners of his eyes.
“Tom! We don’t have time for you to shower!” Bill worriedly estimates, “We’ve probably only got like, five minutes left until he opens the door.”
“I’ll be quick. It’s not like I need to wash my hair or do my makeup like you do.” Tom lopes over the bathroom in his boxer shorts, blearily rubbing at his face. Before he shuts the door, he warns, “Watch out for Cujo. Come get me if he shows up.”
“It’s Koji,” Bill reminds him for the second time. Tom doesn’t correct himself. He knows full well what my name is; I think he just enjoys likening me to a vicious, rabid dog.
When he emerges from his speedy shower, Tom doesn’t put as much effort into choosing his outfit as Bill did, the older kid simply pulling on the same ginormous pair of blue jeans he wore yesterday and rummaging for a clean shirt in one of his bags, pulling out the first one he can grab. It’s yellow and has big, scrawly graffiti-style letters across the front. He gathers his dreads into a rough bundle and feeds them through the back of a designer baseball cap, carelessly twisting it askew so the peak is to the side. I note that although he appears not to care how he looks, his cap actually matches with his shirt. It’s yellow too. When I kidnapped him he was wearing a green sweater with a green hat and now he’s matching yellow to yellow. It must be his quirky thing, to colour-coordinate his clothing. Some people would call that obsessive. I mean, I’m kind of a perfectionist and a stickler for detail as well but I don’t go that far. Tom slips on socks and stuffs his toes into hi-top skate shoes.
When the door opens, Bill is set to go through it but Tom holds back, grabbing his little brother by the wrist.
“I’m not going. And neither are you.”
With alarmed eyes, Bill objects, “We have to!”
“We don’t have to do shit.”
“But Tom…”
“But nothing.” The older teen drags Bill over to the lounge. “We’re not going.”
Looking apprehensive, Bill sits down next to his stronger sibling. “He’s going to come get us.”
Tom shrugs. “So, let him.”
“He’ll be angry.”
“Why are you so worried about what HE thinks?” Tom bursts out, looking at Bill incredulously. “What about what I think? Don’t you care about that?”
Trying to calm his easily-angered twin, Bill touches his arm soothingly and replies, “You know I do. I care very much.”
“Then stay here with me. We have to make him realise that we’re not dogs to be ordered around. We shouldn’t just run to him whenever he tells us to. If he wants to see us, he can damn well get off his ass and come here.”
Though I can tell Bill has serious doubts about defying me, he does what Tom wants and stays there on the couch, nibbling fretfully on a thumbnail.
That means I have to go to them. I’m not terribly happy about it, either. When I push open the door to their room, it slams hard against the wall, making Bill jolt where he sits.
“What part of ‘meet me in the conference room’ don’t you boys understand?” Gazing at them from the doorway, I let them see my displeasure through furrowed brows. “I know English isn’t your first language but I thought that was a pretty simple instruction. Come on. Move it.”
At my tone of authority, Bill jumps up, prepared to obey. Tom shoots a warning glare at him, hissing, “Sit down.”
“Tom, let’s just go…” Bill whines, not wanting to get in trouble.
“No.” Tom scowls at me. “Fuck him.”
I gotta admit, Tom’s a ballsy bastard talking like that in front of me. He’s going to be a challenge to break. Fortunately, I enjoy challenges.
“Let Tom stay if he wants. You and I can talk on our own,” I tell Bill persuasively. “You can converse much better than him anyway. You’re the more intelligent one.”
“Bill, don’t,” Tom warns, his eyes glinting threateningly.
“Come on, Bill,” I entice softly, holding out my hand. “Come with me like a good boy.”
Bill hesitates, torn between sticking with his brother and obeying me. In the end, he chooses his brother, meekly sitting back down on the couch beside him and avoiding my eyes. I’m secretly pleased. If he’d chosen me over Tom, that wouldn’t have been a good omen for their future. I want Bill to be with Tom, not with me. I want them to be together. But I still have a role to play, that of the threatening kidnapper, and I still need them to respect me and follow my orders so I stride over there and grab Bill by the upper arm, lifting his light weight out of the lounge seat, being forceful but without actually hurting him. Tom instantly lunges at me, trying to stop me from taking Bill but I shove the older boy aside with a hard palm-heel to the chest, sending him sprawling. While he’s picking himself up off the floor, I hurry away with Bill, steering him down the hall and into the conference room. Bill has no choice but to come with me, stumbling to keep up the pace. Shouting, Tom runs after us. I lock the door behind me just as he reaches it, banging and yelling for me to open up.
“Please sit down, Bill,” I invite my wide-eyed guest, indicating to the chair he sat in yesterday. “I made coffee for you.”
As I unhurriedly fill a couple of cups with the freshly brewed beverage, Bill stares at the door and the commotion on the other side of it. “Um…are you going to let him in?”
“In a minute. Sugar? Milk?”
