Vision im Spiegel

Author's Note: And after a long wait, the third and penultimate chapter is up! This one is slightly more easygoing than the last one, but you know what that means - all building up for a pretty strong climax towards the final chapter. (Hehehe, climax. XD)

But don't worry. It still has enough material to qualify as sexy. Please enjoy. :3

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The repeat performance doesn't come until a while later, but Richard is perfectly happy with that; in fact, he probably wouldn't have had it any other way when there's so much else he could do with Till. When they get dropped off at Till's place, both agree to just turn in for the night; they share a quick meal and go to bed, snuggling under the covers and sharing body heat. It's nothing new by this point, they usually sleep together wearing boxers and nothing else.

"Richard?"

"Yes, Till?"

The older man kisses the back of his neck and shifts beneath the covers, resting a hand on the other's hips. "You don't regret it?"

"Don't be silly," Richard responds, pushing back lightly against his lover's body, sighing contentedly as the events of earlier on float back into memory. Their bodies fit perfectly together, warm and soft, and he's so pleasantly drowsy that he barely registers the worry in Till's voice. "would I have eaten dinner and gotten into bed with you right now if I was regretting it?"

"I guess not," the singer says. He sounds a little bashful, almost, but the younger man can't be sure. "you just seemed quiet all evening. I thought you might have been very tired, and nothing apart from that, but... never you mind. I'm being too sensitive..." he trails off there, raises his hand and lightly strokes Richard's face, his caress soft as a spring breeze. The guitarist closes his eyes; Till isn't finished just yet, he knows that, and he's just waiting for more. "... <i>Lieber?</i>"

"Hmm?"

There's a little, hesitant pause. "Can we forgo the boxers tonight?"

Richard blinks for a moment, but then laughs softly as he understands. "Of course," he whispers, and turns around to kiss the tip of the other's nose before he moves his hand down and eases Till's boxers down his hips. This movement is reciprocated by the singer, and soon they've tossed the boxers to the floor and they're snuggled up closer together in bed.

"Mmm," Till murmurs, feeling their nakedness pressing against the other. "ahh. It's good. It's so <i>different</i>, but it's not. Kind of odd."

Richard looks up; through the moonlight drifting in through the curtains, he sees that the singer's expression is filled with love. "Maybe it's just sex," he offers with a little smile. "after sex, people get introspective."

"That might well be so."

A relaxed silence falls over them. It strikes Richard then that they're currently engaged in a slightly late post-coital cuddle; there was neither room nor time to do so when in the dressing room, but here they feel like they have all the time in the world. The guitarist shifts against his lover, pressing the side of his face lightly against his chest and letting his breath fan out gently across the skin.

"<i>Meine Liebe,</i>" Till murmurs, kissing the top of the other's head. "<i>mein Leben... mein Scholle.</i>"

'<i>Scholle</i>' is a nickname from their olden days, from a time before Rammstein and when Richard used to go around with bleached mohawks. He hasn't heard that nickname for so long that it actually takes Richard a while to process that Till's speaking to him; but when it sinks in, he looks up quickly, eyes wide in surprise. "...Till?"

"Your hair... it reminded me of the past. I just wanted to call you that, one more time."

 "Oh," the guitarist runs his fingers through his hair; the considerably-lighter roots must be showing through. It's been a while since he's dyed it after all, during the past month of bliss it just hasn't crossed his mind. "I suppose it's time for me to dye it again."

"You don't need to. Hell. Bleach it totally white, and it'd still be beautiful," Till says, and nuzzles the top of his head fondly. "like how our hair used to be back in our Sehnsucht days."

Richard 'hmm's in consideration and reaches up to run his fingers through the other's hair as well. Till too dyes his hair black, albeit with less frequency or regularity compared to him, and his hair is graying at a rapid rate. But then - he does still think that Till had looked absolutely beautiful with a silvery mane during the Sehnsucht era, and even now (age considering) he thinks it'd look quite nice. "I wish you wouldn't cover your hair colour up, either. I don't care that it might be going grey, it adds a lot of character."

"Meaning that I'm getting old?"

"You look nice either way, dark hair or not. I don't - I swear to God I was born with the wrong colour hair. And as for age, well-" he chuckles. "-you've got <i>quite</i> some years left in you yet, from what you showed me earlier."

Till blushes and doesn't answer. Richard grins at him, triumphant, before he moves his hand downward to stroke the older man's muscular shoulders and back. "Mmm..." he murmurs, letting out a soft sigh as he nuzzles deeper into the other's arms. "heh... I'm glad... that we decided to be daring back there..."

The singer smiles tiredly and tightens his embrace. "So am I, Richard... so am I..."

Silence follows for the next few minutes, both lovers finally allowing their bodies to relax after a pleasantly-exhausting day. They've earned this rest. For Richard, it suddenly means so much more to be able to lie naked with Till like this, inhaling his scent and indulging in his warmth; he thinks back to that moment during the start of their lovemaking, when the older man had just held and kissed him until the pain faded to nothing, and almost immediately feels himself becoming flushed at the recollection. That situation could have ended in any number of awkward ways - Till could have pressed ahead and caused him pain, or he could have withdrawn despite the guitarist's protests, full of apologies and guilt - but he was respectful and loving, and Richard appreciates that.

He looks up into Till's face. The older man's gazing down at him as well, his green eyes half-lidded and filled with adoration, and when their gazes lock in mid-air he gives Richard a smile that's both honest and yet so shy that the guitarist almost feels the urge to pin him down and kiss him into oblivion. "Till?" he asks, however, managing to resist the temptation.

"Hmm?"

"What time is it?"

