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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, especially Luna and LakotaGirl. Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Here, Koji’s methods are finally beginning to work ;)
………
Chapter 8. Dream
That night after their dinner of Italian pasta, Tom goes to have one final cigarette before bedtime but finds the packet empty, tossing it back onto the coffee table in frustration.
“Bill,” he says accusingly, glaring at his smoking sibling. “Did you take the last one?”
“Oh. Yeah, I did,” the smaller twin answers as he sits cross-legged on the couch, glancing at the filter held between his index and middle fingers. “Sorry.”
“You do realise we’re completely out now, don’t you? I mean, we can’t just jump in the car, pop down to the corner store and buy another packet!”
“You want the rest of this one?” Holding out his hand, Bill offers the half-smoked cigarette to his brother.
“No, I don’t want the rest of that one.” Tom sounds annoyed as he gets up from the sofa. “I want my own.”
“You could call Koji and ask for some more,” the younger boy helpfully suggests.
“Fuck, no. I don’t wanna talk to that psychotic freak!”
“I’ll do it.” Shrugging, Bill unfurls his legs, crosses to the phone and picks it up but Tom instantly yanks it out of Bill’s hand and slams it back in the cradle.
“We’re not asking.”
“But don’t you want a smoke?”
“I don’t want one THAT badly.”
Actually, I think Tom does but he’s far too stubborn to lower his pride and ask me for anything, no matter how much he desires it.
“Forget it,” he mutters, stripping off his shirt. “I should probably quit anyway.”
Looking like a naughty child caught with a half-eaten cookie, Bill guiltily takes a few more puffs before crushing the butt into an ashtray and preparing for bed. They might not know what time it is, but their bodies remember, both the twins seeming tired and irritable, soon climbing onto their double mattress and dimming the lights.
“Hey, Tom?”
“What?”
“Have you figured out what we’re gonna do?” Bill asks anxiously from his side of the bed. “How we’re gonna get out of here?”
“Still working on it, Bill.” The bigger boy sighs exhaustedly. “Give me a bit more time. All right?”
“All right.”
A few minutes silence.
“Do you really think we’ll have to fuck?”
“BILL!”
“What? It’s a legitimate question!”
“No, it isn’t! There’s nothing legitimate about what that asshole wants us to do. It’s wrong and we’re not doing it.”
“But what if it’s the only-”
“We’re NOT DOING IT,” Tom growls. “Don’t harass me about this now. I got enough shit to deal with already, okay?”
“Okay. Sorry,” Bill mumbles, rolling onto his side. “I was just wondering.”
“Well, don’t.” Tom rolls the other way. “Let me get some fucking rest.”
While they’re both lying there in the dark attempting to sleep and not think of sex with each other, I decide to toy with my teenage captives, playing around with the air conditioning system in their room. I can control it from my media station and with the press of a button I turn the temperature up a few degrees, somewhere similar to a summery night. They soon get rather warm, kicking the sheets off in an effort to cool down. Tom is on his belly, wearing boxers. He’d probably sleep naked if Bill wasn’t there. The smaller twin is in sweatpants and a T-shirt but not for long, Bill soon peeling them both off, throwing them aside and lying back down in his trunks-style underwear, puffing the long hair off his damp forehead.
“Tom,” he whispers urgently. Tom just grunts into the pillow.
“Are you hot or is it just me?”
I almost snort coffee out of my nose. I know Bill wasn’t trying to be funny but that’s gotta be the line of the year. I chuckle to myself, watching Bill toss and turn, huff and grumble. The heat seems to be affecting him more than his brother, even though I can see sweat glinting on Tom’s bare, muscular back.
Bill must be having flashbacks of some humid overseas hotel he’s stayed in because he opens his eyes and restlessly gazes around the darkened room with a frown, as if listening for something.
“Tom,” he whispers again. “Can you hear a mosquito?”
“There aren’t any mosquitoes down here, dumbass,” Tom mutters. “We’re underground. No windows.”
“Oh. Right.”
With a quick impulsive motion, Bill scratches his ear, as if he’s just gotten an invisible insect bite. Then he squirms and starts scratching at his neck, chest and arms, leaving red-nail marks, the heat and the idea of mosquitoes making him itchy.
Eventually Tom snaps, “For fuck’s sake Bill, stop moving around! I’m trying to sleep here. If you’re that damn hot go turn up the air-con.”