“Yes, please,” he answers absently, still concerned about the agitated noise his brother is making. “You really should let him in.”
“I will. When I’m ready.”
Tom is bellowing all kinds of obscenities and threats at me. For a German, he sure knows an awful lot of English swear words. Must be all that rap music he listens to. I wait until Bill has sat down and taken the first few sips of his sweetened milky coffee and then I go to the door, opening it. The yelling stops.
“I thought you didn’t wanna come in,” I taunt Tom. “Changed your mind?”
Pushing past me, he barges into the room, stopping when he sees that Bill is sitting there at the table cradling his morning shot of caffeine in slim hands, completely unharmed and unhurt.
“See? He’s perfectly fine,” I tell Tom, shutting the door and pouring another cup for him. “You were worrying about nothing. I just want to talk with you boys, that’s all.”
“Sit down, Tom,” Bill quietly urges. “Drink your coffee and behave.”
I smirk, liking how Bill tries to boss Tom around, even though Tom’s bigger than him. Realising he’s got no other choice, the dreadlocked teen slowly takes a seat beside his twin, although he doesn’t touch the steaming cup I’ve set in front of him. Since yesterday’s violent outburst, I removed all the heavy clay mugs from the conference room and replaced them with harmless cardboard cups, the type that cafés use for takeaway cappuccinos. I’m also keeping the jug of brewed coffee up on the sink instead of the middle of the table so Tom can’t snatch it up and throw the boiling liquid into my face. After his repeated attempts at attacking me, I’m not taking any chances with him now.
I sit down on the other side of the table with my own coffee, glancing at the scabbed-over scratches and ring-cuts on Tom’s cheek and jaw.
“What happened to you, Tommy? Got beaten up by your little brother?”
He glowers at me for my amused tone. “Fuck off.”
“So, that’s a yes, then.” I nod approvingly at Bill, whose mouth is still a bit bruised and puffy from their tussle. “Good for you, Billie-boy. Don’t take any shit from him just because he’s older by a few minutes.”
“Believe me, I don’t,” Bill says scornfully, turning and giving Tom a haughty, contemptuous look for causing yesterday’s bedroom brawl. Tom just makes a sarcastic face in response, not impressed at all by Bill’s bitchy attitude.
“Don’t make that face at me,” the younger twin warns. “You started that fight last night. I didn’t.”
“How did I start it?” Tom immediately quarrels. “You were the one that slapped me first!”
“Only because you called me a retard. That wasn’t very nice, Tom.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“Yeah, after you hit me in the mouth and tried to choke me.”
“Well, you tried to knee me in the balls! And you ruined my green hat.”
“Well, you deserved it. You said I was stupid and weak. I hate it when you call me names!”
“I already apologised for that, but no, that’s not enough for you, is it?” the bigger boy insists indignantly. “You couldn’t just let it go, could you? You have to make everything into a big complicated drama!”
“So, now you’re calling me a drama queen?” Bill exclaims in a very shrill voice. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Oh, I love it when these kids bicker. I could watch this all day.
“You know, Bill, the whole world doesn’t revolve around you. Sometimes you can be such a little fucking…” Tom angrily starts to retaliate but then he suddenly stops, remembering that I’m in the room and they’re not at home where nobody can hear them.
“A little fucking what?” Bill demands, still glaring icily at him. “What am I, Tom?”
“Nothing,” Tom mumbles, slumping further back into his chair. “Forget it. It was just a dumb fight.”
“You still started it.” With a huff, Bill turns away, picking up his coffee and taking a stiff sip.
“As much as I enjoy your petty squabbling, I’m afraid I have to interrupt,” I tell them drawlingly. “We have a conference session to complete. Now, today our roles are going to be reversed. I won’t be asking you questions like last time. Instead, you may question me.”
“We can?” Bill focuses interestedly on me, forgetting his verbal row with Tom.
“Absolutely. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Within reason,” I add.
Also concentrating on their current situation, Tom leaps in first. “Where are we?”
“In my basement.”
“But where? What town?”
“I’m not going to disclose that. However, you’re still within German borders.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I told you why.”
“Are you going to kill us?”
“No.”
Quickly looking to Bill, Tom swallows uneasily. “Are you going to rape us?”
“Absolutely not. As I explained to Bill, if that was the case I would have done it already. I wouldn’t waste my time talking to you.”
“Why ARE you talking to us?”
“Because I want to get to know you. Most of all, I want you to get to know yourselves,” I elaborate. “There are parts of your personalities that you haven’t even begun to explore yet. By the time you leave here, you will know yourselves, and each other, better than you ever have.”
“So, you’re planning to let us go?” Bill pipes up hopefully.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Once you have overcome your emotional barriers and become enlightened.”
“Enlightened?”
“He means sex, Bill. Once we have sex.” In a tight tone, Tom spells out, “With each other.”
A flush creeps over Bill’s cheeks. “Oh.”