"Nighttime," Till answers contentedly, and then with a kiss on Richard's forehead, he closes his eyes and is out like a light. Amused, Richard grins to himself and nuzzles briefly against the older man - then he turns to lie on his back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking about all that's happened earlier and what they are to do now. He's spent and satisfied, pleasantly empty, and just having the older man sleeping naked next to him is a cause of contentment in itself. First he ought to be getting some sleep, it's nearly eleven right now; he casts his mind back to Till's letter, and assumes that the man might start work on the draft of their next single very soon. If he hasn't already, that is. Now that they've gone this far, that's likely the cue to invite Olli over and start work on telling everyone about their relationship. Still, even though he knows that the probability of disapproval is almost nil, he can't help but feel kind of nervous.

His phone lights up silently from the bedside table at this point; noticing it, he reaches for it curiously (careful not to wake Till), seeing that he has a text from Flake. He doesn't know what might have happened that would have made the keyboardist text him at this hour, but-

<i>Pardon late text, I only just managed to get away from Paul.

Heard the noises from the dressing room earlier.

My sincere congratulations, you two.</i>

"... Oh."

Richard sits there staring at the text for over a minute before a bright blush rises to his face; suddenly it all makes sense, that enigmatic look Flake was throwing them both before and after the photoshoot. He's possibly the only one out of the other four who's rightfully assumed that Richard and Till are more than just flatmates. Flake's always thrown him off regarding relationships with both him and Till for the past seventeen years, and from the looks of it, he's not lost that trait yet. <i>Well, this is terribly awkward. How am I going to look at him in the face ever again?</i>

Then again. It's probably for the best that it was Flake. The keyboardist is nothing if he can't keep secrets. Of course this doesn't exactly ease the fact that he and Till have to tell everyone at some point, even in a purely band-oriented sense, but at least they still have the opportunity to do it themselves. If Paul had heard, for example, they'd never have heard the end of it. Besides, the vague bemusement between the (very few) lines of Flake's text makes him feel vaguely shy but oddly boastful at the same time. <i>Sincere congratulations,</i> indeed. He's gone and well and truly landed himself <i>the</i> Till Lindemann, and he couldn't ask for any better.

So he closes his eyes and contentedly buries his face in Till's chest, hearing the even beating of his lover's heart, and as he too spirals into sleep decides not to worry about it for the moment. Tomorrow is another day, after all.

-----

Morning creeps its way into the bedroom, but Richard is so tired from their photoshoot and subsequent tryst from the evening before that it's twelve-thirty by the time he finally opens his eyes.

He turns in bed, initially lost in sweet dreams of his own with a small smile on his face; but soon he rolls over to a spot that's got the sunlight falling across his face, and he frowns and opens his eyes, staring up into the ceiling. Richard blinks a few times, vision hazy with sleep - this is his bedroom, the ceiling's streaked with sunlight, the window's closed and so are the curtains save for a little crack between them. Having confirmed all this, he gazes at the space next to him.

Till is nowhere to be found.

The guitarist's eyes cloud over in disappointment; for a moment he thinks it was all just a dream, that the vague recollections of last night - Till kissing his lips, caressing him, entering his body, becoming one with him, even the cuddling after - weren't real after all. But just thinking about it is making colour flood to his cheeks; sighing, he closes his eyes again, not wanting to yet wake up in a world where Till isn't by his side. Of course he'll get up soon and sate his body's dull but desperate craving for a smoke, and he doesn't doubt that Till's probably somewhere in the apartment, but if the lovemaking never happened - well-

At least, he thinks that until he hears rustling and the vague sounds of someone speaking from outside.

<i>"Und nichts... und niemand... lädt mich zum... bleiben ein..."

Huh?</i>

Richard sits up, listening hard. A door shuts outside and the murmuring continues, but it's so inaudible now as to be completely incomprehensible to the guitarist; while that doesn't really offer any answers as to what might have been going on, looking over at the side of the bed he sees something that makes him squint in confusion - before he widens his eyes and laughs out loud. Till's boxers are still lying on the floor.

<i>So it wasn't a dream!</i>

This makes Richard incredibly happy; looking down at himself, he also confirms that he's completely naked and that when he turns his head around a little, he can clearly see the bruises left by Till during their lovemaking yesterday. More than enough evidence that it certainly happened. Now feeling considerably lighter, he chuckles and lays back down, snuggling deeper into the sheets and sighing in utter bliss. He inhales slowly, Till's scent still lingering in the pillows and sheets, the slightly-musky aroma delighting his senses. "Mmh," he murmurs sensuously, closing his eyes and losing himself in the recollections of last night, trying to recreate the feeling of Till's hands on his hips and him thrusting his way into his body. The memories do make him blush rather deeply, but he doesn't mind that at all, not when he can still recall the feeling of Till's length twitching inside him as he came-

<i>I really should get up. I must have slept for ages now. </i>

Sighing in disappointment, but knowing that he can't very well just spend the whole day in bed, Richard decisively pushes off the covers and swings his legs over, getting up. A jolt of pain travels up his spine from his backside and for a second or two he sways a little, having quite forgotten about the ache - but again, it's a pleasant reminder, and he manages to shake it off. It's not quite as bad as the evening before, and he most certainly was content with it yesterday. No reason why he can't do the same now. He opens the curtains, revealing a turquoise-blue sky speckled with clouds outside. Looking at his room, lit up with sunlight, everything suddenly feels more vivid and real - his own bruised torso in the reflection in the wall mirror, the imprint of his and Till's bodies still on the bed. Smiling, Richard nevertheless tidies the bed and picks up his and Till's boxers from the floor, briefly putting them aside before reaching for his dressing-gown; after putting it on, he opens the bedroom door and walks outside, leaning into the bathroom and tossing the garments in the laundry basket.

