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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
- 7
- 8
Title: My Favorite Game (WG8)
Author: Robby a.k.a. mrNaked
Rating: NC17 for M/M sex, and other tasty stuff
Pairing: Richard/Till/Christoph
Disclaimer: Never happened, just another demented product of my sick mind!
Feedback: Yes, please.
Summary: You’re gonna reap just what you sew.
Tunes made references to: The Cardigans – My Favorite Game, Renaissance – Black Flame, and Dido – White Flag.

My Favorite Game

What are you longing for, blue eyes? What’s that darkened shade crossing your wonderful gaze? What is it when you lean your head against the window, your gaze getting lost in the distant horizon? How come the blue of your eyes is the only color in this dull day? Walls are white, wood is black, only your eyes are two bits stolen from a blue summer sky.

I didn’t expect Till to congratulate me, but I sure wasn’t ready for that outburst. I’m just sick, insane, according to him. And he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore, except the band. That’s Till.

Yes, I wanted to take my revenge on Christoph, for all he did to me, but it got out of my control. And now he keeps away from me; he, the one that was chasing me around, he, who was one of my closest friends for all those years. He’s only the drummer in my band, now. That’s Christoph.

Gray days are cold. Frozen in time. Feels like nothing happens in those days, I’m just waiting for them to pass. Dull days drain me of any remaining will, I don’t have the will to smile; I don’t have the will to get mad. I’m just here, numb, empty, choked by silence, frozen in time, too. Turned into slate stone.

Isolated. I am surrounded by many, but still alone; detached from them. Yes, guilt is a highly contagious disease!

I want to go to them. I want to be able to reach out to touch them, to make them aware that, trapped in this mass of gray stone, it’s me, alive. But Till made it very clear. It is over. I proved to be too insane for anyone to want me. Not wanted even by him. Didn’t I get what I’ve been working for? The revenge, the cruelest of them. Now I’m feared, no one would ever mess around with me anymore. I should be happy!

But I’m not.

Christoph didn’t even make any attempt to get even with me. And I’ve expected it, his revenge; watched my back every minute of each day while we were still on tour, and been suspicious about everything regarding and coming from him. But it only proved my paranoia. Nothing happened. Nothing at all! My own game turned against me. I’ve lost. I’ve lost my favorite game.

I could see them there, all laughing and talking, wrapped in a veil of human warmth, that I was denied. I wasn’t worthy of it. I used to stare at them but they didn't notice my gaze. Then, I was turning my head away when I was looked at. They didn’t want to deal with the control freak, they didn’t want to interact with the demented one that came out with such a hideous plan. None of them asked me if I was all right, if I wanted anything: in fact they didn't speak to me at all. I didn't feel I could speak to them. They had their own happy worlds, and I was no longer allowed in them.

I knew that the talk between them was only talk, nothing more. If the three of us learned something from all this game of lust and you against me, it is do not trust one another. And I haven’t chased them around either; for them, I’ve said all I had to say. Like there wasn’t anything to say anymore! Till made it clear. And so did Christoph.

I was strong, alive, with this burning pain guiding me; they were a secret in my heart, flaming my soul. Now I’m weak, just the symbol of the game, and they are only a cry. With them I felt pain and love, too. With them I was me and a bit of them, too. It was a game of jealousy and revenge, an all or nothing situation.

What have I been looking for, ripping them up and spreading them everywhere? Another Till so I could love him more? A new Christoph, to flaunt him in the face of that man that crushed me during all those years I was his slave? I tried this experiment, a stupid mission and a lethal fight. And it took me nowhere. It was fun to see them wanting me on their own, but in the end, it was me alone.

Alone in this city contaminated by grayness. A city too busy to be for real. Everyone goes somewhere; they know their destinations, their aims, while I’m paralyzed, here, not knowing whether to turn left or right. And they are faraway, faraway from each other and from me. I’m sunk among waves of people talking a language that’s not mine, drab tall city buildings compressing my whole being. And nothing to share some of its warmth with me. Nothing to do, nothing to look forward for. All I’m wishing for is snow, a thick pure white layer to cover the sins of this world. My sins.

I even dreamed of them, Christoph, approaching me with his curvaceous movements, telling me I have to choose between the two of them. Why does it have to be me the one choosing? I don’t want to choose. I want them both. That’s the only way we are complete.