“What happens if we don’t do it?” Tom challenges me.
“You will.”
“Or what?”
“Or you stay here until you do. But you’re focusing on the wrong thing, Tom,” I counteract. “Enlightenment is not purely sexual; it’s about becoming as close as two souls can be. Mind, body, spirit. It’s all connected. I want you two to connect. Just like my brother and I did.”
The unthinkable issue of twincest makes both the boys fall silent.
“Come on. Surely you have more questions for me than that?” I flick my enquiring gaze between the pair of them. “Isn’t there anything you want to know about me?’
Bill begins hesitantly. “Is…is Koji your real name?”
“It is.”
“And you’re Japanese? Or Chinese?” The smaller boy’s eyes widen in horror as he realises he might have offended me. “Not that I’m saying you all look the same or anything! I…I just…”
I shake my head to show that no offense has been taken. “It’s fine. I’m Japanese.”
I’m not concerned about them knowing that. There are a million guys called Koji in Japan.
“Although, I’m only half. I’m also half Swedish. I got my mom’s eyes, you see.” I gesture to my eerie amber gaze. “Only this colour it doesn’t look strange on her because she’s blonde and fair-skinned.”
“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”
“No. When my mother gave birth to Keiichi and me, there were complications. She couldn’t have any more children after that.”
“How old are you?”
Bill’s flattering curiosity makes me grin. “How old do you think I am?”
“I dunno.” He perplexedly studies my smooth face, trying to figure it out. “Twenty six?”
“Keep going.”
“Thirty?”
“Close enough. I’m twenty nine. At least for a little while longer.”
“When is your birthday?”
“Soon. Why, you gonna get me a present, Bill?” I arch a humoured brow at him. “I’m a Pisces, if that helps. I like shiny things.”
Tom joins in again. “What’s your last name?”
“On which passport?”
He goggles at me. “You have more than one?”
“Of course. I have multiple identities and aliases I use, depending on which country I’m in at the time.”
“Which one are you using now?” Bill presses.
“Nice try, guys.” I smile at them for their effort. “But I will not answer any specific questions about my date of birth, my address, our location right now or any other details that will reveal my full identity. When I let you go, the first thing you’re gonna do is head straight to the cops and I’m not letting a couple of punk kids land me in jail. I might be a criminal but I’m not a careless criminal. So, don’t waste your time trying to find out such things. However, feel free to ask me anything else you like about my life. I’ll be as honest as I can.”
“Okay, I got one,” Tom announces. “Did you really fuck your brother?”
“Tom!” Bill turns to him in absolute horror.
“What?” The older one spreads his hands in false innocence. “He said anything!”
“It’s all right, Bill. That is what I said,” I return with a tolerant half-smile. “Yes, Tom. I really did fuck my brother.”
“Who fucked who?” Tom peers at me, wondering how we decided who was more dominant. “Did you fuck him? Were you the one on top?”
“Sometimes. But mostly it was him.”
With a great deal of relish, Tom deduces, “So, it was your ass that got pounded, huh? You were the bitch!”
My tolerance suddenly vanishes and I coldly gaze at him, unamused, a sharp tone to my voice. “Tell me, Tommy. Do I LOOK like a bitch to you?”
“Of course not,” Bill hurriedly answers for Tom, protecting him from my anger. “Ignore my brother. He’s being childish.”
“Yes, he is,” I confirm, still glaring at the other boy for reducing the heartfelt love I had with my twin down to such a vulgar level. “There’s more to sexual intimacy than just fucking, Tom. You’d know that if you’d ever had a real relationship in your life. But you’re too scared to have one of those, aren’t you? You’re afraid of getting too close to anyone. You might strut around with a confident swagger but deep down, you’re nothing but a spineless chicken-shit afraid of getting your poor little heart broken.”
Now it’s him who looks offended and outraged. “Don’t act like you know me, asshole,” he spits. “You don’t know ANYthing about me!”
“I know enough.” Dismissing Tom, I turn to the less judgemental teen. “What about you, Bill – any more questions for me?”
“Um, not at the moment,” Bill nervously replies as he glances at his fuming brother, probably thinking that now isn’t a good time to show interest in me.
“Well, you’re no fun, are you?” I almost pout.
I had anticipated a couple of hours of question asking and answering but if they’re not going to contribute, then I’ll have to resort to Plan B. I get up and pull open a two-door cupboard, revealing a plasma colour television set with a built in DVD player, bringing it into view on one of those swing-out shelves. I can tell Tom and Bill didn’t expect to see that, the twins glancing to each other as if wondering what’s going on.
“Okay, since you’re not playing along,” I say, switching on the set, “you’re going to watch a movie instead.”
“What movie?” Bill dares to ask.
“You’ll see. Pay close attention because I’ll be quizzing you on it later.”
There’s a film disc already inserted into the player and I just press the start button, telling the boys to enjoy themselves before I exit the room and leave them locked in.