Huffing loudly, Bill throws himself out of bed, his hair all tangled up. Feeling around in the dark, Bill finds the closest lamp and switches it on. My screen goes white. I change from the night-vision camera to the regular one, watching Bill stumbling and squinting his way over to the air-conditioning unit to turn the temperature down a few notches. Cooler air starts blowing out straight away. He sticks his face in front of it, closing his eyes in bliss, hair blowing back like in one of his music video clips. Now that he’s cool again, he flops back onto the mattress and flicks the lamp off.
Not done toying with them yet, I gradually make it even cooler in there, using my secret controls. Since he’s skinnier and with less insulating muscle, Bill feels the cold first, pulling the sheet up over his slight frame, and when that’s not enough, dragging all the blankets up to his chin. I see him shiver. Then he does what I was hoping he’d do. He scoots closer to Tom and snuggles against him, both of them only clad in their underwear, Bill brazenly using Tom for his ample body heat.
“Get off. You’re so annoying,” Tom groaningly complains, pushing his shivering sibling away. Pouting, Bill finds the rumpled T-shirt beside the bed, slips it back on and waits a couple of minutes before attempting to snuggle again, pressing against Tom’s broad back.
Tom groans in exasperation when his personal space is invaded once more but he’s too tired to shove Bill away a second time. He just roughly pulls Bill’s arm around him, ordering the smaller boy to stay still. In what must be a very rare occurrence, Tom allows Bill to cuddle against him from behind, Bill hugging his big brother’s waist with Tom’s hair under his soft cheek, the younger twin resting on a warm pillow of brown and blond dreadlocks. Happy now, Bill settles down and stops moving around, eyes closed in contentment. Soon, they’re both sleeping comfortably, snuggled together like two peas in a pod.
Satisfied with the results of my tinkering, I return the room temperature to normal. Leaving the cameras running, I go to bed myself.
………
When I awaken, I go take a piss and then clinically jack off in the shower, hissing as I release my seed onto the cubicle floor. It’s an emotionless act. Doing this stops me from getting distracted when I’m watching the boys and keeps me focused on my mission. If I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t be able to control myself around them as much as I do, especially considering how tempting and pretty Bill is. Besides, I’m celibate and have been since my brother died four years ago.
When all my distracting sexual urges are sucked down the drain-hole, I dry off, tie my hair back into a ponytail, light a smoke and enter my viewing booth to see what the boys are up to this morning. From the comfort of my leather chair, I find Bill in the kitchen getting breakfast ready. He raids the refrigerator and pulls out vanilla yoghurt, a punnet of fresh strawberries and some small, sweet, individually-wrapped Japanese pastries that are a favourite of mine. This time, Tom lets him eat the food I’ve supplied, since they both survived the night and didn’t get poisoned by the cannelloni they ate for dinner. The older boy even tries one of the pastries, conceding that they are, “Not bad,” which I guess means that he likes them. He even drinks the cup of coffee that Bill makes for him, seeing that the coffee powder and sugar are in little packets that can’t be tampered with - not that I’d bother anyway. As Bill pointed out, if I wanted them dead, I could just snap their necks. But I’d never do that. They’re far too entertaining alive.
Bill desperately wants a cigarette to go with his coffee, moaning and complaining about it in a dramatic fashion, but they don’t have any and Tom won’t allow him to ask for more. Bill sulks about that, shooting grumpy glances at his twin. Tom just rolls his eyes and drags the weights out from under the bed.
While Bill files his nails and applies cuticle cream to divert himself from the awful tobacco cravings he’s suffering, Tom works out with the dumbbells again. Sitting on a chair with the hand-held weights, he performs biceps curls, triceps extensions and other lifting and pulling exercises to strengthen his arms, chest, shoulders and back. He makes interesting grunting noises that sound a lot like sex-sounds, especially when he starts panting between repetitions. Can’t say it isn’t hot. Even Bill cocks his head and lifts an eyebrow when he hears some of those noises coming from behind him. If you didn’t know what Tom was really doing, it’d totally sound like something else. Something far dirtier.
Not that I’m thinking about that.
When he exhausts his muscles and his shirt is wet with perspiration, Tom stops, catches his breath, puts the weights away and showers.
