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The Other Lover	By : Cyndiana Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1358 -:- 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
- 1-The Other Lover
- 1
TITLE: The Other Lover
AUTHOR: Cyndiana
ARCHIVE: A Feather in the Blood (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/afeatherintheblood/)
RATING: NC-17 for graphic description of M/M sexuality and language.
PAIRING: Paul/Alex (insert character), discussion of Paul/Schneider
SYNOPSIS: A plot of revenge comes full circle and becomes something so much more…
AUTHOR’S NOTES: I long dreaded writing another fic with ANY insert characters, but I decided I’d break through my fear, and give it another go. Here is the result. Quick German lesson for you, because I use a great bit of German in this: “schön”=“beautiful”, “Tschüss!”=“Bye!”, “Vati”=“Papa”, and “Ich liebe dich, auch.”=“I love you, too.”
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction. Not a statement of fact in any way. The characters Skylar/Alex and Jeanetta are mine. All others are property of themselves. The “Cazzo” name property of Cazzo Productions, Berlin, Germany.

***********************************************************

Paul curled up in an armchair that resided in the lounge of their hotel, thumbing through some mindless German music magazine.

Schneider strolled by, his form so cruelly concealed by a cable-knit sweater, Burberry scarf, and heavy camel-colored overcoat.

He shook the cold snow off as a bellhop took his scarf and coat from him to be placed in his room.

He, too, settled into a cushy, oversized black leather armchair.

He wore a look of complete and utter disdain for his surroundings, and this made Paul smile.

He loved seeing Schneider annoyed.

Their former love/hate/fuck/hate relationship had simmered down to its one primary component: hate.

Schneider left Paul. Paul hated Schneider. Schneider fucked Richard. Paul hated Schneider more.

Paul was pleased to discover Schneider was naught more than a passing fancy to Richard, another wrinkle in his overwrought phallice.

It didn’t take long for Paul to realize Schneider’s annoyance was due very little to the chintzy, banal scenery, but due to something a great deal more intriguing.

Schneider kept checking his watch, seeming to grow more and more perturbed by each passing second.

Finally, his mobile rang.

“Hallo? Where the fuck ARE you? I told you, take a left turn at the cathedral. Left! Ja, I’m here. Remember the room number? Fabulous, you do remember SOMETHING. There will be a keycard at the desk for you. I’ll be waiting, but not much longer. Ja. Tschüss…”

Now Paul was on full stealth “nosy old biddy” mode.

His eyes scanned page after page of blasé German pop-musik, but his ears strained to capture all.

Schneider huffed in annoyance, left a keycard with the concierge , and took the elevator, bound for his luxury penthouse suite.

Paul waited anxiously to see just who Schneider’s (gentleman?) caller was.

A few moments later, a young man entered the hotel, fidgeting nervously with the buttons of his coat, ambling up to the reception desk.

He could not in any conceivable way be any older than nineteen, though he looked to be sixteen at best, with blonde hair tinged with brown, and big, doe-like blue eyes. He looked more like a Precious Moments figurine than a boy looking for hot action. Paul could nearly imagine him seducing Schneider by stretching out his arms and declaring “I luff you THIS much!”

“Uhm…Room…uh…Room 715 left a…uh…keycard for me.” he muttered, jumpy as a boy buying his first gay porno mag while his mommy was off buying groceries.

The concierge handed him the card, and the boy stepped into the elevator. When he was well on his way to the den of sin that awaited him, Paul threw down his magazine and followed.

His curiosity was piqued to its limit.

Paul was THRILLED he had ended up with a room next to Schneider’s. He just HAD to hear how Schneider planned to make his move on “Herr Barely Legal”, with candies or promises of all the gay porn he could watch on the large screen television the hotel provided?

Paul pressed his ear to the wall that adjoined the bedrooms, and listened in, giggling to himself as the scene unfolded.

“Herr Schneider, what would you have me do for you?”
“Hmmm…I liked that maneuver you used in your last film. Do you remember?”
“No, mein Herr…I did many things…”

Paul heard a bit of breathy whispering, and the lad chuckled like a schoolgirl, drawing a long, heartfelt roll of Paul’s eyes.