As the opening credits start to roll, I enter my private viewing booth to watch a program of my own. It’s called ‘Bill and Tom’s Enlightening Experience’. Or at least that’s what I’m going to write on the DVD when I’ve finished making it.
I’m a big Keanu Reeves fan.
Alone in the conference room, my temporary prisoners have now discovered that the motion picture I chose for them is ‘Brokeback Mountain’, Bill revealing that he’s always wanted to watch this but has never had the time. It’s an English speaking version of the film but has German subtitles, which I thought necessary because it’s difficult to understand Heath Ledger mumbling through most of his lines, so wonderfully in character he was. If I couldn’t even decipher it, the Kaulitz kids have no chance. Tom doesn’t seem at all interested in the Oscar-winning film, instead getting up and ransacking through all the cupboards in search of a weapon, or something that could be used as one, but he finds nothing useful. Eyeing off the television, he suggests that he could smash the screen into pieces and use the glass to stab me in the neck but Bill shrilly argues against that, thumping his destructive brother in the arm until Tom gives up and rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair and letting Bill have his own way. It’s funny - they both try to boss each other around and prove which one is head of the relationship but it’s usually Tom who caves and gives in. His little brother’s wishes are actually more important to him than winning arguments and if it means Tom has to back down then that’s what he does, even if he doesn’t like it or what he has to do to please Bill.
At the beginning of the movie, Tom crosses his arms and sulks like a child but then as the plot unfolds and progresses he starts to get into it, drawn into the skilful storytelling and human emotion, only cringing a little as farm-hands Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist roughly fuck for the first time in their tent out in the field, the two handsome actors portraying a shockingly realistic depiction of pent-up male lust. Despite Tom’s uncomfortableness at that part, Bill is utterly captivated by the film, and not just with the sex scenes, the younger boy gasping at the spectacular scenery and dramatic action, cooing over the romantic parts, laughing at the comedic elements and exclaiming in dismay whenever anything bad happens, constantly grabbing Tom by the arm and making eager comments. I like to watch movies in absolute quiet and would probably get annoyed with Bill’s frequent outbursts and arm-grabbing but Tom seems used to it, distractedly replying to his talkative brother and getting just as caught up in the epic love tale as Bill is, only in a more restrained way, the older twin concealing his emotional responses in case they make him look unmanly. By the tragic end Bill has tears streaking down his face, not even trying to hide them from Tom.
“Oh mein Gott, das ist das traurigste Ende, dass ich je gesehen hab'!” he wails, sniffling and wiping his nose on his arm. (Oh my God, that is the saddest ending I’ve ever seen!)
Glancing to Tom, he sees his big brother sitting there with his jaw clenched in a macho manner, a stormy scowl on his face. Anyone would think he’s moody and irritated but Bill knows him better than that.
“Are you going to cry, Tom?”
“No.”
“You can. I won’t laugh. I won’t even tell Koji.”
“I’m NOT crying. Especially not over some stupid gay cowboy movie I was forced to watch!” In a grump, Tom gets up from the chair, stomping over to the sink to dump his undrunk coffee down the drain-hole, but while his back is turned my hidden cameras pick up the quick motion of him secretly swiping a stray tear away with one hand. It seems the ending got to him, after all. Maybe he’s imagining how horrible it would be to lose someone you loved that dearly but could never be with. Or maybe he’s simply responding to Bill’s tears, feeling his sibling’s sadness with their twin connection and being intrinsically affected by it. Either way, Tom totally feels something. He may act all untouchable and heartless but inside, I think he’s a big old sentimental mush. He says he’s not romantic at all but I believe he really is, deep down. I’ve seen examples of romance between him and Bill right here on my screen, although Tom wouldn’t view it that way. He’d just see it as him being nice to his dorky little brother.
I return to the room once the credits are over, turning the television unit off and shutting it away in the cupboard. “Well, boys? Opinions? Did you like it?”
“No,” Tom retorts from his chair.
“Yes!” Bill exclaims at exactly the same time. “It was wonderful.”
“What did you like about it?”
“It was very…affecting. So sad but so beautiful too. There was a lot of… erm… you know,” Bill gestures with his long-nailed hand, unable to explain in English. “Feelings.”
“It shows homosexual men in a totally different light, doesn’t it? It shows that romantic love can happen to anybody, not just a man and a woman.”
“Genau,” Bill enthuses. (Exactly) “I have not seen anything quite like this before.”
“That’s why it won so many awards,” I inform him. “I believe it is helping to change the world’s views on gay love and relationships, making people see the emotions involved, rather than just the sex. It forces people to rethink their judgements and proves that gender doesn’t matter, not when it comes to the heart.”
“I wish they could have stayed together,” Bill says mournfully. “I wish they didn’t have to hide it from everybody.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I smile at him in understanding. “Did you cry?”
The younger twin nods embarrassedly.