Soon after, I call to schedule another meeting with them. Wisely, they obey me and attend on time. When they appear in the conference room and sit down, Tom’s doing his usual ignoring thing, refusing to meet my eyes or acknowledging me in any way, slouched in the chair with his elbows out and linked fingers over his chest, jiggling his knee in clear impatience and agitation. He doesn’t say a word. Well, at least he’s shown up. I think he’s finally realised that he can’t stop these meetings from occurring, although he’s doing his damnedest not to participate. I ask a few general questions about how the boys are doing and Bill is lovely and polite but Tom keeps on being rude and silent.
Since he’s not talking to me, I punish him by making him watch another ‘gay’ movie, this time ‘Velvet Goldmine’, which is about as campy, gaudy and flamboyant as a movie can get. I love it. Being mainly about bisexual rock stars from the 1970s there are lots of great songs in it, as well as tight pants, platform boots, sparkly eye shadow, and best of all, pretty young men that kiss each other and get their gear off. Bill loves it too. I can tell by the spellbound, mesmerised look on his face. That and the fact that he’s uncharacteristically quiet as he’s watching it. With all the crazy, futuristic costumes, glitzy makeup and beautiful, thin people, it’s right up his alley and I think he actually wants to be that kind of flashy, ambiguous rock star that everyone idolizes. Tom, however, doesn’t want to be flashy or ambiguous. When I’m not in the room he bitches about the film and how gay it is, and also about me and how perversely fucked up I am, but as soon as it’s over and I come back, he clams up and pretends to be a deaf mute.
So, I ignore him back. There will be other meetings where I will force him to talk but for now I concentrate on chatting to Bill, hoping to inspire a little jealousy in Tom by paying his baby brother more attention. We drink coffee and chat about the movie, the actors and who they were supposed to represent, Bill showing a high level of intelligence and understanding for what the film was really depicting and who it was meant to be about. While Tom silently listens, we talk about the relationships between all the characters and we talk about the songs and their significance to the plot and story development. Then we talk about music in general, Bill really opening up on the subject and telling me who his biggest influences are and what he hopes to achieve with his career. He’s an ambitious little thing, gushing about what they’re working on now and what they aim to do in the future, how they’re planning a worldwide tour with an awesome set and costumes that he’s designing himself.
Since he’s warmed up to me, I speak to the younger Kaulitz twin a little more honestly and openly, getting away from music and back to him personally and his experience so far in my basement.
“So, Bill. I know the first couple of days here without Tom were traumatic for you. I’m sorry for putting you through that. How are you feeling now? Better?”
He nods. “Yes. Thanks for asking.”
“And how are you sleeping?”
“Okay.”
“Is the room warm enough for you?”
“Well, it was a bit hot last night,” he muses, “and then it got cold. I think the air conditioning unit might need adjusting or so.”
“Yeah, it does that sometimes. I’ll try to get it fixed,” I breeze, letting him think it was the unit messing up, not me playing with it. “So, how do you find it down here?”
Not wanting to insult me, Bill thinks of only positive things to say, answering carefully, “It’s quiet. And private. It’s nice not to have fans screaming at us or chasing us, or camera-flashes in our faces every day. It is very good to be away from all that. That’s why we wanted to go on holiday but at least here nobody will be taking our pictures on the beach and selling them to the teen magazines.”
“And are you coping all right, being away from your family and friends? How do you feel about not being able to call them or speak to them?”
Tom butts in. “You don’t have to tell him anything, Bill. He’s trying to make you think he cares about you but he doesn’t.”
“Who says?” is my returning answer. “I care about him very much, actually. You too, Tom.”
“Sure.” He scoffs, flicking scornful brown eyes towards me. “Is this how you treat everyone you care about? By imprisoning them, beating them up and playing cruel mind games with them?”
“I haven’t beaten you up. I’ve only restrained you a couple of times. Necessarily, I might add.” I arch my brow at him. “Believe me, Tommy-gun, if I was to really beat you up, you wouldn’t even be able to walk.”
He just sneers and rolls his eyes away, hating to even look at me anymore. I continue speaking to Bill as if Tom is not even there.
“I trust that I have given you enough supplies in your room. I want you to be comfortable here. Is there anything else you need me to get for you, Bill?”
“Yes, please. There is something.” He glances at Tom. “I could really use a cigarette, if you don’t mind.”
