Give Me Your Language, Give Me Your Flair (Part 2) - A Rammstein/Oomph! Crossover
Please read the first part before reading this one.
Warnings: Possibly confusing narrative (alternating chronology), vastly Dero POV, slash, bondage/BDSM dynamics, Till/Dero/Richard with large elements of sub!Till/dom!Richard, voyeurism, pseudophilosophy, psychology, lots of strange vocabulary usage, unsavoury cocktails, simulated sodomy charges, apology Kahlua, possible spoilers for cop!Dero in his side group 'What About Bill?'. AU. It's got Dero in it, so of course you can bet that there's a lot of hedonism as is the case with lots of my Dero stories.
Quite explicit. Written for the deviant-previously-known-as-Wald90 for her birthday. :3
N - Neophyte
It is the summer of 2002. "I never told you how Till and I met, did I?"
"I don't believe that you have."
"Well, see," Richard says, and leans back with his cigarette after tossing the paper to the floor. Dero's currently sitting on Richard's bed, wondering for the umpteenth time whether he ought to tell the guitarist of his trysts with Till. As much as he adores being with Till, and as much as he adores the thoughtlessness of sex, Dero has morals. He'd be a horrible police officer if he didn't have those. "this was several years before the Wall fell and before I lived in West Berlin. Long story short, one night me and a group of friends crashed a house party that an acquaintance of mine said was free for all to attend, in Schwerin."
"You had those in Schwerin?"
"We were behind the times, not an undeveloped hellhole, mein Gott. He was talking bullshit, of course, but the house owner didn't throw us out. That was Till, we grew to know him over the weeks to come. I had the feeling we liked him more than he liked any of us, really. But he was honestly very handsome. Melancholy face, nicely-shaped lips, cheekbones showing back then, and muscled like a pro-wrestler. I remember thinking that his eyes were blue, for some reason. Later on he got into the party spirit too - we danced together for a little bit and then got talking. Nice body. Nice personality. Large cock too, I brushed up against him and felt it against me, it turned me on something awful. Would absolutely not fuck me or let me fuck him. I wasn't one to press, so I just had to lie down on the floor and go to sleep all disappointed."
Richard shifts on the bed and crushes out the cigarette. It keeps smoldering quietly in the ashtray while Dero watches. "But that didn't last long," Richard continues, and casts off his shirt. "ugh, it's hot as hell in here. But anyway, when I woke up in the morning he was there with me, dressed in boxers and a loose shirt like I was. He asked if I wanted anything and I had to say no, I was so hungover. So we were talking and he was sort of tugging himself down there-" and then much to Dero's shock, the guitarist also slides out of his trousers and actually begins to demonstrate what he's saying. "-like that. I wasn't exactly sociable, just watched and nodded, going yes and no now and then."
"Exactly like that, Dero. You're getting it. Then he gave me the surprise of my life - see, it's hard to explain, but he'd been sitting beside me before but he moved forwards, straddling my leg-" the older man follows through, and makes himself comfortable, his thighs gripping Dero's legs tight. "- and then he moved like this, to tug down my boxers-"
"... Richard, I..."
"Let me tell the story, will you. I'm trying to tell you that he didn't do it right away. He stopped, and he had the oddest look on his face, he looked around..." then the older man's expression falters to such an innocently shy one that Dero blinks, his arousal temporarily forgotten. Innocent and Richard do not belong in the same sentence. "don't speak," Richard whispers, a pink blush coloring his cheeks, his voice suddenly as deep and quiet as Till's. "shh. It's embarrassing."
Pause. "That's what he said."