“Perhaps a kiss first, to prepare my lips?” the boy asked, voice dripping with hopeful expectation.

The wet sounds of fevered kissing proceeded, and zippers falling, and clothes hitting the floor with a dull “twump!”.

Paul felt he was going to be sick.

He heard the familiar low, lusty growl of a pleasured Schneider as the boy was obviously working his “maneuver”.

He heard the boy mumble in either delight or protest. It was hard to tell through a plastered wall.

Then Schneider’s command… “Swallow…all of it…”

Paul knew he wasn’t talking about a fifth of vodka.

He heard the boy gasp for air, and smack his lips like he’d just finished off a grand buffet.

The boy whimpered something unintelligible, and Schneider responded gruffly…

“No, you cannot stay. You know that. And you know why. I’ll call you if I need you.”

The boy was quite audibly disappointed, and after stealing a kiss, Paul could hear him dress and leave the room.

Now Paul remembered where he’d seen the boy before.

Schneider snagged a Cazzo boy. Leave it to Schneider to use gay porn as his own personal escort service.

Paul couldn’t help but settle down into his bed, annoyed by his persistent, and wholly unwelcome erection, and remember the days before Schneider sold his soul to the Gods of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Specifically the Gods of sex.

Blind, stupid, nameless, quite possibly faceless, but rarely guiltless, SEX.

The day Schneider declared his love for him.

The day they left Feeling B together to embark on what ended up an eleven year fucked up journey of Odyssean proportions.

The day Schneider realized just how beautiful he truly was.

And, inevitably, the day Schneider decided that Paul no longer deserved to be the sole possessor of that beauty.

He remembered catching Schneider and Richard fucking like two bitches in heat in the bed Schneider and Paul shared. Their OWN bed!

His memory raced in a blur of moving vans and deadpan goodbyes and tears.

The same tears that burned down his cheeks even now.

It was a wonder after all this time he could still feel anything more than gut wrenching disgust for the monster Schneider had become…the monster Paul in his own way helped create…With his every single “Du bist so schön…”.

Insatiable curiosity and juvenile mischief had turned to sorrow and regret in one synapse of the mind as Paul curled up in his bed, mourning for the past. For all intensive purposes, the same could be said for the very relationship Paul mourned, as sleep offered but temporary release.

********************************************************************

Paul awoke as night was blanketing her city and tucking it in for the night.

He heard raucous rapping at his door.

“Fucking hell! What? Who?”

“Reise, reise klein Seeman! The dark side awaits!”

Till…Fucking Christ…

“I don’t feel like going out!” Paul called from his bed.

“Too bad. You can either put on something sexy for daddy, or daddy can put it on you. The choice is yours.”

“You’re already drunk, aren’t you?”

“Not yet, my friend, but I am well on the journey.”

Paul rolled his eyes, and dressed simply in a black tee and black slacks over combat boots. He’d be damned if he was going to shine them. After gelling his hair enough to make it look like he ATTEMPTED to groom himself, he sprayed on cologne, and stepped out of his luxury sanctuary.

Till and Flake stood in the hall, both with the red mask of vodka about them.

When they got drunk, they got affectionate, and when they got drunk in old Berlin, they longed to venture to what they affectionately referred to as the “dark side”. The segment of the renowned Berlin red-light district where even demons feared to tread…”Die rosa Stadtviertel”, the “pink quarter”.

Paul tagged along reluctantly as they journeyed to their favorite Lagerhaüs, one that catered to a very exclusive clientele, and was renowned in the underground gay celebrity community for its emphasis on EXTREME discretion.

Not even the devils of “Bild” dared journey there. They learned their lesson after a reporter and photographer snuck in for an exclusive, and returned dashed up, in a box.

They took a seat in a booth, as cheesy Eurotrash pop blared over grossly oversized speakers, and barely of-age go-go boys writhed to it in cages and around poles, bathed in neon laser light.

Paul sipped his “Rimjob”…A chocolately, vodka laden concoction Till always insisted on ordering for him merely for the juvenile, giggly, drunken pleasure of it. At least it tasted good.

Till and Flake made out clumsily, whispering lewd, and in Paul’s humble opinion, “fucking retarded shit”, to each other in voices deaf men could hear.

