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Complications Of The Flesh	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1262 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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.

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Title: Complications Of The Flesh 9/10
Author: Robby a.k.a. Mr. Naked
Rating: NC 17/AU
Pairing: Till/Christoph, mentions of Till/Flake
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Beta: hannelore_k
Author’s note: Based on lisa_thecat’s wonderful “Dirty Story”.

IX.

*With a perfect you, we fit perfectly…*

A car pulled up at Christoph’s corner and a guy asked him if he was available. Christoph got in the car, set the price with the guy, and the guy drove to some dark alley. That’s when the others showed up, dragged him out of the car and started beating him. All he could do was to try to cover his face, so he wouldn’t get that damaged. They left him there, in the gutter, jumped in that guy’s car and fled away.

He was telling me this while taking his shower. I was standing in the bathroom and looking at the bruises, cuts and swells all over his body. I wasn’t even bothering to start thinking things over, to make the logical connections and analyze to figure if he was lying or not. I didn’t care. I decided not to care, and take things as they were. And hopefully I was to end up safe and sound.

I was staring at the fluid layer of water running down his skin and shapes. I felt the impulse to go to him, start kissing each cut and bruise on him, and when I would detach my lips off his skin, the respective spot would be healed. The cuts would close and the bruises would fade out.

“How is your book going?” His words brought me back to reality.

I lit myself a cig.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to eat something?” I asked instead.

“No, I just need some sleep.”

At least he didn’t have any broken bones or anything like that, I thought as I was watching him turning off the water, stepping out of the shower and drying himself with one of my towels. I was observing all those little gestures of his, the way he lifted his arm to dry his armpit, the way he drew the towel between his legs, to dry his inner thighs.

When he put the towel around his hips, I stepped out of the bathroom.

“You can sleep in that room,” I told him, pointing to my spare bedroom.

“You don’t want me in your bed anymore?” He whispered.

I glared at him for a few seconds.

“Sorry,” he said lowering his head. “I know I look like shit and…”

Ice!

“You can sleep in my bed if you want to,” I told him and went to the kitchen to bring him ice to put on the bruises on his face.

He was there, naked, in my bed.

I gave him the bag with ice, and I started to undress. Then I laid in bed, near him. I drew my face closer to his skin. I could pick the scent of my own shower gel on him, but he still smelled like himself. And I just loved that. Actually, I was so overwhelmed by the fact that he was there, again, near me, that I was like paralyzed. Only somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear Christian telling me what a huge mistake I was making.

The devil was giving me a nice gem for my soul. And I was happy with the trade.

I was aroused, but I didn’t feel like having sex with him at the moment. I would rather have sat somewhere by myself, to chew all this over in my mind, think and sort every aspect about this turn of events. But I was too tired. I needed to sleep.

So, I allowed him to wrap his arms around my torso, laid my cheek on the top of his head, feeling on my skin his still damp hair, and closed my eyes. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care.

When I woke up, it was late afternoon, and he was still sleeping. I got up, got dressed, had my coffee and then I sat in front of my computer to work.

When I heard him moving in the house, it was already dark outside. Then, I felt his arms embracing me from behind and his lips planted a dry kiss on the nape of my neck. He laid his head on my shoulder, continuing to embrace me.

“You don’t have to seduce me, to stay in my house,” I said, keeping my gaze on the screen of the computer.

He didn’t answer, just planted another kiss on my neck.

“How are you feeling?” I wanted to know.

“Great, actually. Just a bit sore, but fine, otherwise.”

I could have grabbed that opportunity, but I didn’t want to.

“I have work to do,” I said, instead.

He got the idea and freed me from the embrace. He placed a third kiss on my neck and then wandered out of the room. A minute later I could hear the TV from the lounge.

I got back to my stuff, and he didn’t bother me for a while. But, as I was focused on my things, in the back of my mind was like this second brain asking questions about him. What now? What were his intentions? How long would he stay? Did he lie or was he telling the truth about how he got beaten up? What if he’d call his friends and…?

At one point I heard him moving in the house, again. Then, he brought me coffee and a plate with food. He didn’t say anything, just placed a kiss on my shoulder and left again.