He has a few options now. He can go and have some breakfast, he can have a shower and clean himself up somewhat, or he can go to Till. He's got to do all of those things at some point today, that's for sure; Richard 'hmm's and leans against the bathroom door, pondering, before deciding that now that he's in the bathroom, he might as well make the most use of it and have a shower. Breakfast can wait - and considering how late it is, he could very well skip it altogether without any ill effect. He closes the bathroom door and hangs up his dressing-gown, checking his naked reflection in the bathroom mirror. Looking as slim and handsome as always (he tells himself with a little smile), if somewhat disheveled, stubbled and bruised. The memory makes him blush, but he leans forwards to check his hair, also remembering what Till said the night before.

<i>Hmm. He was right. The roots are showing through.</i>

Maybe he should quickly go out and buy himself some hair dye when he's finished showering. But thinking of Till, Richard realizes that he doesn't really want to go anywhere today, not when there is still much to do and so much talk about with his lover - besides, waiting a few days to dye one's hair never killed anyone. With that thought in mind, he fills up the sink with warm water and shaves his face, working the razor smoothly against his skin before rinsing it and draining the sink. Then he can move onto the shower.

"Ahh," he sighs, slumping against the wall of the shower as the hot water rains down upon his body. Richard closes his eyes and lets his hair soak through, lazily thinking about Till and himself and what they might be up to today; "more romping?" he says out loud, and then chuckles fondly as he ponders upon that. More romping, sure. He'd love that very much. He'd probably be content enough to stay hidden for an entire week with Till and letting him do all that he wants to him. Richard picks up the shampoo and squeezes some out onto his palm, massaging it into his scalp and hair, finally washing away the last of that unkempt feeling that comes with having been asleep for too long.

Letting the spray wash most of the shampoo off his hair, he reaches for the shower gel and washcloth and works up a lather, washing his body as closely as he can manage. This has the additional effect of allowing him to survey in close detail what Till's done to his skin; he brushes at one bruise-covered area with a foam-covered hand and watches the shower spray washing it off with much interest. Closing his eyes, he picks up the showerhead and rinses his whole body off, memories returning in flashes and fading away at every press near his neck and clavicle.

He runs his hands down the inside of his shoulders and down his chest. Through the hot water he can see the bruises standing out on his damp body, aching pleasantly when the shower spray rains down on him like bullets upon the skin, and smiles as he caresses them. They won't be fading in a hurry. He decides that he quite enjoys being marked by Till, and with a light heart he finishes rinsing out his hair and steps out of the shower. Richard feels good in his skin, better than ever before - why, he's perfectly willing to just run into Till's room and present himself in his naked glory, in full confidence that he will be appreciated - but nevertheless, these things require time. He dries off his body very carefully, dabbing at the moisture, puts the towels in the laundry basket and only then slips his dressing-gown back on.

"All right," he murmurs to himself, then checks his reflection one more time. "looking good, Kruspe. Let's go and find Till."

-----

Till proves to be where Richard expected him to be: in his room, with the same playlist as the day before yesterday playing in the background. One would think that Rammstein songs would distract Till from his tasks at hand if anything, but clearly this is not the case. Richard readjusts the dressing-gown and clears his throat, and after a pause lightly runs his fingers though his slightly-damp hair, and only then knocks on the door. "Till? It's me. Can I come in?"

"Good morning, Risch," comes the hollered reply, and he takes this as the incentive to enter. When he opens the door the first thing he sees is Till's clock up on the wall, having just ticked half past one, and he has to grin.

"Afternoon, rather."

"Afternoon. Apologies. I've quite lost track of time."

Richard enters the room fully, and sees Till smiling briefly up at him from his seat by the desk before going back to work. He's also wearing his dressing-gown, but much like Richard, he's cleaned himself up and looks presentable - his dark hair is neatly brushed, and he too is clean-shaven. His dressing gown is a little loose, and it's fallen open slightly, exposing his bare chest and making the guitarist feel oddly warm inside. There's an empty cup of coffee by his side, a laptop with its monitor off set to the side (and playing music), and five sheets of paper with various scribblings on it are scattered around the desk. From the looks of it, he's going through his standard routine that he does whenever he's writing a poem, writing a few lines down in quick succession and pausing to read them quietly aloud. He sometimes taps his pen to the meter, and if he decides that he can think of something better, he'll cross out a line and rewrite it. A painstakingly slow process for someone to watch, but that's a misleading perception. One doesn't need to look further than the man's overall output over the two decades that he's been writing.

"Working on another song, Till?" Richard asks, sliding his arms around Till's shoulders and nuzzling lightly into the back of his neck. He knows that the older man quite likes being touched there, as evidenced when he turns to the guitarist with a smile and reaches over with his left hand to stroke his hair for a second or two. "that'll be our new single, I assume."

"<i>Ei-ne Sti-mme - ja,</i> you'd be right, Richard - <i>aus dem Licht</i>-" Till's tapping out the rhythm with the pen, almost absent-mindedly, and the younger man smiles fondly at the sight. "<i>fällt dem Hi-mmel </i>- please don't mind me - <i>vom Ge-sicht </i>- I think it's coming along well."

"Sounds like you should finish those lines before paying attention to me," Richard laughs, trailing a hand through the other's hair; Till shakes his head.

"I already did," he says, and gives him a lopsided grin, lightly tossing the pen on the notepad. "I think I've got it down. The meter’s shot to hell in the last line, but reading and singing isn’t quite the same thing as you'd know. Once Olli gets out the bassline for it, it should work out. Everything else is regular, look."