Paul leaned back in the booth, taking in the sights and sounds around him, ogling the pretty, scantily clad twinkie boys dancing about. Not much else to do.

One particular go-go boy caught his eye. In fact, it was the boy’s EYES that drew his attention. They were big, blue and full of a naiveté that cried out “Take me, I’m broke, easy, and desperate.” Definitely Schneider’s toy-boy.

Paul shoved a hand into his pocket, producing a 100 Euro note, waving it to the boy. He nearly broke his neck scrambling for the booth.

“What’s your pleasure?” the boy asked, licking his lips, as if HUNGRY for the cash Paul possessed.

“You, me, VIP room upstairs, alone.” Paul offered.

The boy nodded, and left for the VIP room. Paul decided his present company was wrapped up enough in themselves for it not to be poor etiquette that he didn’t excuse himself.

In the VIP room, security stood at the door. He was a large, imposing, not the least bit pleasant black man at least 1 foot taller than Paul. He recognized Paul immediately, and stepped aside, granting him entry.

Paul slipped him 200 Euros for his courtesy. He could almost swear he saw him smile.

The boy sat as seductively as he could possibly manage in silver knickers that rode up his ass crack on purpose, and matching silver boots.

He was glittered, and wore a look of feigned arousal. Paul found this both uproariously funny, and mildly endearing.

“So, Herr…?”
“Landers.”
“Herr Landers…What is your pleasure this evening?” the boy asked, rising to his feet, and sauntering over to Paul so overdramatically, it was all Paul could do to stifle a chuckle.
“Your name. I want to know your name.”
“Skylar.”
“Your REAL name.”
“That is my…”
“Fine, if you won’t even tell me your name, I’ll take my 100 Euro and go elsewhere…”
“Alex, ok? My name is Alex.”

Paul turned, craning his eyebrow with revived interest.

“Why do you do this?”
“Do what?”
“This whole twinkie boy act. Haven’t you ever stopped to think maybe, just MAYBE, you were worth more than that?”
“Ok, this is getting uncomfortable…” the boy muttered, shying away.
“Look…I’ll make you the deal of a lifetime, kid. You give this up, and I mean all of it…Clubs, films, anonymous sex…and you live with me, and I provide all for you.”
“What? Why?”
“No questions, either. Just one answer: Ja, oder nein?”

The boy considered it for a moment, looking both scared and exhilarated by the ideal.

Paul grinned wolfishly, nuzzling against the boy’s cheek.

“Ja…you’ve got it.”

And with that, Paul had baited his trap.

****************************************************

It didn’t take long for Alex to move into Paul’s place seeing as he had little to his name to begin with.

Paul lavished him with gifts: new clothes, a new car, gold neck chains, designer sunglasses, anything his heart desired.

He didn’t even get upset when Alex spent countless hours bragging to his sycophant friends about his unimaginable fortune.

Night fell softly over Paul’s luxurious home, and after finishing up a bit of work on a couple of unfinished tracks, Paul stripped out of his clothes, leaving his black boxer briefs, and settled into bed, longing for a good night’s rest.

Just as sleep was about to embrace him, he felt a soft weight easing into his bed.

Then he felt hands wandering over his chest, and past his abdomen, and sliding under the elastic border of his underpants.

“Whoa…whoa…stop…” he was barely able to stammer as nature screamed out at him to shut the fuck up and take what good fortune had afforded him.

“Isn’t this…what I’m here for?” the boy asked, voice heavy with a fractured innocence that could not possibly be faked.

“No…Oh God…” Paul rolled over enough to turn on his bedside lamp. “Is that what you thought?”

“Well…I thought that…” Alex began, face flushing red, and eyes downcast.

“I told you that you were worth more than that, and I meant it.”

“So what am I, a charity case? Herr Landers’ good deed for the year? Is that it?” Alex asked, growing increasingly more annoyed.

“No, you’re not that either…”

“Then…what then? Please, tell me…I’m all ears!” Alex demanded, now sitting cross-legged in the bed, and quite naked.

Once again, Paul had to war with his more primal urges, and carry on.