“It’s okay, I did too,” I tell him with a cheeky wink. “Tom? Did you get a little teary?”
The dreadlocked teen scoffs at that preposterous suggestion. He’s a dude; he doesn’t GET teary. Or so he’d like everyone to believe.
“Well, what did you think of the end?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Tom snaps with his arms crossed over his chest. “It was a movie made for gay guys! I wasn’t even paying attention anyway.”
The spy-camera showed otherwise. He paid enough attention to know when the sex scenes were on, even if he winced at them.
“You think you’re so unbendingly straight, Tommy, but you might just surprise yourself one day,” I predict with the wisdom of my older age. “The male body can give you just as much pleasure as a woman’s can, and can be equally attractive. One day you might realise this and suddenly find yourself looking at guys the same way you look at girls. You might even start to look at Bill that way.”
Tom gives me a flat stare. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I would, actually.” I smirk back at him. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Fuckin’ pervert,” he grits out in disgust.
“There’s nothing perverted about appreciating your brother’s incredible beauty,” I murmur, rewarding Bill with a long, admiring gaze. Bill is too busy blushing under his cap to say anything. It’s adorable.
“Okay boys, you can go back to your room now,” I grant, shoving back my chair, opening the door for them and standing beside it to see them out. “Remember, if you’re hungry later or want dinner tonight, just press the green button on the phone, tell me what you want, and I’ll go get it for you, all right?”
“Don’t hold your breath waiting,” Tom mutters as he gets up out of his seat and pushes past me, dragging a pink-cheeked Bill along by the sleeve.
………
Once in their room again, Bill starts pestering his elder sibling. “Can we order some lunch, Tom? I want some lunch.”
“No. We’re not asking that fucker for a single thing.”
“But I’m hung-” Bill starts to whine, however, Tom cuts him off.
“I SAID NO!”
“God. Don’t yell at me,” Bill mumbles, hugging himself around the waist. “You’re such a dick lately.”
Tom sighs in frustration, pulling his hat off and scrubbing at his tense scalp. “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re hungry but we can’t trust him and we can’t trust anything he gives us. I’m just trying to protect you, Bill. Okay?”
“Okay. But you don’t have to yell.”
Unable to stand the sound of his empty stomach growling, Bill finds a couple of unopened candy bars and a bag of nuts in one of his travel bags so he offers some to Tom. Since he didn’t eat at all yesterday, Tom wordlessly accepts the snacks and the boys wash them down with cans of lemonade, the only things in the fridge that the older twin deems safe to consume. He won’t touch anything else I’ve provided for them and he won’t let Bill touch it either, still of the absurd notion that I’m going to drug or poison them. Bill wisely doesn’t tell Tom that he already ate some of it.
After their meagre meal, Bill turns on the television. I have installed cable for their entertainment but I’ve modified it so they can only get certain movie channels and no news or live current affairs. Films and old TV shows are fine, as they need something to pass the long hours away down here but I don’t want them to know what’s going on in the world outside. The less they know, the less they’ll think about it. I have even disabled the date/time setting so they’ll be unsure as to what day it is or how long they’ve been down here. There is a special station I’ve created, just for them, where I can play any movie I want straight from my media booth but right now there’s nothing on it – just a line of text that says the channel is currently unavailable.
While Bill apathetically watches some British spy movie, wishing he could go home already, a restless Tom prowls the room, checking to see if any of the doors have been miraculously left open for their escape but nothing’s changed since yesterday. As I don’t need it to get in and out, I haven’t bothered to replace the busted keypad by their inner doorway. With all the exposed wires showing, Tom isn’t game to mess with it again. He scrapes some more concrete off the wall where he started yesterday but soon gives up and hurls the snapped-off chair leg aside, realising it’s a lost cause. With nothing else to do, he joins Bill on the couch to listlessly watch the movie and smoke their cigarettes.
They don’t say anything but I can see them both thinking the same thing. They want to get out of here. Even though I’ve explained my motives, they still don’t fully understand why I’m doing this to them. They’re both filled with frustration and confusion at the situation I’ve put them in, particularly Tom. He’s got the whole jaw-clenching, eyebrow-scowling, nostril-breathing thing going on as he seethes with impotent, trapped anger. His leg jiggles and his fingers drum impatiently against the armrest of the lounge suite, drawing my attention.
He’s got beautiful hands. They are the instruments through which he expresses his musicality and he takes excellent care of them. Bill’s hands are slender and delicate, more like a girl’s, whereas Tom’s definitely belong to a man. They’re strong yet artistically sensitive, capable of ripping out roaring notes on a guitar or coaxing the softest, most exquisite sounds from piano keys, making me wonder how it would feel to be touched by them, to have his hands caressing my bare skin. I’m certain it would be a tremendously erotic and sensual experience.