Richard looks at the written lines, murmuring them quietly to himself and nodding as he confirms what the singer's said. "<i>Trochäische Tetrameter.</i>"

"Very good," Till rewards him with a little kiss on the inside of his wrist. Richard chuckles fondly at the sensation, feeling almost as if he were young again. "I see the times I spent sitting with you and rambling on about literary concepts were worth it."

"Oh, they were worth it before. Because it was you."

"You flatter me," Till beckons to him, and when the guitarist bends down he kisses his cheek. "Straightening out the second verse and working out the chorus, maybe, and that's all I need. Definitely finished by today, I can guarantee that."

"That's fantastic," Richard says - and then in a burst of sudden love and happiness, he wraps both his arms around Till's shoulders and clings tight, nuzzling into the back of his neck. "You wonderful man, you... I'd treat you to a fantastic breakfast if you hadn't... You've <i>had</i> breakfast, right?"

Till shakes his head, much to the younger man's surprise. "As I said. Time runs away with me during those times. I'm quite hungry, now that you mention that, actually," he shrugs. "but I'll survive for the moment. Would you like a smoke, Richard? Celebrate with me now that the song's done?"

"I much prefer you to a cigarette," he says, smiles, and kisses Till. The gesture is reciprocated, but at the same time the singer knows that he can't very well smoke something for himself and leave Richard without one; Till picks two cigarettes out of his pack and lights them both, and they open the bedroom windows wide and lean out, mutually content. Just another reason why Richard might find it hard to quit at any point, not when he can have moments like this with his lover.

They remain quiet for a while. A car sounds its horn below, the trees rustle in the midsummer breeze, and a girl with two large dogs - one all black, one all white - walks along the pavement. A quiet afternoon.

"Till."

"<i>Ja?</i>"

He's hitting filter. Richard inhales for the last time and crushes out his spent cigarette on a nearby ashtray. "I was just wondering. About our songs."

"What about them?"

He gestures without looking towards the laptop on Till's desk, which at the moment is playing 'Zwitter'. "It's to do with language. We've never produced songs in English. We've covered a couple, <i>ja</i>, and there are some English <i>versions</i> of our songs - but they're not <i>original</i>. That only just hit me right now. You and I are different in that sense. We're both Germans, but you've stuck to German, while I've worked mostly in English... Emigrate and all."

Till crushes out his own cigarette and mulls over this, raising his eyebrow. "Us being different is a bad thing?"

"No, that's not what I mean," the guitarist corrects hastily. "I feel sometimes like - I should put more effort into actually working in German? I say a great deal in interviews, I guess, but what little you say and write probably matters <i>more</i>. It's quite jarring sometimes. And looking at the new lyrics, I can't help but wonder who else is going to grossly misinterpret this song this time around. All because someone up there decided that the German language should sound aggressive. I wish there was a universal language that we all understood and loved - but I don't think there is one, and out of the thousands we can choose from, most of us can only speak one or two. Kind of sobering."

"I beg to differ. There are always three things we all understand."

"<i>Was?</i>"

Till smiles, and Richard see something flicker in his eyes. "Maths, music and sex. As a means of communication. We've got the second one sorted, and I doubt I'd find a lot of people who'd agree that the first is a particularly cheery subject."

He's very close to Richard now. The younger man steps back, suddenly feeling very warm, unsure since when Till's hand has been resting on his backside.

"... Till..."

The other's breath is hot and sensual against his lips. "Would you like to hear a story?" he whispers, and without waiting for a reply he grasps the guitarist by the arm and eagerly starts leading him towards the bed.

"<i>Gott im Himmel!</i> It hasn't even been a <i>day,</i>" Richard moans as he's pushed on the bed; the singer only growls playfully in response, clearly feeling much too amorous to take that into account as he tugs at the belt holding his lover's dressing-gown in place and loosens it, pushing away the garment and revealing his body.

"<i>Du bist...</i>" the older man murmurs against his chest, licking softly around the contours of his muscles; he moves down and takes hold of the waistband of Richard's boxers in his teeth, tugging it down. "<i>Richard... du bist... so schön...</i>"

Helping the singer out of his dressing-gown as well, Richard pulls Till on top of him, shifting on the bed to better assume the position. But rather unfortunately (though not long afterwards, the two will look at the situation as quite humorous), Till's mental longing doesn't quite match up to physical prowess at the moment, much to the man's confusion and eventual frustration. It takes twenty minutes of somewhat awkward cuddling and manipulating his lax penis before they both finally come to the conclusion that it's just not going to happen right now.

<i>Oh dear. He must be so embarrassed.</i>

"It's all right," Richard coos in Till's ear, pulling him close nonetheless. The man turns away, keeping his expression indifferent, but he's quite clearly mortified; it's not exactly the most unusual occurrence for men, but Till is admittedly not the first person Richard himself would have thought it would have happened to. "it happens, Till. You think it's never happened to me before?"

"Perhaps, but I'd bet that it didn't happen during the <i>important</i> times," the older man mutters. The guitarist smiles; he's no stranger to Till's shy and vulnerable side, but embarrassment is something slightly different. He decides that he likes it for the sheer reason that he can comfort the singer when he's feeling this way.

"Mmm, it really is all right, Till," he says soothingly. "neither of us are young anymore. And you've been working for some hours now. I'd have been more surprised if you could get it up after all that work you've done, with not even breakfast to tide you over."

The older man's answer to this is a little 'hmph', accompanied with a brief tensing of his shoulders as he ponders on whether to shrug or not. "I suppose," he says after a hefty pause, however, rolling over to lie on his back and sounding thoughtful. "I work better when I'm hungry, up especially late at night, tired or mildly ill. I sort of enjoy that urgent feeling. But looks like I can't really function otherwise without a full stomach. What's a man to do?"