“I…don’t know what you are. I don’t pity you. I suppose that…I pitied that you thought so little of your worth you would throw yourself away so freely. You’re not much older than my own son, and maybe part of me related to that, and reacted. I’m flying blind in all this, just as you are.”

Alex eased considerably.

“So…what now?”

“You go to bed, and so do I.”

Alex smiled softly, leaning down and kissing Paul with unfaltering gentleness.

Paul wanted to struggle, wrench himself away, but something drew his lips deeper into the kiss, into the unknown and irresistible.

Alex straddled him, and grinded against him, growing more and more impassioned as they went.

Paul pulled away. “I-I can’t do this, Alex. Es tut mir Leid…”

“I’m not exactly innocent, Paul.”

Paul felt a smile spread across his face, a comfort in his heart that the boy knew his name.

“A part of you is. While you hold your youth, you hold your innocence too.”

“Then…don’t fuck me.” Alex whispered, a soft breath that fluttered into Paul’s ear.

“Ok, I won’t…”

“Macht du Liebe mit mir…”

Paul gasped as something forbidden uncoiled in his belly, and took control of his mind and better judgment.

Alex kissed down his belly, and wrenched his boxers away, taking him into his mouth, and working his lips and tongue in blessed unison. Never before had Paul considered fellatio an art form, but his mind was slowly changing.

Paul gripped his hair, and his back arched upwards. His body shivered as electric bolts of all too long forgotten pleasure ripped their way through every nerve, and even his fingertips felt aroused and nearly over stimulated.

Paul gripped him under his arms, and lifted him upward, kissing him with a passion he never realized even resided in his slight frame, and he rolled atop Alex, wrestling for control. Control of anything. Control of the lust and longing demanding to be sated.

He kissed Alex’s neck, and stroked him gently, and cruel reality came crashing in…

“I…How old are you?” Paul asked, breathless and a bit angry at his conscience for intruding.

“19...” Alex answered nervously.

“You could tell me you’re at least 25, or else I’ll just feel guilty…”

“Oh ja, 25...No, 26!” Alex replied with a giggle, and a kiss on the tip of Paul’s nose.

“Well, now you’re just too old, but I suppose you’ll do…”

Paul fumbled over-excitedly for his bedside table, retrieving a condom and lube.

Paul held up the small, foil package.

“Please don’t be insulted. I always take precaution…” he said shyly.

“As do I…” Alex replied with a smile, nibbling at Paul’s earlobe.

Alex took it from him, tearing it open with his teeth, and sliding it on Paul, who watched him, smiling softly.

Alex laid back, and spread his thighs, wiggling his right leg a bit, giggling as Paul slathered the cold lubricant over his entry.

“Cold?” Paul asked, a mischievous grin across his cheeks.

“Ja…” Alex replied with a giggle.

“Allow me to warm it for you…”

“Ooh…” Alex cooed, then he called aloud as Paul slid gently into him, kissing his lips in fluttering pecks.

Alex wrapped his legs securely around Paul’s waist, digging his heels into the flesh of Paul’s ass, as Paul thrust in long, slow, steady motions.

Alex shuddered, shaken by delight, as Paul kissed his neck and nuzzled his cheek.

Paul moved around ever so slightly until he found the spot that made Alex’s back arch, and a moan rip forth from his lips.

Paul kept up perfect rhythm, never faltering, in-out-in-out, slow, easy, no rush, just ecstasy and unprofaned bliss.

Tears trickled in small saline streams over Alex’s flushed cheeks, and Paul kissed them away, looking into his azure eyes, kissing his rose petal lips.

Paul pressed close against him, and their heartbeats aligned as they found that perfect arc of passion and euphoria that should only be reserved for the gods themselves…

Lost in rapture, Alex cried out in delectation and disappointment as he exploded in climax between them, crying out Paul’s name as if beckoning to him from the edge of complete and total abandon.

And Paul returned his call, crying aloud, then collapsing atop him, sweat-soaked and spent, and lost in bittersweet sensation.

Alex curled up against him, sighing and smiling, his face radiant in the afterglow, and with one more kiss both surrendered to slumber.

************************************************

The next morning, Alex was awoken by the cruel violation of blinding sunlight peering through the window shade, and the shuffling of a feather duster.