I don’t see that happening anytime in the near future, though. He hates me. The only caressing Tom wants to do to me involves his fist and my face. I fully understand his current rage but I hope that he eventually comes to see things from my perspective and realises that what I’m doing for him and Bill is for their own good.
Nowhere near that point yet, the more aggressive twin abruptly decides to get up and work out with the weights I left for him, to burn off some of his frustrated energy before he explodes with it. He sits on the bed with a short, heavy metal dumbbell in each hand, lifting them up to his chest, one after the other, soon breathing fast with the effort. His breathing soon turns to grunts and snarls as he works off his fury, growling through gritted teeth as the double-armed exercise becomes harder and harder. Bill sneaks a curious glance at him but stays silent, letting Tom vent in his preferred way. The bigger Kaulitz teen keeps this punishing routine up until his overworked muscles cramp in agony and he can’t physically lift the weights anymore, dropping them onto the floor and leaping to his feet with a bear-like roar, fists clenched by his sides. Bill jolts on the couch but doesn’t turn around, intimidated by his brother’s savage intensity.
With his head lowered and damp dreads hanging around his reddened face, Tom stands there panting harshly, perspiration soaking through the chest and back of his T-shirt. Burning with heat, he yanks the wet fabric off, revealing all the enlarged veins in his arms, pulsating under his skin in inflamed blue branches.
He doesn’t look angry anymore, just exhausted. And sweaty.
“Gonna take a shower,” is all he mumbles to Bill before trudging into the bathroom and shutting the door. Bill gazes after him with raised eyebrows.
………
After Tom showers and changes clothes, it’s Bill’s turn. Even though Bill didn’t break a sweat all day, he still evidently likes to stay as clean as possible. When he reappears from the steam-filled bathroom, the younger twin is only wearing a towel around his skinny hips and one twisted turban-style on top of his head. It’s not his underwear like I suggested earlier but it’s a great start. At least he’s been listening to what I’ve told him, about being more relaxed and open around his brother. He could have done his hair and gotten dressed in complete privacy but today he chooses to finish his beauty routine in full view of Tom.
Bill sits on the bed and rubs his hair with the second towel, tangling it up and getting it as dry as he can. Then with a pump bottle, he sprays some kind of smoothing conditioning agent into his wild mane and carefully and methodically detangles it with a wide-toothed comb, the damp dark strands falling sleek and straight past his shoulders, broken up by streaks of white-blond. He combs it away from his face and tucks it behind his cute little ears, letting it dry normally instead of using the blow-dryer in the bathroom. On stage, his hair is styled to death to achieve that voluminous palm-tree look but when he doesn’t have to perform, he must give his poor teased tresses a break and leave them alone.
Next, he puts Dove deodorant under his arms, the pits of which have been freshly shaven, making me wonder what else he shaves but that’s just my dirty imagination. He probably only shaves his armpits to stop body-odour from developing. This way it’s cleaner and more hygienic and he can be confident that he won’t stink. And he doesn’t. In fact, he smells damn good. I found that out the moment I wrapped my arms around him in the park and covered his mouth so he couldn’t scream. After the eye-watering chemical fumes of chloroform, all I could smell when I carried away his unconscious figure was candy, bubblegum and the stuff he puts in his hair to keep it glossy and hydrated. I can’t read the label of the pump-bottle on my screen but whatever it is, it’s nice. I like that he takes such care of his appearance and isn’t a smelly, unwashed teenager with limp, greasy hair like so many of those lazy bastards are.
Continuing his post-shower maintenance, Bill proceeds to slather moisturiser all over himself, starting with his face and neck, then chest, shoulders and arms.
Leaving the television, Tom’s eyes repeatedly flick over to where his twin is sitting, trying not to stare as Bill’s hands glide over his own body, stroking, circling and massaging. Surely Tom has seen Bill doing this before but it seems as though he’s looking at his brother with a new awareness, only really inspecting Bill’s semi-naked figure for the first time and noticing how different it is from his. Tom is bigger and more masculine in build while Bill is as slim and willowy as a girl, which means that technically Tom should find that appealing. Even without the breasts that Tom so enjoys, Bill has luscious-looking nipples, small and pale rose-pink, and I bet they’d pucker and turn erect if someone licked them. Just the sensation of the cool lotion being spread over the flat, dusky circles is enough to make them tighten into little peaks.
As the thinner teen strokes lightly over his chest with long fingers and black nails, completely engrossed in the task, Tom secretly watches him, abstractedly flicking his own lip-ring with his tongue. His younger brother is a naturally sensual creature but perhaps today Bill is injecting a little more sensuality into the act of moisturising than he usually does, maybe in order to entice Tom into thinking differently about him. Or maybe he’s just doing it unconsciously, not realising how seductive he looks. I wouldn’t know. Although I have secretly spied on them in the past, it’s usually when they’ve gone outside and I’ve never been privileged enough to see inside their home and observe Bill doing personal things like this before.