I note the way Tom’s jaw is clenched stressfully, his hands clasped together over his chest to hide the agitated restlessness of nicotine withdrawal. His leg still jiggles, though.
“Are you asking for yourself or for him?”
“For both of us,” Bill whispers, glancing down and nervously licking his dry lips. “If that’s okay.”
“Well, I’m quite happy to give you a smoke because you asked so nicely,” I inform Bill, “but if Tom wants one, he should ask for it himself. He’s a big boy.”
Tom refuses to unclench his jaw or meet my challenging stare.
“Tom? Remember what I said about courtesy and co-operation? How it will make things easier for you in here?”
No response.
“Fine. No cigarettes for anyone, then.” I shrug and get up. “Enjoy going cold turkey.”
I go to the door, intending to escort them back to their room.
“Wait.”
The stiff sound of Tom’s voice makes me pause. I turn to find him looking at me.
“Give Bill a cigarette.” For the sake of his little brother, Tom swallows his pride and adds, “Please. He needs it more than I do.”
And just for that unselfish, noble request, Tom’ll get one too. In fact, I might even reward him with a whole packet of his own. But I won’t tell him that just yet. I want him to suffer a little more, make him more grateful when he gets it.
“I’ll think about it,” is my eventual reply. Bill looks disappointed. It’s cute.
I take them back to their room and wait beside the doorway as they enter.
“Bill, would you please give me the bags out of your rubbish bins? I will dispose of them for you.”
There’s one in the kitchen and another one in the bathroom. As I asked, Bill dutifully gathers them and ties the tops of each bag in a knot, handing them to me.
“Thank you.” I shut the door.
Waste in hand, I climb the stairs at the end of the hallway and exit via a sliding trapdoor into the disused warehouse above, tossing the plastic bags of food wrappers and containers, cigarette butts and used tissues into an old metal drum, adding some fuel and setting it all alight with a match. I stand back and watch, making sure the flames devour everything. I don’t want anything with the boys’ DNA to be discovered in my garbage so I am going to burn all their trash in here instead of putting it in a dumpster outside where it can be found. Not that I suspect anyone will be going through my garbage but I’m covering my tracks, just in case. When that’s done, I go back downstairs to my room and open the cupboard where I store cartons of cigarettes. I smoke a different brand than Bill and Tom do, but they’re so desperate, they’ll take any type at this point. When they’ve been really good, I will reward them with the ones they like.
Bill is incredibly thankful when I return and give him his smokes, immediately pulling one out and lighting it up. I toss another unopened packet of cigs in Tom’s direction. He catches them, surprised, clearly not expecting to get any at all.
“See, Tommy? A little respect and good manners goes a long way. But that back-chatting bullshit doesn’t. Keep that in mind next time you talk to me.”
“Thank you so much, Koji,” Bill answers on behalf of his astonished brother. “This is very generous of you.”
“No worries.” I smile at him. “See you guys around dinner time.”
I leave them and head back to the narrow room with all the recording equipment I’ve been spending most of my recent hours in, settling down in my comfy chair and preparing to observe their behaviour and actions for the rest of the day.
They relish their smokes. Once the chemicals reach their brains, they calm down and stop feeling so twitchy and anxious. It really is a marvellous relaxant.
Sprawled on the sofa with his legs apart and displaying the baggy crotch of his jeans, Tom inhales deeply and strongly on his cigarette, revealing those fantastic cheekbones of his.
As he breathes out a lungful of smoke, he inquires, “Why do you keep talking to him, Bill?”
“Because it’s not that fucking hard to do so, Tom,” the more feminine teen points out. “If we co-operate, he’s nicer to us. Don’t you see that?”
Tom just sniffs and taps ash into the tray on the coffee table. “I think you talk to him because you like him. Because you have a big, gay man-crush on him.”
“Yeah, you WOULD think that,” Bill returns in irritation, sucking needily on his cigarette and frowning. “Assbutt.”
Refusing to get into another argument, one that might potentially see him punched in the face with a fistful of metal rings, Tom instead finishes his smoke and then engages the use of the weights for the second time in the same day, only for a longer period. He gets straight into it, pulling off his shirt and working out his upper body, concentrating on building the strength of his arms and torso. From his spot on the couch, Bill eyes him off curiously, starting to notice subtle changes in his brother’s already-fit figure. The slimmer twin gazes up and down Tom’s back and across his shoulders, observing hardened muscle groups moving under smooth tanned skin. There is admiration and slight envy in his eyes. The other day, it was Tom watching Bill, now it’s the opposite way around. Of course, I’m also watching, with just as much interest.