“Oh, mein Herr, you are awake. Herr Landers is downstairs, already at breakfast.”

“Mmmph…” Alex replied, rising, wrapping the sheet around him, and half stumbling into the shower.

After a much needed scalding shower, he dressed and ventured downstairs, where Paul sat nibbling a pastry, sipping a cup of coffee so strong the aroma didn’t so much as waft, but slap you about the face, and reading a newspaper.

“Guten Morgen…” Paul spoke from behind the paper.

“Mmmph…” Alex replied, grabbing a pastry, and taking a seat at the table.

“No coffee?”

“Nein, danke. I don’t feel up to shaving off any extraneous chest hair.”

“Smart ass…” Paul countered with a chuckle, lowering his paper.

“Who was that woman waddling around upstairs with the feather duster at this ungodly hour?” Alex replied, his question stopped short by a yawn and a stretch.

“Jeanetta…My housekeeper. And this ungodly hour is 9 am, and we have a busy day ahead.”

“Oh?”

“We’re going to walk into town, catch a film, have lunch at a small café, feed ducks in the park, and then make love in the cab home in time for supper.”

“Basically do every clichéd thing every fag couple does.” Alex replied with a soft laugh, taking a sip of Paul’s coffee, gagging a bit, and returning the cup where he got it.

“Ja, that’s right.”

“Why?”

“Because we can, that’s why.”

“That’s as good a reason as any.”

And after breakfast, they set off to do just that.

They walked arm and arm into the heart of downtown Berlin, whispering and kissing, seemingly without a care in the world.

They entered a small, artsy theatre to watch a boring, pretentious art flick that was more good for ignoring for the sake of kisses and caresses in the dark than watching.

They later ventured to the café to order a lunch for two, giggling and chatting away, as something, rather, SOMEONE caught Paul’s eye.

Schneider sat, as usual, at his seat, eating the same salad and bread he did every Friday afternoon when back home.

Paul smiled softly, and pulled Alex into a gentle kiss.

Schneider looked up over the publication he was reading, and nearly spat out his wine at what he saw.

Paul looked over Alex’s shoulder, eyes glowing with self-contentment aimed directly at the indignant Schneider.

Schneider stood, slamming his chair under his table, storming off, taking great care to pass closely by the table where Paul and his lover sat.

Alex’s eyes shot open wide with recognition. “Wasn’t that…?”

“I’m not sure who that was, but he sure wasn’t happy, was he?”

“No, he wasn’t.” Alex replied, raised his brow in confusion a bit, then shuffled it off, kissing Paul and returning to his meal.

They walked through the park, tossing bread they brought from the café to the ducks that scrambled as if they hadn’t enjoyed a decent meal the entirety of their lives.

They quacked, and waddled about the lovers’ feet, each longing for his next morsel of sweet, buttery bread.

Alex giggled softly, nearly falling over one especially rowdy fowl, caught up in Paul’s arms.

Paul’s eyes met his, and for a moment Alex saw them almost flicker, and dim with an unspoken sorrow.

“Are you alright?” he asked Paul softly.

“Ja, I’m…Let’s go home, it’s late, and dinner is most likely ready by now.”

In the cab home, Alex snuggled close to Paul, anticipating the last of their plans for the day, slowly unbuttoning Paul’s crisp, black dress shirt.

“Nein…don’t…” Paul spoke softly, pulling away, and looking out the window.

Alex scooted to the other side of the cab, and they rode in relative silence until they arrived home.

Once there, they slipped out of their overcoats, placing them in the foyer coat closet.

Jeanetta greeted them, her rosy, rotund face alight with near maternal joy over Paul’s new love affair.

“Herr Landers, I made your favorite, braised beef and carrots with roasted potatoes and a big cinnamon crème cake for dessert.” she announced happily.

“Danke, Jeanetta, but I’m not hungry. Please get Alex a plate. I’m going to bed.”

Paul walked slowly up the stairs, and Jeanetta frowned softly. Alex began to follow, but Jeanetta placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“No, Liebchen. Eat.”

“But…”

“Nope. No arguments. Into the dining room, this instant.”

Alex surrendered, and sat at the table as Jeanetta brought him a hearty plate of food.