Dero can't think straight any more. He just stares up into Richard's face, which suddenly seems to be channeling Till's expressions: shy, almost-haughty, embarrassed, terribly conflicted. From the way he's acting ("Till then got my cock out and then gave me head," he's saying, with faithful demonstrations) Richard shares none of that confusion, but he's good enough to fool Dero into thinking that somehow their personas have changed. "Things finally came to the point where he was - mmmmh - impaling himself on my cock - ja, ahhhh, just like that-"
It's kind of painful, being inside Richard, is the first thing the younger man thinks. He's so tight and there hasn't been a great deal of lube anywhere, so of course it's painful. But his own discomfort is trumped purely because the guitarist - who is simply recreating what he himself went through, so many years ago - is perfectly relaxed about it. "So," he whispers after he's properly atop Dero. "liked the taste of Till, huh?"
"... How... how long have you known?"
"Oh, he told me. Quite a few months back, actually," the guitarist doesn't look at all offended by any of this, and simply leans down to brush a kiss against his forehead. "I kept watch for the past months because I didn't know what would happen next - but now that we've come this far, it makes the most sense that I join in too, hmm?"
Dero doesn't know what to say. But Richard pushes up slightly and then back down with the softest of sighs, his expression contorting into one of mingled lust and pain, and the younger man automatically finds himself responding by grasping his hips and carrying on with the established rhythm. There is nothing to say - Richard knows about he and Till, soon Till will know about he and Richard, and he's caught in the middle, a newcomer to a game that he didn't know existed between either of them.
"Welcome to our world."
O - Ovation
"So that's the part about Till and Richard, and how they began helping me, complete. I could just say that that was the beginning of this troupe, and that ten years on you're seeing the fruit of that labor, and that would be a very concise summary of everything that came afterwards. Is that good enough?"
"No," the patrons call in unison. "that's not half as much detail as what you've gone through for the past half hour!"
"Mein Gott! You hear that?" one of the female officers finally speak up at least; throwing an affectionate gaze towards the crowd, she grins and blows them a kiss. "we've been doing this for several years and we've never seen a crowd so excited to hear our origin story. That's a first. You really want to hear more?"
"Well, I figure my fellow officers might be feeling rather left out in the whole thing," Dero speaks up again. "how about another song as an intermission?"
This is agreed upon just as quickly. One of the female officers quickly leaves the stage and comes with a saxophone, starting the song without any further pauses. This is even more of lively tune than the one before, which the troupe (quite correctly) assumes will perk up the mood significantly. They know not to carry on with plain talking for too long. They are, after all, a band.
"It's too late to change events; it's time to face the consequence..."
A glance at Till reveals that his eyes are closed as he lets the music wash over him. Richard is still staring at him intensely; their gazes meet, and the guitarist sends a slow, deliberate wink to him, making clear that he's understood what Dero's getting at with this song in particular. You made me, the officer thinks with a smile. Irrevocably, and wonderfully, and here I am now.
"For delivering the proof - In the policy of truth!"
P - Pride
This isn't really a single event. More like a drifting timeline. We'll just call it 'the time between 'Mutter' and 'Reise, Reise' being produced'. Dero celebrates ten years of being in the police force, sustains a minor injury and a scar while stopping a small-bank robbery, and he carries on seeing Till or Richard together as friends and individually as sexual partners and muses. So far the three of them have not been involved sexually at the same time.
"You need a nickname for me," Richard announces at one point while they're in bed, having just finished a tryst. "Till has never been the one for those himself - but I am, rather so. You probably noticed that he's the only one who calls me 'Richard' in the band. Just like that. 'Rick-hart'," the guitarist demonstrates, sounding the 'ch' as a cross between a growl and a purr and rolling the second 'r' luxuriously at the tip of his tongue. Exactly like how Till does it, right down to the tone and voice. "nowadays his speech pretty much consolidates the East Berlin tang in it, but back then - when he used harder 'ch's and all - we used to tease that he was really a Wessie born in the wrong place. Got him all worked up, that always did. But enough of that. I'd quite like a nickname from you. No using Till's either."
The younger man looks bemused by the whole thing, but plays along, and considers it. "How about 'Rikh'. Sounds sufficiently American for your tastes."