With each grunted lift I can see Tom pushing his strained body to the limit, trying to increase his stamina and endurance, even though he’s dripping with sweat and his arms must be burning with the exertion. He might make sex-noises when he works out, but he doesn’t make sex-faces. He just makes concentrated, almost-angry ones, gritting his teeth, flaring his nostrils and screwing his face up with the effort. When he can’t lift anymore and his breath is coming in harsh panting gasps, he drops the dumbbells and takes another quick shower, returning to the lounge room in just his denim jeans, his dreads tied up in a bundle at the back of his head. He gets cold water out of the fridge and gulps down about a litre of it.
Muttering about how messy Tom is, Bill picks up the T-shirt his brother earlier tossed to the floor and takes it into the bathroom, presumably to put in with the laundry to be washed and tumble dried. While Bill is having his own shower and washing his hair, a shirtless Tom flops onto the lounge and turns on the TV, flicking through all the available channels. He settles for listlessly watching a classic 1970’s film about Egypt, camels, sand and cursed Pharaoh tombs, the dialogue dubbed poorly in German which only makes the bad, overly-dramatic acting look worse.
He smokes another cigarette, jolting and cursing when hot ash spills onto his nude belly and chest, quickly brushing it off with those handsome fingers of his. I wonder if those fingers miss playing the guitar. Maybe I should give him one. Perhaps he’d sing while he played it for Bill. I’d love to hear Tom’s singing voice. I bet it’s not as bad as he says it is.
Shortly, Bill joins Tom on the couch to watch the rest of the film, stealing Tom’s cigarette and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
He is wearing Tom’s shirt. It’s still clean because Tom took it off before he began working out. It’s far too big for Bill and fits him like a dress over his slim-fitting jeans but he’s wearing it anyway. Tom notices, and frowns at Bill peculiarly, but doesn’t ask for it back. I can understand why Bill wants to wear it because I used to do that with my brother’s clothes too. I liked wearing his shirts because they were warm and soft and smelled like him. It made me feel close to him and I assume that’s what Bill feels as well. It’s like hugging Tom without Bill actually doing it. Of course, there are other ways for him to get closer to his big brother but neither of them are ready for that yet. Real intimacy is something that can’t be rushed. It has be taken, one small step at a time.
Since nothing else interesting is going to happen, I call through to their phone to see if they want to eat yet, and of course Bill does, particularly when I tell him they’ll be having pumpkin risotto and French bread with garlic butter, finished off with a piece of cappuccino-flavoured cheesecake. As pumpkin is not usually a regular part of the German diet, the boys hadn’t really eaten it before but after a tentative taste of the orange-coloured rice, they demolish the whole two containers and would have eaten more if I’d given them second helpings. The cheesecake is a huge hit too, appealing to Bill’s love of coffee.
They eat while they finish watching the Egyptian movie, caught up in the epic tale despite the overacting, wanting to know how it all ends. I suppose it takes their minds off the stark reality that they’re stuck in a concrete basement with a deranged kidnapper who’ll force them to screw each other or they won’t be let go.
Of course it sounds bad when you say it like THAT, but my intentions are good and I only want to help them. I won’t force the boys into sex, either, just poke them in the right direction until they realise they already wanted to do it, long before I came along. Eventually, they will see this whole thing from my perspective and they will thank me for it. Until then, I just have to keep chipping away at their resistance, little by little.
To show the twins that I’m not entirely evil and manipulative, I slip a six-pack of cola-beer through their door. Bill notices first, the narrow-hipped singer rushing over to pick up the cans and bring them back to Tom, the older boy inspecting one before cracking it open with a fizz. I’m hoping the beer will help them relax more and stop them from sinking into despair and depression. It’s light and sweet and won’t get them drunk, although by the time they’ve guzzled the lot Bill appears to be slightly tipsy from it, stumbling a little as he goes to throw the empty cans in the rubbish bin, dropping one onto the floor with a metallic clatter. That is exactly why I didn’t give them glass bottles. Knowing how clumsy and uncoordinated he is, he’d break one and slice his palm open with it. Either that or Tom would use it to try and cut my throat. I think it’s safer for everyone if I keep them away from glass entirely.