Till was in one of my dreams too, surprising me with one of those warm embraces of his, like a hot blanket laid inch by inch around my whole body, while I was reclined on my bed.

So what I am doing? Nothing. Not even trying to drown my demons or wash my guilt off with hard liquor, though I’m entering this bar now. Not even punishing myself by cutting my skin until I feel pain. Not even writing long endless letters, pouring into them all my fears and regrets. Not even trying to redeem myself and forget everything in the arms of my wife. They keep me away; I’m keeping her away from me in revenge. She has her friends, her own warm world to live her days in, all these holiday preparations. As I’m getting my beer and taking a seat at a table, she calls me to let me know she won’t be home for another few hours.

And I say I love her and I miss her. What bull! I know very well whom I miss. I miss his voice uniting with my voice like a single sound, a single body. I miss his drum beats to coil around our voices, to complete this sound, to make the body alive by being its pounding heart. I miss those longing blue eyes.

But I’ve haven’t heard my conclusion. After everything that’s happened, that sick prank I played back then on Christoph was my last word? I know, I’m the one to blame, for using that opportunity to get even. I used the fact that Till went out for a drink, after the concert. I was planning it for a long time, how to get Till’s phone and clothes, all that meat… and I was just waiting for the occasion. I staged it all so Christoph could believe, even for a split of a second, that he ate human flesh for real at that dinner with me. That he ate one of his best friends, one of his band mates. And Christoph did believe it.

I played with this idea, an idea so amusingly simple and sick. But no one else was amused by it. Not even Till. He wanted to know how much sicker than that I could get. Oh yes, I’m sicker now, I’m turned into a gray inert stone, and I see Till and Christoph in every man that passes my way. Like those guys entering the bar, now.

Till also wanted to know how much creepier than that I could get. Well, I’ve learned from the best! Till wasn’t impressed though, he just told me that if I’ve learned from the best, I surely have out done my master. So I guess I don’t need more lessons in wickedness and twisted plans, that’s why I was left on my own. Only the band, my band, nothing else besides that. And they kept their promise. Finished touring for this year and took a break. Each on their own. Me, on my own, alone, sitting now at this table with a beer in front of me.

And with those two guys sitting here, in front of me, at my table. I know it’s only my imagination, only my longing for them, that makes these guys look so familiar to me, so Till and Christoph. So I’m not even bothering to look at them, just like they didn’t bother to ask me for permission to sit at my table. Probably I’m not even here; I’m again sleeping and dreaming about this weird encounter. What would they do in this town, on this continent, anyway? They have families and friends of their own to spend their holidays with.

Yes, Christoph, I dreamed about me sitting in my dressing room before the concert, and you coming, wearing your black outfit, shorts and net stockings, stopping in front of me, putting your legs on each side of my thighs, sitting on my lap, leaning over me, grabbing my chin in your palm to lift my face and your mouth starting to kiss me greedily and deeply.

And, yes Till, I dreamed of you standing in front of me, still wearing your concert outfit, your big sweaty body making the air tremble hot around your skin. I dreamed of my hands on your thick and sturdy chest muscles, my whole body so hungry and willing to sink into your embrace.

But those were only dreams, so now I’m paying for my beer and going to walk back home. Gloomy daylight has turned into cold darkness already, and the city lights make this huge town even more painfully alive to me. Me, the one so dead inside. Everything pulsates around me, while I am lifeless as stone.

Lifeless like this apartment of mine, I’m entering now. I can’t be bothered even to lock the door. Yes, anyone is welcomed, though I know no one is coming here for me. I don’t even want the TV on, not that source telling me that there’s activity out there, in the world, that there’s noise and agitation outside my cage of stone.

I didn’t really want this tour break. Even if I wasn’t planning revenges and playing dirty tricks, I still had things to do, exciting things, challenging, filling my days. I wanted a break from this feeling of being deserted, placed in quarantine; I wanted to be away from regrets and worries. I wanted a break from myself. Of course I wasn’t granted that, I’m not worthy after all I’ve done. I was sentenced to struggle inside this prison, to be a prisoner of myself.

So, here I am, standing in the middle of this room, lighting a cigarette, thoughts going through my mind, back and forth, behind the smoke of my cig. I know I’m losing my favorite game, I know I’m giving up. I’m not waving a white flag, I’m not putting arms above my head and surrendering, I am just sinking.