"It's nothing to be bothered about, honestly. Working under pressure is like a drug to you. Just like how sex is kind of like a well made dessert to me."

"Dessert?"

"Dessert," Richard nods, giving the top of Till's head a kiss. "not something I would throw a fit over not getting, especially if the main course is fantastic. Which I assure you, it is," he teases as he strokes the other's back, making him shift and mumble a little but nevertheless bringing a smile to his face. Moving down, he trails his lips softly along Till's stomach before kissing the tip of his member. "... I've always thought that it looks more attractive when flaccid. Just like that. Am I the only one who has that opinion?"

"Richard, you're trying way too hard," but the embarrassment is considerably diminished from Till's expression as he laughs. He rolls over and wraps his arm around Richard after tugging him up, giving him an appreciative kiss on the mouth and holding him tight. "I'll recover. And when I do, don't expect to get away this time."

"I don't plan on it."

With that, and a little grin, the guitarist tightens his arms around Till's waist and nuzzles him appreciatively. He's a happy man; he's managed to make a potentially embarrassing situation lighthearted for both of them, and he's made his lover laugh. Till kisses him lightly on the forehead and he smiles up at him before pulling away gently, requesting that he be let up, and the older man complies. "We really can't go without eating something," Richard says. "and you ought to finish the lyrics, too."

"True," Till says, still tangled between the sheets, but he looks thoughtful. "... did you ever get the chance to tell me about whether you want Olli to come around? Or that we go to his place?"

"No, but I think it's about time that they knew."

"Flake knows. He sent me a message yesterday," Till looks somewhat bashful, but at the same time, almost proud. "I didn't get it until this morning, but - well, I think he heard us when he was walking past or something..."

"I know. Looks like we both have the same message. And this is Flake after all - I don't think he'd have told anyone else yet. It's up to us now."

They smile at each other, at once shy and yet relieved at the thought. Richard strokes Till's back affectionately and in return, the singer gives him a look so filled with love that the younger man feels almost as if he could melt right there and then. "I'll go make us something nice. Something <i>grand,</i> even, seeing as we've skipped a meal - and if we'd left it for an hour or two longer it'd practically be dinner. I'll make something that you'd really like, Till."

"Feeding me aphrodisiacs, eh?"

Richard laughs and slides off the bed, picking up his dressing gown. "Maybe. I'll go start it now. Tell me when you're done, and I'll call Olli to make arrangements."

-----

One hour later, Richard's sitting in front of the oven and peering through the glass while talking on the phone. "Ja," he's saying - the lasagne is browning nicely, he's fairly sure of it, he did his best to prepare it as soon as possible - "I know this is all really sudden and normally Till or I would have contacted you guys to let you know that a song was in the works. But Gott, I only knew he even was thinking of a song two days back, and it wasn't anywhere close to being done then. He pretty much did all the work on it from this morning onwards, basically. You know what he can be like. Remember when he wrote 'Laichzeit' in three hours? Kind of like that."

The timer's reached five minutes and counting down. Richard sighs and lies back on the floor, pleased at the cool floor against his bare back - he's bothered to get out of his dressing gown to put boxers and trousers on, but it's too hot to bother with a shirt. An apron is bad enough (though necessary). "Well, yes, I don't think this one is quite as incomprehensible as 'Laichzeit', no. That one only ever seems to make sense to Till and nobody else. This one's more straightforward. Title? No. Not yet. We thought you might be able to help with that."

Olli laughs at the other end, and after a moment, Richard too laughs. "You can come. Marvelous. What date? Hang on, let me find a calendar-" he gets up and heads towards the fridge to peek at the side, where a calendar is indeed stuck to the surface. "today's a Saturday, and you're free until when? Tuesday? Well, I'll be out then, so that's not good, and Till might head out in the afternoon tomorrow to do the grocery shopping. Yes, I know, don't laugh, it's his turn to do it. We're flatmates, shush. We take turns because we're polite. Remember when you and I and Doom lived together? We did shopping by rotation then too. That's right, don't you forget those days now," he chuckles, then calms down as he peers at the calendar. "Monday sound good to you?"

"It does, Risch."

"<i>Fantastic</i>. What time?" Olli quickly excuses himself at the other end to check his schedule, and Richard glances at the oven. One minute left to go. "ten thirty is fine. Neither me nor Till are doing anything then. So I'll see you then, <i>ja.</i>"

The timer is ticking forty seconds to go when Olli asks the casual question: "So what's the song roughly about - religion, politics, tough love, heartwrenching ballad, or sex? It's about sex, isn't it?"

"Oh, from what I saw it's not-" but then the thought of <i>why</i> the bassist is suddenly insisting on such a thing strikes him, and Richard suddenly finds himself grasping at the edge of the counter, suddenly feeling flushed. <i>He knows. Oh my God, he knows.</i> "-it's, um, purely political from what I gathered of it. What - uh, what makes you say it's about sex?"

"Hmm?" Olli sounds completely non-assuming and baffled. "no particular reason. Just that, we do so many songs about sex. So goddamn <i>many</i>. And Till tends to finish those ones fairly rapidly. I figured that it being about sex was very likely, considering you said he finished it so fast and all... hey, are you all right?"

"Ah. That. Of - of course I am," thankfully, Richard is saved by the oven timer going off. "oh, <i>verdamnt</i>, that's the lasagne... I need to go, Olli. Me and Till haven't eaten for hours and we desperately need it. See you Monday, <i>ja? Bis bald!</i>"

"Lasagne?" Olli asks bemusedly from the other end as Richard hangs up and hurriedly switches off the timer and temperature. He opens the oven door slightly, enough that it will retain residual heat but just enough that it'll start cooling down; the lights in the oven also go off in response, but he's quite confident that the lasagne is well-done enough as it is that he figures that he doesn't need to check.