The beer combined with their full bellies soon makes the boys drowsy, with Bill falling asleep on Tom’s shoulder. When the four-hour movie finally finishes, Tom tries to wake him up but Bill gives a grumble of complaint, not wanting to get up from his comfy spot on the couch - and his brother’s supportive arm - so Tom sighs wearily, turns and scoops Bill up with a small grunt, carrying his lighter sibling over to the bed and laying him down. He pulls the blanket up over Bill’s thin figure, sweeps the dark hair out of the other’s pretty face and stays there for a little while, Tom just gazing down at his slumbering twin with a soft, thoughtful, slightly sad expression. I wish I could tell what Tom is thinking right now. Bill looks so young and child-like in his sleep, as though nothing worries him or troubles him. Perhaps Tom may be wishing that he could always keep Bill like this, could retain his sweet innocence and purity. Perhaps Tom is wishing that Bill didn’t have to change or grow up, wishing that his baby brother could stay a kid forever.
Untouched forever.
Stroking Bill’s bangs out of the way, Tom leans down and kisses him on the forehead with tender gentleness, just above Bill’s eyebrow ring, letting his lips linger there. Bill doesn’t even feel it; he’s sleeping too deeply. With a loving hand, Tom strokes Bill’s hair again, sighing softly, looking far older than his nineteen years. Going to brush his teeth in the bathroom, Tom then kicks off his baggy jeans, climbing into bed beside Bill and switching the lamp off.
I mess with the air-conditioning for the second time in a row, making it just cool enough for Bill to want to snuggle again. Tom’s too tired to protest anymore, allowing Bill to cling to his naked back like an infant koala.
While they’re asleep, I spend a few hours playing around with some video editing software, until my eyes get sore from squinting at the screen and I have to get some rest of my own.
………
The next morning when I get up, I fast forward through the previous evening’s night vision recordings. Nothing of importance for most of the green-tinted playback – just a lot of the twins moving around in bed, snoring and shifting sleeping positions. That is, until Tom is lying on his back with the sheets thrown off. He’s got half an erection under his boxers. He must be dreaming, probably about girls with big tits. That’s where I pause and interestedly play the footage at standard speed, wondering if perhaps he’ll have a wet-dream or something.
In the jerky throes of sleep, Bill suddenly moves, his hand accidentally ending up on Tom’s lower stomach, right over the waist band of the older one’s underwear, black nails almost touching private parts. Still deep in slumber, Tom stirs and reacts with pure male instinct, moaning and pushing Bill’s fingers right down onto his groin, forcing Bill’s palm to cup his man-goods.
Apparently not dreaming the same thing that Tom is, Bill just gives a sleepy mumble of mild irritation and pulls his hand back, resting it on his pillow beside his face. It seems the brief touch has awakened at least one part of Tom because he rolls over and begins to molest Bill, pressing his crotch into Bill’s slim thigh and unconsciously starting to rub into it. Tom’s hand has found Bill’s chest and is fumbling around under his T-shirt, as though looking for a breast. He only finds flatness and a small male nipple but Tom still moans anyway. Even in his sleep Bill is aware of Tom humping his leg and the younger one gives another mumbled sound of annoyance, kicking at Tom and clumsily rolling over to the far edge of the mattress, trying to get away from his groping brother.
When Bill kicks him Tom wakes up, groggily realising what he’s been doing, his fingers still caught in Bill’s shirt and the front of his boxer shorts tented in arousal. He quickly pulls back his treacherous hand, glad Bill didn’t wake. Quietly climbing out of bed, he sneaks into the bathroom and shuts the door. He doesn’t switch the light on. Normally when Tom goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night to take a piss, he flicks on the fluorescent light so he can see where he’s aiming but this time he doesn’t, staying in total darkness which makes me very curious indeed to see what he’s up to. As he fumbles his way around, trying not to trip over, the motion sensors in the white-tiled room pick up his movements and activate the night-vision camera in the corner of the ceiling above the sink. I had set it up that way so the boys couldn’t escape into the bathroom late at night and plot things in secret or talk without me knowing about it. If Tom just wanted to use the toilet I’d skip that part of the footage but I don’t think that’s what he’s intending to do.