But it’s utterly fascinating and Tom isn’t the only one who can’t stop looking, particularly when Bill’s feminine fingers slide down over his own flat stomach, smoothing the lotion around his belly button, into his hip star-tattoo and along the edge of the tucked-in towel, right above the point where his pubes would begin. I can’t see any of those, though. The towel isn’t down low enough. But I’m sure they’re black, like the fine hairs on his forearms. Bill squirts some more of the cream on his abdomen and my dick immediately twitches in my pants.
“Good God,” I breathe to myself, zooming in closer with the camera and taking a few screen-shots. He really has no idea how pornographic that looks, runny white stuff dripping into his navel, as if someone has just shot a wad of fresh semen all over him, like someone came on his stomach.
Or like he just has.
I’m guessing that’s exactly what Tom is thinking too, judging by the way the other teen’s eyes widen at the sight before guiltily jerking away, back to the TV and the movie he’s not really watching. Unaware of what a sexy show he’s putting on, Bill blithely massages the creamy emulsion into his belly until it’s all absorbed. Bending at the waist, he leans down on the bed and does his feet, ankles and legs next. Scrunching the towel up, he reaches beneath the fluffy material to get to his own inner thighs. I bet they’re soft and warm and I would love to nuzzle my face against them. When that’s done, he briefly stands up and slips a hand behind the towel to spread some moisturiser over each buttock, facing Tom as he does this so his older brother doesn’t cop an eyeful of crack. But I do, the back of the towel slipping down far enough to reveal his tailbone, half of his tantalising crevice and the top parts of two firm rear cheeks.
I take some more screen-caps of that.
Wearing pants, it doesn’t look like Bill has much of an ass at all but it’s an illusion of the clothing, making it appear flat and non-existent. Now that I’m looking at it, he’s actually got a very small, very cute ass that I’d love to get my hands on. But I’d be just as happy to watch Tom’s hands on it instead.
Pulling the towel up higher and sitting down again, Bill asks nonchalantly, “Can you do my back for me? The warm air down here is really drying my skin out. It feels all itchy.”
“Can’t you do it yourself?” Tom questions, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
“I can’t reach all of my own back, Tom! You know that,” Bill objects with annoyance. “Stop being a jerk and help me.”
Sighing deeply, as though he sometimes wishes he were an only child, Tom leaves the couch and crosses to where Bill is, the bigger boy kneeling behind his smaller sibling on the mattress and reluctantly accepting the plastic squeezy bottle that is held out to him. Bill lifts his hair up and holds it out of the way, exposing the nape of his neck and the black TH symbol inked on it, his shoulder blades poking out beneath his skin.
“Warm it up first!”
“I know, Bill. You don’t have to tell me every damn time.”
With a focused frown, Tom squeezes some of the moisturiser into his palm, warming the cold lotion in his hands before rubbing it into Bill’s shoulders and back in small circular motions. At first he appears ill at ease but Tom’s awkward, tentative motions soon become more familiar and easy, obviously having done this before. In the past, this would have seemed like a standard, uninteresting job to be gotten over with as quickly as possible but today Tom grows more and more engrossed in what he’s doing, taking his time to properly massage the lotion in, seeming to relish the feel of Bill’s silky white skin beneath his palms. He’s being very tender for such a strong, muscular guy, gently pressing in with his fingertips when he finds a tense spot beneath the flesh, carefully kneading the tightness and tenseness out of his little brother’s thin body. Closing his eyes, Bill sighs in utter relaxation. Tom’s slightly uptight stance softens, as if Bill’s relaxed state is affecting him too. Bill probably didn’t even need his back moisturised; he might have just wanted it rubbed like this and was too proud to ask. Luckily, Tom understands his twin’s complex needs without words and is generous and caring enough to provide. It’s a lovely moment of closeness between the two teenagers and one that pleases me very much. Any hands-on contact between them is a very positive step in my eyes and I love watching it.
Bill certainly loves it too, groaning softly with bliss as Tom’s thumbs swirl beneath the bottom edge of his ribcage, the dark-haired singer leaning into his older brother’s knowledgeable touch. With his hands around Bill’s tiny waist, Tom bites his pierced lip in uncertainty, perhaps wondering why they’re both enjoying this contact so much and if that’s wrong.
But he keeps on doing it.
Spreading more of the warmed-up cream along Bill’s backbone and lower lumbar region, Tom daringly dips down to the top of the towel, which sits just at the base of his twin’s spine. With a husky little moan, Bill arches his back and the towel gapes a bit, like an open invitation. If Tom were to dip his fingertips down lower, he’d be right in the cleft of Bill’s ass. His eyes are already on it. Unfortunately for all of us, Tom doesn’t have the balls to go there, even though it’s pretty clear to me that Bill wouldn’t stop him if he did.
“There. All done,” the baggy-clothed guitarist mumbles, awkwardly getting up and going back to the couch, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans.