I’m closing my eyes, stinging tired eyes, and I lean my head on the side. With the windows of the soul shut, behind my closed eyelids, I want to see inside my prison. It’s only black, but a timid slow tune is spinning in that empty place. Something new to work on later, with my band or on my own.

Something to soothe me, to wrap myself with, and make me warm. But this presence near me is making me feel warm. More haunting images, probably, so I can’t be bothered to open my eyes. I’m just leaning my head more and letting my mind be lulled gently by this new song.

And it works, warmth spreading slowly on the skin of my face, as I lean my head more. Warmth lays softly on my lips, thick, dry, pulsating, fleshy. And it’s moving, parting my lips; more warmth is laid on my face, a firm, so alive touch cupping my cheek, as this strong embrace surrounds my waist.

I open my eyes to confront my illusion. And my illusion is here, standing above me, with his rugged face rubbing enticingly against mine, with his thick lips sliding over mine, his tongue playing like a hot snake trapped in my mouth.

Till.

And my other illusion is laying his chest on my back, sharing his warmth with my body, his lips kissing along my exposed neck, his fingers running through my hair.

Christoph.

This time I’m not questioning, though, this time I’m not chasing them away. At least I have my illusions, so I am welcoming them into my bed. I’m letting their hands undress me, I’m letting their fingers explore my skin, I’m letting their mouths taste and feast on my body. I’m letting my mouth feed on the sour tang of their skin. I’m letting my tongue feel the thick sturdiness of his muscles. I’m letting his fingers wrap around both our hardened members, and rub them gently as he’s kissing me. I’m letting the other man’s body caress my whole back, feeling the stiffness of his cock against my buttocks.

I’m surrendering to their hands, as they help me kneel and push me onto all fours. I’m offering him my mouth for another long kiss before I touch with my tongue the pulsating skin on his cock. Then, I allow my fingers to enjoy caressing the slimmer man’s cock, as he’s standing in front of me. I’m opening my mouth for him, to taste his hardened flesh too. I’m taking him all in my mouth, while I spread my legs for the bulkier man, now knelt behind me.

My gaze dives into the blue eyes of the man in front of me, as he’s lying down, offering me his parted thighs. My body shivers, feeling the bite on my neck, strong enough to keep me subdued, gentle enough not to hurt me. I push myself more into the man behind me as he’s entering me, filling me with his warmth. I wrap my mouth around the cock of the man in front of me, to offer him my warmth too, as my face rubs gently on the skin on his thighs.

I’ve surrendered; I’m closing my eyes and giving myself to them. I’m letting my body dive into their warm touches, be flooded and covered by their kisses, I’m sinking into their warmth, filling myself with their sweet-sour tastes. I’m letting myself be ignited, I’m turning into this flame consuming me, I’m exploding and my ashes float until they hit the ground.

Behind my closed eyelids, there is dark and warm, and with each second everything disappears bit by bit, I’m fading until I exist no longer.

****

Somewhere, miles away from my gaze peeking through my eyelashes, I see the window. From there, dusky light is poured into my bedroom. I sense the smell of cozy warm air and fresh coffee. She’s already awake and doing things in the house. Last night, she came back home and found me already sleeping. She is telling me I must have been really tired to be asleep at that early hour, but she let me rest. I look drained, she adds, but in a better mood than the last few days, and she hopes all my worries were chased away by the long sleep I’ve had.

I agree with her and I go looking for my pack of cigs in the pocket of my coat. These winter days maintain this gray darkness inside the house, I should turn the lights on. I’m craving for the summer’s clear blue sky. Instead, I see this leaden sheet of a comatose sky spread above the city, outside my window.

My fingers pull the cigarette out of the pack, as my gaze wanders over the world out there. Along with my cig comes out the piece of paper, almost falling on the floor. My fingers catch it, my eyes eager to read:

“Hope you enjoyed your holidays’ present. We’ll see you next month. But no more shit, game is over!”

I read again. I rest my temple against the glass of my window. And I read again. I need those words, to fill my emptied soul. So I read again. I still want my mind to be soothed by that message. I read it one more time. And, as my fingers put the paper back in the pack, my eyes raise their gaze to the immobile sheet of the sky above the world. Then is when I see it, floating slowly, like a white feather falling from an angel’s wing - a first snowflake.

END GAME
- 7
- 8
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Wicked Games