"Simple. Different from the norm. Let's go with that."
He seems very proud of that, somehow. But Richard is a very proud person in general, no doubt. He takes utmost care in choosing his clothes and often lets that tendency spill over to Till's and Dero's clothes as well; he always uses exactly three sprays of his favourite vanilla cologne before venturing outside, whether for a tour performance or to go down to the shops to buy some milk; he washes before and after every sexual encounter, cleaning his body thoroughly, showing himself off whenever Dero decides to join in now and then. (He's reassured that Richard does the same with Till.) He is a man of almost-exaggerated elegance, a true metrosexual, a man who has to feel loved on the outside to love himself within. The cherry on the top of the cake would be if Richard insisted on having sex with Rammstein songs in the background, moving his body to the guitar riffs, making love to his own rhythm. Has he ever done that?
"Of course not, Herr Goi," Richard laughs, using the other's ranked name for the first time in a while, as he buttons up his longcoat. "that'd be hubris."
Q - Qualia
"Everyone has their unique interpretation of what a headache feels like. They all have their unique perceptions of colour, taste wines differently, go about life preferring and opinionating the different things. We can't look into people's minds yet - and hopefully won't do so, ever - but not one person goes about life with the same perspective in life and the exact same preferences for everything as another."
Till nods quietly from the far right corner, and raises his drink to Dero. Richard shoots him an unreadable look. Spurred on by this, the officer continues on with his speech before smiling and segueing back into song as the bridge section ends. "That's what we call a qualia. A measure of realness. Different for everyone."
A few things, though, we arguably perceive in the same way and adore. It is the musician's job to be able to unite those stark differences and tie them together into one sensual experience. That realness, that quality of being alive, is the essence of humanity. Dero was taught this by his two lovers, and that is why he is who he is.
R - Ravenous
It is late 2005. Rammstein is on hiatus for a while. All the better for Dero, he now can see his two lovers whenever he so wishes; he's looking forward to this meeting in particular. Today he will be confronted with both TIll and Richard, and today he's going to give himself up to both of them at the same time. Not something a burly, rugged police officer does every day. He wishes his superiors could see him now, eager and burning for the taste of men, soon being coaxed out of his clothes by two men from a band considered too controversial to exist in Germany. Life doesn't make as much sense as it ought to.
Pleasure is expenditure. The process is a lot easier than what Dero expected; no awkward questions or grins, they just jump right to it. The three of them tussle on the floor, which is covered in soft, thick carpets; the fireplace is lit and crackling. They exchange wordless kisses that chew at the lip and lick at teeth, drawing sighs and groans that draw a sweetness from deep within the soul. An economy of pleasure, a ménage a trois. The combined sensation of Till's fuzzy chest against his cheek and Richard's erection pressing somewhere down his left leg will remain a sensation hovering just beneath Dero's skin for as long as he is on earth, requiring very little thought or gesture to be brought to the surface again. Dero takes out two white pills and offers one to Till and Richard; the former licks it off his palm, while the other insists on being fed it with grace. Then they come together in kisses - and that's all that really needs saying. They don't even question where he got them from, which is fortunate.
Richard tells him that he'd like to lick Till's cock while watching Till fucking him, in so many words. Dero quirks an eyebrow, not sure how the hell they're going to go about this; "We'll grant you whatever you might want," Till says, though, which placates him somewhat. Maybe his morals are way too flexible for that of the police after all, but there you are. Richard is watching him, gleeful as a child on Christmas morning as Dero stays on his hands and knees, impaled so deeply by the singer that it feels as if he's being penetrated through the entire length of his spine. The last of their tension dissolves and Dero loses himself in shameless lust, even moreso when Till briefly pulls out, tears open a curtain and bends him over the windowsill to fuck him as hard as he can; if it weren't night, they'd be completely visible. He can feel Till and Richard breathing in unison behind him, the sensation of the latter's face against his backside as he licks Till, being so completely excited that he comes all over Dero's torso with a unusually-loud cry before either he or the singer has finished. Till looks oddly proud by the whole thing, too. He and Richard have spent so long with each other that they've transferred parts of themselves to the other, being able to switch between them whenever they so desire. And Dero, later soaking in the hot tub with the two men carefully washing him from outside, makes the decision that he wants that too.