“Thank you, Tomi,” Bill sings sweetly as he lets his hair down, in a good mood after the soothing back-rub. “You have magic hands.”
“Yeah, that’s what all the girls tell me,” Tom jokes, pretending to be all hetero again. “Why do you think I get laid so much?”
Bill just rolls his eyes, having heard all that macho shit before. Not brave enough to go fully naked in front of his brother yet, the younger musician vanishes into the bathroom and emerges in light blue sweatpants and a T-shirt.
That’s when I call the twins, asking if they want to stop being silly and eat some dinner. I suggest spinach and ricotta-filled cannelloni drenched in a rich tomato sauce, finished off with parmesan cheese. I won’t be cooking it, but I know a great little pasta restaurant that does, and they deliver to my door.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. I’m absolutely starving,” Bill gushes when I describe it to him.
“Give me that,” Tom butts in, grabbing the phone off Bill and snapping into the receiver. “Keep your fucking food. We don’t want it, okay?”
“Yes, we do!” Bill insists loudly, leaning in to tell me how much he wants it but Tom claps a hand over his mouth, preventing him from saying anything else.
“No, we don’t,” the older one firmly repeats, struggling to hold onto the phone and keep Bill quiet at the same time, the smaller boy trying to bite his stifling hand. “Bill, ow! Stop it!”
“But I want dinner, you butthead! Just because you’re stubborn doesn’t mean I have to suffer too!”
There’s a lot of yelling and scuffling and the phone is dropped. I decide to order the food anyway. Still in sulk-mode, Tom declares that he’s not eating anything when I pass the bag through the door to Bill but once I’m gone and he can smell the cheesy tomato dish, the bigger twin soon starts to rethink his decision, his belly protesting its emptiness with an audible rumble.
“Smells so good, doesn’t it?” Bill drools, taking one of the clear disposable containers out of the bag and cracking the lid off, releasing a mist of aromatic steam and breathing in a deep whiff of it.
“Don’t eat it! You don’t know what he put in there,” Tom objects, his face a picture of uneasiness.
“I know what’s in there. Food. And I’m hungry,” Bill declares, sitting cross-legged on the couch and balancing the container on his slim thigh, stabbing a plastic fork into the first tube of cannelloni and watching the ricotta cheese ooze out.
“No! Don’t,” Tom tries again, laying a warning hand on Bill’s arm. “It could be drugged or laced with some other dangerous shit.”
“Why would he bother?” Bill shakes off Tom’s hand. “He doesn’t need to drug us. He’s already got us down here.”
Using the matching plastic knife, he cuts off a slice and stuffs it into his mouth, closing his eyes and groaning in bliss at how tasty it is.
“Mmm. God, this is good.”
“It still could have poison in it,” Tom says, sounding less and less certain in the face of such hot, tempting smells and Bill’s expressions of gastronomic pleasure.
“He’s not gonna kill us.” Bill swallows. “He needs us alive, Tom.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he wants us to have sex. That’s why we’re here. Haven’t you been listening to him?”
“I’ve been trying not to, actually.”
Cutting off another piece of cannelloni, Bill offers it to Tom, holding it out towards Tom’s mouth. “Just try some. It’s delicious.”
“What’s that green stuff?” Tom peers distrustfully at it.
“Spinach.”
“Spinach? But I don’t like vegetables!”
“Neither do I, normally, but you’ll like this,” Bill insists, still offering his brother a sample of the food. “Try it, Tom. Don’t be such a wimp.”
Tom tentatively sniffs what’s on the fork but doesn’t open his lips. “I guess it doesn’t smell poisoned…But that doesn’t mean anything. It could be odourless poison.”
“Well, if it’s poisoned, are you gonna let me die on my own?” Bill lifts a challenging eyebrow to his twin. “At least if you eat what I eat, we go together. At the same time. Wasn’t that the pact we made when we were kids?”
“You’re as crazy as he is,” Tom mutters, but he bravely takes the piece of pasta off Bill’s fork, chewing in trepidation, making a face of resigned defeat when he tastes what Bill has been raving about. “Shit, you’re right. This IS good.”
“Told you,” Bill mumbles with his mouth full of pasta, happily devouring his dinner. “If this is the last meal we ever have, we may as well enjoy it.”
Tom’s stomach growls again, voicing its very strong opinion on the matter.
“Yeah. Fuck it,” he finally declares. “If we die, we die.”
Snatching the second full container, Tom settles back on the lounge to consume it in big forkfuls, both of them belching heartily when they’re finished, Bill’s burps just as loud and vulgar as his brother’s. He even licks out the container, getting sauce on his nose which he wipes off on his sleeve. He’s definitely not a delicate princess. At least not all the time.
But he sure can take the act of applying moisturiser to a whole other level of hotness. Perhaps I should turn the heating up more and dry out his skin even further. Hey, if it results in more boy-touching, I’ll try just about anything...
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Captivation