Alex picked at it forlornly, and Jeanetta sat in the chair beside him.

“Liebchen, look at you. Why are you so sad, Engel?”

“I’ve done something wrong. I’m not sure what, but I’ve displeased him. He’ll probably send me away now.” Alex spoke softly, near tears.

“Oh no, Liebchen! Not at all! You just…you don’t know what that poor man has been through. He’s probably terrified of what he’s feeling for you.”

“Shame? Disgust? Resentment?”

“Nein! Oh, mein Engel, you’re just as battle scarred as he is, aren’t you?”

Alex looked down at his plate, heart heavy with bitter memories.

She captured his face in her plump hands.

“Alex…He loves you. I can see it in his eyes, Kinder…But his heart is weather beaten and war torn. It’s hard to make it work again after so much sorrow. Now, eat, and you can take him a big piece of cake and a glass of milk, and he’s yours. Take it from someone who knows.”

Alex smiled softly, and obeyed her.

He traipsed up the steps, and crept softly into Paul’s room.

Paul laid on top of the covers, wide awake, and not fooling anyone.

Alex knelt in front of him. He drew his fingertip through the cake icing, and slid it between Paul’s lips. Paul sucked it gently, then reached to turn on his bedside lamp.

“Jeanetta put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“She made a big deal over her cake. She demanded you have some. It’s quite good.”

“Uh-huh…” Paul replied with a bit of a smile.

Alex loaded the fork with a hefty bite, and held Paul’s chin, easing his mouth open, sliding the fork inside. Paul giggled, nearly choking.

“It’s delicious if it doesn’t kill me first!” Paul laughed, kissing Alex softly.

“What’s wrong, Paul? Did I do something wrong?”

Paul grew suddenly solemn.

“No…No, Alex, you didn’t. I did.”

Paul stood, his back to Alex, hand rubbing the back of his neck, which was now suddenly knotted and tense.

“You’ve been wonderful to me! Spoiled me rotten with gifts…and love. What could you have possibly done that is so terrible?” Alex asked, setting the saucer of cake down, and wrapping his arms around Paul’s waist.

Paul’s eyes met his, red and fat with tears.

“Paul?”

“Remember today at the café? The man who was so angry?”

“Ja, why?”

“Alex…you recognized him…”

“I know he looked like…” Alex began, as his eyes lit up with recognition.

“He was, Alex. You see…He and I were lovers once, and…”

“And…you used me…” Alex said softly, face emotionless as realization hit him fully.

“I’m so sorry…I never meant to…I…”

“Save it, Paul. I understand. He dumped you, chased something younger and hotter, and you couldn’t take it. You had to show him you could trump him. You wouldn’t just fuck me, you’d make me fall in love with you with all your money and empty promises. Make him really see you were the better man. Well guess what, you might have won…but even his cold, emotionless blowjobs were far more dignified than what you’ve done. I might be young, Paulchen, but I am not a fool.”

And with that, Alex fled, tears streaming, for the downstairs, where he called a cab and left.

Paul fell into his bed sobbing, feeling like less of a man than he ever had before.

***********************************************

The next day, the band had agreed to meet at Olli’s flat to rehearse a bit and work through new tracks.

When Paul arrived, he learned that Flake, Till, and Richard had decided to fuck-off and do whatever piteous trivialities they felt were more important than their lives’ work.

That left Olli, Paul and, quite punctually, Schneider, who now rang the doorbell.

Olli greeted him with a warm embrace, and he entered the rehearsal room, looking smug and vindicated. Paul’s blood boiled.

Olli’s mobile rang, shattering the simmering silence, causing both Paul and Schneider to jump a good three inches off their seats.

“Ja? Hallo, Engel. Was? Ok. Ja, ja, in ein minuten. Ok. Ich liebe dich, auch. Tschüss.”

“Who was that?” Schneider asked, wearing an evil grin, and emanating all the charm of a spitting cobra.

“That was meine Frau. She’s got Emma at the store with her, carrying on like not getting a fucking Barbie is the end of the god-damned world, and she went and left her wallet. So, it’s Vati to the rescue. I’ll hurry back guys, I promise. Will you two be alright here for a bit?”

“Oh we’ll be just fine, Olli.” Schneider answered, eyeing Paul with sadistic glee.