"I want to write again," he murmurs, despite misgivings that perhaps this is too difficult of a wish to grant. "I want to sing again. I want to be what you are."
"All right," they whisper back, and seal their promise with a kiss.
S - Sade
"- So yes, one day we all became somewhat inebriated, and they made me a promise. Because that's what you do when you're inebriated, make promises that you may or may not keep and may not even remember when you're better. Except that this time, they honestly kept it. I admitted it to them downright - and for a week or so I'd thought they'd forgotten-" Richard looks vaguely haughty at this point; he's not fond of being told they're capable of forgetting their friends. "- but a week after that night they called me and presented with me a list of things I had to do. I'd gotten the writing part down with Till some time before, but you can't hope to start up a band with just that, das stimmt? You need to be able to sing. You need to be able to perform. You need flair."
Pause. "I'm a vocalist, so Till also helped me out with the singing - but when it comes to actually being on the stage, I'm going to say that Richard was incredibly helpful. Round up all the officers who could play an instrument and would be interested in my vision, he said, and when I did - the officers in question being with me on the stage now, my eternal gratitude to them-" he gestures towards them with a sincere smile, and his bandmates smile back. "- he taught us the basics of performing onstage. How not to be nervous, how to just enjoy the stage."
Till is getting up for a drink; he makes it to the bar mostly unnoticed, and orders what seems to be a pint of normal beer. Richard, having noticed this, has turned around to stare at him; when the singer looks back their gazes meet, and the younger man briefly frowns as if to say - it's my turn to be praised, what are you doing not listening to him?
"Richard's a wonderful man," Dero says, allowing a hint of glee to creep into his voice. "incredible stage presence. If you've ever wondered why so many girls flock to him despite Till being the one who moves around and is the most visible and audible person onstage, well, there's the reason for you. Handsome, charismatic, self-assured. Wonderful guitarist, he taught ours. He's got a true talent for enhancing other people's talents. If I was even half like Richard, I'd be pretty damn pleased with myself."
Damned straight, Richard seems to be saying - almost - and he leans back with the slightest hint of smugness about his features. "Though at the same time," Dero continues, never truly siding with just one of the pair. "I can't help but wonder if he can be somewhat egoistical even now."
Till chuckles slightly from the corner. Richard shoots him a look. Till falls silent and heads back to the bar to buy another shot of Kahlua, which he sets down on the other's table discreetly as a meek apology as he walks by; Richard doesn't look at it, but his hand briefly darts out and gropes the older man's backside firmly. Good thing that they're at the back and they are out of sight. But as for Dero - well, he's merely amused at how Richard and Till share this strange balance of sadomasochism. Satisfying to watch, perhaps even more satisfying to be in.
T - Triumvirate
It is 2007. Or maybe it was before. Give or take a year, almost. The memories, they all blend into one; it makes more sense for Dero to just enjoy the recollections as they come.
They are the three rulers of whatever place they go to - whether it be Till's, Richard's or Dero's - locking up all the doors and windows, doing whatever they please. Occasionally there are attempts to overrule one or the other, an effort easily quashed and playfully punished by the other two. "Now, Dero," one of them occasionally says. "how on earth are we going to help your fellow officers, when you're misbehaving like this?"
"How on earth do you expect me to treat you with what we've got lined up, if you won't?" is the usual reply. It keeps all three of them quiet.