"<i>Gott,</i>" he mumbles to himself, taking a deep breath and then letting it out as a relieved sigh. "... that was a close one."

"Close to what?"

Richard turns around; Till's grinning at him from just outside his room, holding an armful of folded laundry and towels. He's changed into a dark shirt and trousers, which despite being fairly loose still compliments his form. "Here," he says, and tosses Richard a dishcloth from the top of the pile. "you may need it, Richard. Wonderful lasagne, I can see that. I'm looking forward to it," he then briefly adjusts the pile. "who were you talking to?"

"Olli. He says he'll be able to come around tomorrow. Half past ten,"

"Noted. But what else did he say, your face is still red."

"Nothing in particular," Richard responds, and chuckles, beginning to see the humour in it. "just had a moment where I thought Flake had spread the word to everyone, that was all. False alarm."

"Silly thing. I've put your clothes on your bed."

Richard responds in the affirmative; glad that that's over and done with, he opens the fridge and takes out a few vegetables. There's a can of pineapple in there and Richard's just taken it out for a look when Till returns to the kitchen - brandishing a full box of chocolates. "<i>Mein Gott,</i> Till! Where did that come from?"

"I bought it two days back. When I gave you my letter. I honestly had no idea what you'd say to it, but if things had gone exactly as I planned - as in, you consented and wanted to get on with it shortly afterwards - then I'd have brought those out after making love to you, whenever that would be. Feed you a couple. I ought to have done this last night," Till grins and kisses his bare shoulder, tugging down the apron strap. "but this is fine too. Better, in fact."

"You can still feed me one."

"And spoil your appetite for lunch?"

Richard laughs, and closes the fridge door. "I think my appetite for you trumps general food-related appetite. Go right ahead, meine Liebe."

And Till does. He sets the box down on the counter, safely away from the heat of the oven, and opens the packaging. When the guitarist glances over he sees with much delight that they're Kirschwasser milk chocolates. "Oh, Till. From Schladerer too. Fantastich," Till just smiles and plucks one out - it's small and perfect, with a sugar crust on top - and Richard lets him gently push the chocolate between his lips; he slides his tongue around the other's fingers when that's done, causing him to let out a low purring sound. "mmmh. You spoil me."

"I do. I'm far from being done with the spoiling, Richard. I think I do need to make that very clear," the singer says, and bends over to lick a little smudge of chocolate from the other's lip. "all clean. I'll go lay out the table now. We can resume with the chocolates later."

"Tease."

But true to his word, Till lays out the table and puts the chocolate box back in the fridge while the guitarist is serving up the lasagne, garnished with a light salad sprinkled with little bits of the pineapple as an improvisation. Soon enough they're sitting together, enjoying their meal (Till compliments him on the food, which always makes the younger man happy) and just talking together like the good friends that they are. Of course things aren't exactly the same as before - it's hard to really take into account that they made love less than twenty-four hours ago and that just a day ago they wouldn't be incorporating all those extra gestures and hints into their routine. Halfway through his lasagne Till pauses and pours them both some wine from a nearly-finished bottle, clinking their glasses together and looking deeply into Richard's eyes as he drinks and licks his upper lip. Not one to lose, Richard presses his leg against Till's coyly, giving him a silent but suggestive look. Those moments of lust were permeating their everyday actions before, but not in these quantities.

Not that Richard is complaining. He can foresee that it'll be a while before they both settle down.

"We've still got some <i>Kirschtorte</i> left, haven't we?" Till asks when they finally set their cutlery aside and push the empty plates away. The guitarist nods. "just what I needed. We need to finish that off. Would you like some of it, or would you rather we had some chocolates instead? I mean, it's still not that old."

The younger man ponders on this; he would quite like some of the chocolates, yes, seeing as Till bought it for him. But then Till baked the cake for him as well, if he really thinks about it; probably best that he keep to that order of things. Neither food items are going anywhere. "<i>Kirschtorte, bitte.</i>"

"If you're sure."

Soon the dishes are left soaking in the sink, the leftover lasagne covered up and placed in the fridge, and the two men settle down on the sofa with their respective plates of cake. Till and Richard usually find that desserts are the quietest times of their already low-key days together, for the simple reason that they both have a notorious sweet tooth that they have to fulfill. Today, despite the significant changes that have taken place within their relationship, is not much different. Richard curls up with his feet on the armrest of the sofa while leaning on Till, and the singer skims through the morning newspaper that he never quite got the chance to read. Nothing particularly newsworthy; their previous day's photoshoot hasn't been publicized yet. Opening of a new bakery downtown, a body piercing studio winning an award, a lavish marriage taking up two double-page spreads with advertisements for wedding rings in the corner. Till smiles briefly down at that before closing the paper, folding it up and tossing it on the armchair.

"<i>Gut?</i>" Richard nods, chewing. Till also picks up his fork and slices off a large chunk of the cake.

"You know your cakes are always good," the younger man says when he's finished swallowing; he licks the icing off the fork, looking almost wistful for more. "why do you ask every time?"

"Because from the very moment I manage to make a bad cake, your generalization is automatically untrue. I'd quite like to know when it happens so I can offer you my most sincere apologies and cover you in kisses."

"Hahaha," the guitarist laughs, his head lolling slightly to rest on the crook of Till's neck. "with that kind of offer, you can make as many bad cakes as you want. And why stop at just kisses? Icing, whipped cream and cherries would do just as well!"

Till pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, and glances at the younger man with an odd look for several seconds; if Richard didn't know better at this point, he might have felt uncomfortable, but soon enough the singer grins. "That's certainly a reason to mess up," he purrs, his voice low and sultry as he eyes up his lover. "remind me of that sometime, hmm, <i>meine Liebe?</i>"

"Of course," he shivers a little in excitement, watching that smoldering gaze. "anything for you."