Was he really planning to prove to me that he was worthy of keeping, so he could carry out his plans, whatever they were? Or was he just like that, period?

When I got really tired and bored, I asked him if he was coming out with me for a beer or two. Of course he did. And we went to a pub. We had a few beers like two good buddies. There were some people staring at his bashed face, but that was all.

After I told him about my book that was to be published very soon, and about my work in general, I asked him about his plans. He wasn’t sure about anything yet. He wanted to change his life. He was too old for that kind of living he’d had until a day before. He had some money saved, he was thinking of getting a job, even if it would be minimum wage, because he didn’t know how to do much…

I was just sitting there, listening to him with my eyes half closed, like I would have listened to some song I really loved. I wasn’t listening to the words, just to his voice. I was wondering how long it would last, how much I would be allowed to enjoy his presence near me. How long until he decided he could do even better or that he was more comfortable with the life he lead until he got bashed?

He didn’t even have to search for a job or such, as far as I was concerned; I could have been the sole provider, but I couldn’t tell him something like that.

Meanwhile… The moment the entrance door to my house slammed closed behind us as we got back, we were in each other’s arms, kissing fervently until he moaned in pain caused by his bruised lip.

“Sorry,” I whispered, but his hands pulled my head, bringing my mouth closer to his and we started kissing again.

I finally got the chance to kiss his body inch by inch, to feel him, to wrap myself in the warmth of his touches and embraces. Bruised and sore, he was still able to handle me well. Then, when he fell asleep, I sneaked out from the bed and went back to my computer to work a bit more. But I couldn’t focus – too much had happened in such a short period of time.

I had a coffee in the kitchen then, trying to sort my thoughts, staring at that tree outside and watching the dawn. I had all these questions, suppositions and scenarios in my mind, but, overall, I had this feeling of peace and serenity.

When I went back to bed, the sun outside was making the curtains on the windows to look almost golden-yellow. He didn’t even wake up, just moved in his sleep, welcoming me into his arms, at his chest.

In my dream, I saw again that moth held captive in a light ball, struggling to its death.

Then, from the time we woke up until the afternoon, we spent almost all day in bed, having sex and dozing on and off. In the afternoon I had to go to Christian’s office to discuss with the publishing house the details of my new book. Of course, I barely paid attention to them, and let him do most of the talking on my behalf.

When we were left by ourselves, I told him about Christoph; I don’t know why I did it, I just thought it was proper of me to do so. At least he wouldn’t have a shock the next time he paid me a visit and found Christoph there too. He didn’t react as I was expecting him to. He only said:

“At least you seem to be at peace with everything now, including yourself.”

I didn’t waste time to question him about what he meant by that; I had to rush back home. Of course, on my way back, I couldn’t stop wondering whether I would still find Christoph there.

He was there, watching TV and listening to my 1940s music collection…waiting for me. I asked him again how he felt, and he said that aside from the bruises and the soreness he was really fine. He looked better, too, and more relaxed.

So we went out for dinner and a couple of beers. Then, when we got back home, as I was unlocking the door, he leaned and rested his body against the doorframe.

“What happened?”

“Just a bit dizzy. Must be the beers.” And he laughed. “I’m a bit tired after today’s ‘activities’,” he added.

I was tired and sore too. I didn’t do any work; I just cuddled with him in bed and slept. I woke up the next morning, very early actually. I let him sleep as I went and had a coffee and worked a little until he woke up.

I couldn’t resist his advances, his touches and his kisses – we had sex right there in my den. Then he said he was going to clean himself and he headed to the shower. He asked if I would join him. I told him to go first, I would be there shortly.

Sometimes we’re stubborn about doing small things that don’t actually have any importance, but at that moment, they seem to us that if they were not done, the world would stop spinning or something.

I saved the document on which I worked. I heard a sound in the bathroom.

“Is everything ok?”

He must have dropped something. I closed the document. I walked out of the room. I went to the bathroom. I could hear the water in the shower.

I opened the door.

I saw his body lying there, and the hot water pouring pointlessly in the shower, because no one was to use it anymore.

“Christoph?” I whispered, kneeling near him and taking him in my arms.

He was unconscious.

“Don’t do this to me, man,” I begged him.
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Complications Of The Flesh