It is raining outside. It has been raining all day. Dero can feel it upon his skin; when he raises his head from where he's at, which is difficult because at present his arms are tied to the bedposts, he can see the shadow of the water-speckled windows streaking across Till and Richard's bodies, and imagines that he too looks vastly the same. "I quite like the people you've chosen," Till speaks up as he reaches over his coffee. He enjoys drinking coffee naked in bed, for some reason. His fingers lazily dance over Dero's thighs. "they all had some degree of musical training. Makes things a lot more easier."
"Your pianist doesn't complain about reunified-German beer or flushing urinals, either," Richard speaks up, and the three all chuckle, thinking fondly of Flake Lorenz. "and what's going to be your chosen genre? Jazz, you mentioned?"
"Jazz. I know you're more inclined towards metal. Hell, when I was younger I was too, and I still appreciate metal to the utmost extreme - but somehow jazz just feels right, you know? We have a double bass, a piano, some drums. No guitars," he says, sneaking a guilty look at Richard. "but we could all do with a little bit of your elegance, Rikh. We are, in the end, part of the police. Not exactly known for being merry."
"We won't let you down. Me and Till - we'd quite like to meet up with them sometime to discuss what you'll be doing," Richard smiles, and reaches for the candle, its edges already deformed from the half-hour they spent dripping wax onto Dero's thighs and chest. "and that's the end of our break. If you'd give me a light, Till, bitte."
U - Ulterior
"So wait. You've spoken so far of all the writing you've done."
"And you sing your own songs, too."
"So why was it that we only heard covers this time around?"
Dero laughs. "Simple. You caught us on a cover night. Every month or so we have a night consisting entirely of covers - why, we were at a bar before this one, just after five, and we did much of the same. Minus the talking. We didn't imagine that people would be so interested in how we all came about, that was all. Most of the time it's original material and most of the time people say it's good - but I'm past forty now, I'm beginning to realize the implications of higher influence in my life and writing. This band wouldn't have happened if Rammstein hadn't helped us, and if we were not clear with a direction to go in the first place. I would never have continued writing without Till's guidance - and even further on, that of all the wonderful authors I've ever read. That's what we're trying to honor, really. Sometimes you can catch us playing a Rammstein song, out of gratitude for what they did for us. Other times, we think of all the wonderful songs from our past and present, and cover them in our own way."
"Honor the masters. That's what we do. That's how we all came to be."
V - Vocalization
It is 2008.
One day before the group is set to debut, and Dero is sitting on a chair by the bed, lazily watching Till and Richard make love. He's finally found his place in this little relationship, a position that is uniquely his own - a voyeur. Till is usually the one on top no matter who he's with, but Richard initiates most often and he takes much pride in being treated well. Dero, meanwhile, prefers to take a step back and simply watch, taking it all in. He suspects that this is a perspective that neither of the other two can get, and feels excited about that.
He's observed some very interesting things about the two of them during these times. For one, they follow a rather strange pattern of vocalizations. When it comes to the foreplay, Till is usually taking lead and the most vocal of the two, letting out pleasing groans into kisses and licks, cooing encouragements into Richard's ear. The guitarist by comparison is quieter, only ever speaking up whenever Till forces him to do so or he's being impatient and begging for more. "But you can't just leave me like that... that's not fair, honest to God, Till..."
"Too bad," the older man would growl, and bring his hand down in a solid slap on his buttocks, making the younger man cry out. "why would I hasten this kind of thing?"
But when it comes to the actual act, Till tends to become silent for the most part while Richard becomes twice as lively. Like he's doing now. "Harder," he pants, his words muffled against Till's neck. A few more unintelligible requests follow, and the older man simply slows down so that he might actually pay attention to what Richard is saying; this is clearly not in the guitarist's interests, however, and he lets out a pitiful whine and thumps him lightly on the back. "no, no, why'd you stop - don't stop, yeah, just like that - you can move now, Till, please."