“Ok. Be right back.” Olli said, throwing on a coat, grabbing his wife’s wallet, and heading out the door.

“What are you so fucking smug about?” Paul spoke evenly, voice coated in spite and venom.

“Your little lover…What was his name? Oh ja, ALEX. After he blew me, and I fucked him raw for hours, he broke down in tears! Can you believe it? Turned into a blubbering puddle of goo. It was embarrassing, to say the least. Anyway, he told me all about your infantile scheme to use him to make me jealous. It worked for a bit, but not long. He despises you, and is falling all over himself to get to me. And frankly, I’m loving every second of it.”

“Schneider, if you hurt him, so fucking help me God…”

“Why? Do you corner the market on being a selfish, self-centered bastard? Or can I cut in on it?”

“Look…My original intentions were pricky, and pig-headed at best, but I feel something for him you never will…”

“What do you feel, Paulie? A stirring in your loins you didn’t think possible at your age and health?”

“Love, you facetious bastard. You know, that thing that resides in hearts that aren’t blackened from self-admiration and vainglorious grandstanding?”

“Ooh, Paulie knows big words! Bravo!” Schneider quipped, with a small flourish of facetious applause.

Paulie stood up, reaching for his coat.

Schneider rose, throwing his coat to the floor, and Paul up against the wall.

“Schneider, let me go!” Paul hissed.

“You still want me, don’t you?” Schneider cooed, snaking his tongue into Paul’s ear.

“You know, Schneider, I’ve have never in all my life believed in the Devil. Not for all my father’s Sunday sermons paddled into my backside, or for my mother’s pleading that I be baptized in the name of Christ in hopes my pathetic fucking soul just MIGHT be saved. I never believed such pure, unadulterated evil was possible, and even if it were, I never believed it could possibly be personified. That was until this moment, right now, right here. Now, either you let me go, or I send you straight to Hell where you belong.”

Schneider’s hands fell to his sides, and he staggered away, visibly shaken by Paul’s words, as if aware for the first time just how far he’d fallen into egomaniacal depravity.

Paul picked his coat up off the floor, and walked out.

Schneider flopped down onto Olli’s couch, his head in his hands.

****************************************************

Paul sequestered himself in his room for days.

He didn’t eat, he merely slept. Anything to escape the vacuous desolation.

One such morning, he cried out as sunlight burned into his eyes, his window shade opened wide.

“What the…?”

“Reise, reise, mein Herr!”

“I curse the day we recorded that fucking song!” Paul hissed, throwing his blanket over his head.

“Nein! You are getting up, getting dressed, and going to get breakfast at the café you like so much.”

“What, Jeanetta, are you on strike?”

“Don’t tempt me! I’m going downstairs to get you a cup of coffee, and if you are not out of this bed and at LEAST half-dressed, I will do it for you!”

“Ja Mütter…” Paul quipped.

“See if I am kidding you! Up! Los, los!”

Paul rose reluctantly, and stepped into his shower, loving the steaming water that enveloped him.

“Your coffee is on your bedside table and your clothes are on your bed!” Jeanetta called from his bedroom.

“I CAN do some things for myself, you know!” Paul called back.

“You certainly couldn’t tell it as of late.” she quipped, and Paul heard her clomping downstairs.

He dried, and dressed, and walked downstairs, wholly unprepared to face sunlight, or daytime, or much else.

“Can’t I eat breakfast in my own home?” Paul half-whined.

“The kitchen is closed. Now off to the café with you!”

Paul turned to go, then turned back.

“This is…still MY house, right?”

“Ja, your Haus, mein Herr…MY rules.”

“Right…”

And with that, Paul laughed softly, grabbed his coat, and left for the café.

He sat, longing for caffeine, and regretting his neglect of the coffee growing cold in his room.

He ordered a triple espresso, a pastry, and the morning paper.

He began to read when a nearby conversation caught his attention.

“Isn’t this MAGNIFICENT? I got it for a song at the corner there! This charming young man paints them. He’s obviously a starving artist, but with work like this, he won’t be hungry for long!”

Paul adjusted his gaze in the direction of the conversation, and saw an old woman with a painting of two genderless human forms in a passionate embrace.