They stay quiet until they both finish their cakes after that. But the mood has changed again, from a simple homeliness to a playful tension. Richard sets down his plate on top of Till's when he's finished and changes positions, curling up closer to the older man's body and resting his cheek against his shoulder. "... So. What now for the rest of the day?"

"Well, I was thinking you needed guitar practice," comes the casual reply. Richard blinks; that's not quite the answer that he was expecting, though it is true that he usually has an hour of practice around this time of the day. "and I'd quite like another shower to freshen me up. You don't mind it if I had one now? The faster I can do that, the faster I can get back to you."

"... Well, of course. But so soon after you've eaten?"

"I ate just enough, I'm not feeling too bad. Besides, it's quite hot in here."

This is true. Richard just isn't as affected by heat compared to Till. With the affirmation that he can do so, the older man gives Richard a chocolate-and-cherry flavored kiss and heads towards the bathroom, picking out his towels and closing the door behind him. Richard, however, stays put where he is. He could do anything while waiting for the older man - he could wash up, he could start practicing and Till will probably join him in the practice room halfway, but right now he feels as if something's been cut short and that's not a very comfortable feeling.

<i>Though...</i>

Richard gets up and walks towards the bathroom. Standing outside, he can just about hear the faint thump of Till's clothes hitting the floor, along with the rustle of them being folded up, and grins softly as an idea comes to mind.

 

-----

Till's started the shower. Richard listens outside and smiles to himself before putting his idea into action; he unbuttons his trousers and steps out of them, folding them up neatly as an afterthought and placing them by the door. Next and the only thing left to go are the boxers, which he too slides down his legs, aware of his already-straining erection at the thought of what he's going to do. On one hand he has absolutely no idea what is going to happen and is nervous - maybe Till won't think being intruded upon in the shower is particularly sexy and he'll ask him to leave. The man's firmly against being intruded upon, full stop.

But on the other hand, it's another opportunity for them to be naked in each other's company, and Till would hardly be able to blame Richard for being horny. He's certain that he can coax Till to see his view of things - with that conviction he quietly tries the door, finding it unlocked as he expected, and opens it a little, peering inside.

<i>There he is...</i>

Till's with his back to him, the shower stall steamed up enough to conceal them from each other. Richard quietly shuts the door behind him, and silently tiptoes over to the shower stall, making sure Till isn't holding anything that he might drop out of shock before mustering up his courage, sliding the stall door open, and stepping in.

"Hello," he whispers, seeing Till tense up as the sudden rush of cool air hits his back. "hello, you."

The older man whirls around; but before he can do so fully, Richard's arms are around his waist. "It's just me," he purrs softly against Till's back, pressing a kiss on it and making sure that the man can feel his erection pressing against him. "I thought I might join you."

"Oh," Till can only say, still rather surprised, but he nevertheless relaxes and smiles a little perplexedly when Richard nuzzles into the back of his shoulder, kissing it softly. "heh... what brought this on?"

"Hmm," comes the muffled, yet playful, reply. "I decided that I don't particularly enjoy being parted from you, after over ten years of experiencing it. I hope you don't mind."

"... No, of course I don't."

Richard grins up at him, and Till turns his head to the side to return it, if somewhat shyly. "Let me," he whispers, and takes the bottle of shower gel from the side, pouring some onto the washcloth and holding the singer still as he rubs the washcloth over his body. Washing someone else is a completely different affair, and also somewhat awkward because this is Till and he's taller than him - but when the man shivers and lets out a little moan at the silky sensation, Richard is spurred to continue on. Much to Till's surprise (and mild embarrassment), the guitarist's right hand (the one not holding the washcloth) wander downwards, lightly stroking and smearing foam on the area between his legs; Richard smiles at confirming his suspicions. "I was wondering whether it was working now. Looks like it."

It's a shame that he can't look at Till's face properly, but he can see enough to notice that the man's blushing furiously. The older man stands still, and he looks like he's not entirely sure what to do about this situation - all the better, Richard quite likes having the upper hand. He gently reaches up from behind the man and picks up the detachable showerhead, directing the stream of water towards the other's body and washing away the foam. Till lets out a soft 'Mmm' when he feels Richard's hand roaming his skin, cleaning him; in the steam, with rivulets of water running down his body, his body is more well-defined than ever.

He's gorgeous. Without quite thinking about it the guitarist leans forwards and trails a lick down the back of his shoulder, hearing the other's breath catch; his hands are already on Till's chest, contouring lovingly to the swell of his muscles. Till's scent is so heavy by this point - sweet and male and musky - that it's driving Richard absolutely mad.

"So," Richard purrs, getting on tiptoes so he can nip and lick at the other's earlobe. "can I have my story now?"

With some coercion, Till backs up against the wall, moaning quietly as his head rests on wet tile. His eyes are shut, and he's so lost in pleasure that he doesn't notice that Richard's moved down; when he opens his eyes again, he finds the younger man embracing him, licking at one of his nipples in an almost catlike way. Till shudders and lets out a trembling sigh as Richard nips at the hardened nub, pressing with the tip of his tongue before closing his mouth around it and sucking ever so gently. The younger man grins as he realizes that his lover's more sensitive than he lets on, and he pulls back, very much pleased.

"I want to do something for you," he says softly; reaching down, he grasps Till's length in one hand, hearing the sharp intake of breath and a barely-suppressed moan coming from him. His curiosity sufficiently perked up at this positive reaction, he kneels down on the shower floor, making his intentions clear. (His height is just adequate enough to make this work.) Till, blinking out the shower spray from his eyes, stares at him for a moment before understanding dawns on his face.