Everything looks green on the monitor in front of me, including Tom’s face, skin and hair, his eyes appearing weirdly black, like he’s got no pupils. Of course he has; they’ve just massively expanded in an ineffectual effort to see something, anything. But it’s as dark as a cave in there. Just wearing his boxers, he blindly feels around in the dim room until he’s located the toilet, putting the lid down and sitting upon it. Leaning back, he palms the bulge at his groin which I can now see is fully engorged, the stimulated teenager rubbing himself through the cotton fabric and emitting a soft hiss at the friction. Whatever his dream was about, it’s made Tom painfully hard. Drawing down the front of his boxer shorts, he brings out his erect cock, allowing me to see it for the very first time. Jutting out from a thatch of dark brown fleece, it’s impressively big and beautiful, thick and slightly curved, my own cock reacting instantaneously to the sight of it.
“Ah, here we go,” I murmur to myself, shifting closer in my chair and watching avidly to see what he does next.
Wrapping long fingers around his swollen shaft, Tom moves them up and down - slowly at first, and then with increasing quickness, the gorgeous guitarist stealthily jacking off in silence. As he works his wrist and arm in repetitive motions, he starts to look acutely embarrassed, distraught and troubled by what he’s doing, and it’s then that I realise he wasn’t dreaming about girls. If that was the case he wouldn’t feel any shame about it. No, he’s ashamed for another reason.
Because it was Bill in his dream.
It was Bill that turned him on. His brother’s soft, slender body got him excited. Tom seems highly disturbed by this but it also appears that he really has to do something about it, his dick leaking and demanding attention, balls full and heavy and needing to be released. Bracing himself against the wall beside him with one hand, Tom increases the pace of the other, his biceps tensing and arm-veins starting to pop out as he secretly pleasures himself. Chewing impatiently on his lip-piercing, the older twin rapidly and roughly jerks himself to completion, trying to get it over with as fast as possible. I can hear the dry slapping sound of skin on skin and his heavily restrained breathing. Finally, he achieves his goal, Tom’s mouth opening in a barely-audible gasp of guilty ecstasy as he comes over his own abs in powerful surges, his ejected semen looking a pale shade of green on my screen as it slides down his rippled belly. Squeezing his dick to savour the last spasms of orgasm, he shudders, panting softly, trying to keep quiet so Bill doesn’t hear.
When it’s over, Tom’s body goes weak and slack, his dreadlocked head dropping back against the cistern. I can see a pulse throbbing in his throat. He looks relieved. After a minute or so of recovery time he shakes his head clear and gropes around for a towel, pulling it from the wall rail and wiping himself off with it.
When he sneaks back to bed, Bill is still fast asleep on the far edge of the mattress. Tom lies there for a while on his back, staring into the darkness, still mortified and horrified by what he was forced to do. Poor baby. I kiss my fingertips and then touch them to my screen, right over my captive’s handsome, guilt-stricken face. I wish he didn’t feel bad about wanting his brother because there’s nothing wrong with it, at least not in my eyes. What he just did is actually a huge step of progress for him because by retreating somewhere and masturbating to a full orgasm he acknowledged the fact that Bill can get him aroused. He acknowledged, if only to himself, that his own identical twin is sexy and attractive to him. That’s why Tom was staring so much when Bill was applying moisturising cream yesterday after his shower. That’s why Tom was so reluctant to give him a back rub - because he knew that touching Bill’s body would stimulate him and turn him on. Maybe it has always had that affect on Tom. Maybe that’s why he actively seeks out female attention, to distract himself from these uncomfortable feelings he believes he shouldn’t be having about Bill. By sleeping with random women, Tom is trying to ‘prove’ how straight he is, when deep down, he actually doubts himself.
Even if Tom has been attracted to Bill in the past, I do wonder if he’s ever gotten so turned on by his younger, slimmer sibling that he had to go into the bathroom and furtively relieve his sexual frustration with his own hand. Probably not. Going by the shameful, almost shocked expression he’s wearing right now, I don’t think Tom has ever been driven to that point before and is sickened with himself. But he shouldn’t be. Witnessing his secret desire was a special privilege and I will be feeling the heat of his pleasure in the pit of my stomach all week, warming me from the inside. I know that in the morning Tom will probably have forgotten about it already, or at least pushed it to the very back of his mind, but for me this is something I will never, ever forget.
It’s just a pity Bill couldn’t have seen it too...
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Captivation