He then turned to the corner, where he saw a small gathering of people around a collection of similarly breathtaking works of art.

Paul finished his coffee, left a tip, and took his paper, bound for the street corner.

“One at a time, mein Gott! Ok, you, you wanted this one, the still life? 50 Euro, bitte. Danke! Guten Tag!” he heard the young man call.

The small crowd dissipated, leaving just Paul, and the newly revered artist.

“Are you buying, or loitering?” he asked of Paul.

“I didn’t know you painted, Alex.”

“How would you? You didn’t spend much time thinking of me at all.”

“That’s not true. I know it seems so, but it’s not. All I’ve done is think about you since you left.”

“And you feel guilty, and you want me to forgive you so you’ll feel better. You, you, you. Is it EVER about anyone else, Paul?”

Paul looked down at the sidewalk, feeling justly convicted.

He felt Alex’s hands cup his face.

“Now that I’ve said what I SHOULD say…I’m going to say what I WANT to say…”

Paul looked into Alex’s eyes, shimmering and warm.

“I’m not just some dumb twink, you know…” he began.

Paul shuffled from one foot to the other. “I know.”

“Schneider told me everything.”

“About, what?” Paul asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“He told me about all the shit he put you through. I couldn’t hold it against you what you’ve done. And besides…I know you loved me. I could feel it every time you kissed me.”

Paul smiled, and leaned in to kiss him, but Alex turned away.

“Alex?” Paul asked, now even more confused.

“Paul…You live in your world, and I live in mine. It was fun being a part of yours for a while, but it just…can’t be, and you HAVE to know that.”

“Do I?”

“Besides. You have to do me one last favor before we part.”

“Part?”

“I’m going to Paris to study art, at a real school. A good…friend is sponsoring me.”

“That’s wonderful, Alex! What is the favor?”

Alex pressed his lips close to Paul’s ear.

“Take the forgiveness I gave to you, and pass it along…”

And he indicated to a neatly dressed man sitting, hands folded in his lap, on a bench nearby. Schneider.

Alex nodded softly, then collected his things, walking away.

Paul stood, feeling uneasy at first, then strode across the bustling roadway to the small park that lie ahead of him.

“Hallo, Paulie.” Schneider said softly.

“Hallo.”

“Sit?” Schneider offered gently.

Paul sat beside him, not too close, but not so far as to seem standoffish.

“That Alex…He is VERY talented isn’t he?” Schneider began.

“Look, I don’t want to compare bedroom notes…”

“I meant his art…”

“Oh…” Paul said sheepishly with a deep blush.

“He’ll do well in Paris. I wish him all the best, as should you.”

“So, you’re the ‘friend’?” Paul replied with a soft smile.

“That’s me…all around good Samaritan, savior of twinks.”

Paul laughed softly.

“You didn’t finish your breakfast.” Schneider observed.

“Oh…Nein.”

“Hungry?”

“A little.”

“I’d bet Jeanetta’s whipping up a hell of a brunch as we speak.”

“You’d think so, but she sent me to the...” Paul laughed deeply, and a mischievous grin spread across Schneider’s face.

“Well, are you going to invite me over, or are you going to keep being rude?”

“Oh, sorry, Herr Schneider. I’d be honored by your presence at my table this morning.” Paul quipped with a bow.

“Now you’re just being a smart ass.” Schneider replied with a smile, and rose, extending his hand.

Paul took it, and it was just as soft and warm as he’d always remembered.

Schneider flagged a taxi.

“I just live a few blocks away, Schneider, you know that. There’s no need for a taxi.”

“Oh, it’s not going to your house just yet. He’s going to circle the block a few times first.”

“For what?”

“Alex also told me about your little idea of making love in a taxi. And, if my memory serves, that is one thing we never did.” Schneider cooed, as a taxi slowed in front of them.

“My, aren’t you presumptuous?” Paul laughed, smiling coyly.

“If we’re going to reconcile, might as well go all the way, don’t you think?” Schneider replied, looking over his shoulder at Paul, his face alight with mischief.

“You’re the boss.” Paul said with a laugh as they got into the taxi and drove away.

DIE ENDE
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The Other Lover