"Richard," he says quietly. "you... don't have to..."

"Don't give me that. I want to. And I know that you'd like it if I did," the guitarist answers, and smiles as he fondles the length. "what did I tell you. It's beautiful. I'd quite like to see how it tastes."

At these blunt words Till blushes so deeply and so suddenly that Richard finds himself rather surprised for a moment or two. The singer's hardly emotionless, but at the same time he is far more in control of his emotions than the younger man. "I haven't actually done this before," he admits, even though he figures that Till knows already. "but well... I've had it done to me, I know what it feels like, and... heh, I'm still a man, right? I know what men like. I'm going to try my best. But... but if I hurt you at any point, please stop me, okay?"

It's not one-hundred-percent visible through the steam, but eventually the older man gives a shy nod. Richard takes that as the cue to start kissing the length all over, starting from the tip and down to the base, loving its silky-smooth heat; he gives the tip an experimental lick with the very end of his tongue, forcing out a soft whimper from Till, before taking as much as he can in his mouth. It's harder than it seems; he immediately becomes slightly frustrated when he can only manage about half with ease, but then this is the first time. He'll learn, although he would certainly prefer it if Till could have the maximum pleasure right now. Eager, he slowly and gently slides his tongue around Till's member and swirls it around the tip once, before pressing down with an experimental bob of his head and then pulling back. Till moans from above him, and Richard's eyes slide shut in pleasure as he rests one hand on Till's hip and the other at the base of his member, making up for what he can't yet take in.

<i>... Oh, wait...</i>

What's he going to do when Till comes? Would he swallow? Could he? He hasn't thought that far ahead; suddenly feeling a little weird, he steals a glance at Till's face (harder to do than expected, because he has to crane his head) to see that the other's expression is one of barely-restrained ecstasy. Then he figures that Till might like it if he could swallow - well, he could try, at least, there's no harm in that-

"Ahh... ah, <i>Richard</i>..." Till's panting, his hands trembling as he rakes his fingers through the other's hair. Knowing that he's holding back as much as he can to avoid shoving his head downwards, Richard gives him a grateful look and resumes what he was doing. When he sweeps the tip with his tongue again he tastes the other's precum for the first time, slightly salty-sweet, and he pulls away to lap at it eagerly; to make up for the lack of his mouth he grasps the erection in one hand and pumps it in long, even strokes, making sure that Till's getting as much pleasure as possible while at the same time not being able to come. The older man lets out a little whimper at this and gives him a pleading look, but Richard isn't letting up just yet.

He quite enjoys being dominating, actually. Maybe it'll be a while before he'll be able to get away with it on a regular basis, considering Till is much larger and stronger than he is, but - why not, indeed.

"<i>Du,</i>" he whispers, pausing for a moment and only half-certain that his words are audible through the shower. He then glances up, eyes locking with Till's own as he slowly and <i>very deliberately</i> slides his tongue against the slit of his member. "<i>du machst mich an.</i>"

Unbeknownst to Richard, that's when Till can't take it any more. He lets out a sudden growl, startling Richard into pulling away and blinking up at him; "Oh, I <i>see</i>," he says, and his voice is so filled with lust and danger that the guitarist can't help but shiver in half-fear and anticipation, wondering what he might have done wrong. Till bends down and roughly tugs him up, turning off the shower and opening the door hard enough to make the walls of the stall rattle precariously. Before Richard can get a word in or even let out a sound, the singer grabs him and pulls him out of the bathroom without a word; just like that, Richard is dragged to Till's bedroom and all but thrown on top of the bed, letting out a whimper of surprise. Somehow that whimper only heightens the primal urge within the older man, and he roughly climbs on top of the guitarist to push him down against the sheets, giving no more than half a second to react before he pins his arms down and runs his tongue down Richard's chest.

"Till," he cries out loud as Till kisses the tips of his nipples, teasing them softly, before countering the gentle action with a surprisingly hard pinch and provoking another (louder) cry from him. "nngh, Till, you animal - that's-"

Till stops, the brief madness fading from his eyes. "... Am I hurting you?"

"No, I just... that came out of nowhere, that's all-"

"Well, you were kneeling on the floor and telling me that I was turning you on," the man growls; he adjusts his position to stay more comfortable, pressing his rock-hard erection into Richard's thigh. "what in the world <i>else</i> were you expecting me to do?"

"Ohh," Richard moans, throwing back his head as Till kisses and nips along his throat, agitating the bruises from the night before. "Till, I - I know you're eager and all, but... but am I permitted to make myself more attractive to you before we start?"

"Pah. Like you can go any further than now?" but Till nevertheless moves off him reluctantly, fixing a half-predatory and half-loving gaze upon him. "be quick about it, Richard. Enough with the waiting!"

Of course, Richard being Richard, and being perhaps a little more exhibitionistically vain than he would acknowledge - Till's last comment goes ignored. Richard slowly gets up and walks out of the room, keeping his movements as neutral as possible; he could saunter or add a more sensual edge to his movements, but he's sensed that willful ignorance frustrates his lover more than active seduction. He goes into his room and grabs his bottle of vanilla cologne before walking straight back out, quite enjoying the way that Till's staring at his naked body. Slowly, calmly, the guitarist sits himself back down on the bed and sprays cologne lightly over his throat, chest and wrists, patting it into his warm, damp skin and filling the room with a wonderfully sensual aroma. He never looks away from Till's gaze throughout this, his expression also neutral and perfectly controlled. The older man's breathing is very rough by this time, almost a series of low, barely-restrained growls from deep within his chest.

"Savor me," Richard whispers, and lies on his back on the bed. Till is upon him within seconds.