Dero lazily reaches down (he is, of course, naked as well) and fondles himself, eyes sliding halfway shut as he listens to the guitarist begging. Although he's most definitely understood Richard, Till deliberately keeps his movements slow, attempting to make up for it with a deep, longing kiss. Judging by the other's frustrated almost-sob of 'Till, please, please just move' it probably isn't working. Ah well.
The balance swings right back to Till again at the height of orgasm. Even though he has heard it many times before, Dero is never quite prepared for the moments when Till's entire body tenses, all the muscles in his body standing out as if carved in marble - and when that sound, that loud-and-not-entirely-sensual scream tears from his throat. It makes up for every moment of silence he retained during the lovemaking. Richard on the other hand lapses again; as he comes all over his toned abdomen, his thighs being gripped by Till and bruised by his strong fingers, he is locked in utter speechlessness as he gasps and moans softly, his longest moan almost a death rattle of pleasure.
Dero, too, wants to give up these sounds from a body rendered incapable of language. He wants to tear himself open, deep inside, and release that monstrous something that lies beyond the field of language, where there is no such thing as reason or rules. Sounds, the most primitive form of communication, next to gestures and expressions. As the two men slowly descend from their high and their words degrade into hot, panted syllables and grunts, Dero briefly wonders if music is another byproduct of sound (alongside the more-recognized 'language') that so often goes ignored by people. In the sense, music is a simpler, far more honest form. Universal, too. Not everyone knows how to define a 'weltschmerz' or 'saudade', but everyone instinctively knows how to recognize the seven major notes and how they form themselves into continuous pieces of music. He is so overjoyed with this revelation that he even forgets to finish himself off, and neither does he immediately notice the two are impatiently waiting for him to come and join them in bed.
W - Wanderlust
"Well, that's the end of the story, and that's how we all ended up standing on this stage, singing and telling you this story. It's nine o'clock now, though - so really, we must leave you here. We're supposed to be on active duty throughout the night."
A disappointed 'aww' and a few complaints ripple through the crowd. Dero silences them all by raising his hand. "No worries. We're always going to be around, performing in various places - Berlin's a huge place, and we all have synchronized breaks when we can travel to other places, as well. We'll most definitely be seeing some of you again," Dero nods at them - both an affirmation of what he just said, and a hidden signal that Richard ought to leave the bar. The guitarist silently gathers up his coat and presses his hat down over his forehead before he pushes open the door and leaves, out of sight. Till doesn't give any indication that he saw the other departing. "it's been a real pleasure to be with all of you tonight."
They bow, and the patrons applaud approvingly. As Dero begins to raise his head he nods slightly once more, and Till stands up and heads towards the door, making sure to tip the bartender generously before leaving as well. "And Herr Ehrlichmann," the officer says quietly as he gets down from the stage, which sends the bar into its usual bout of chatter - the performance is over, and the performers are allowed to leave now. "I hope it's been a good evening, and that things will continue to go well for you."
"Absolutely," the man says, and shakes Dero's hand firmly. He's no longer the depressed and downhearted man that he was just two hours ago. "thank you ever so much, Herr. Is there - is there any way I could look you up? Be able to see you again?"
"I don't know whether we will meet again, but I do sincerely hope that we do," Dero says, and neatly plucks out a business card from his breast pocket, handing it to the man with a flourish. "guten Abend."
He raises his cap again, and follows after the five officers who have left the bar. The door jangles behind them and patrons call out their goodbyes; Herr Ehrlichmann, now left alone with the business card, turns it over and looks at it. It's all white, with a website address printed on it, and a logo saying 'What About Bill?'.
"Who on earth is Bill?" He asks to nothing. The question is lost amongst the chatter of the patrons and the late beer flowing. Outside, a barn owl perched atop a roof spreads its wings, and takes off into the air, letting out a mournful call.
X - Xenoglossia
It is 2010. Dero and his bandmates are just getting ready in the back room of a fairly-sizable jazz club, having already gained somewhat of a reputation since their debut, when there comes two knocks on the door. "Come in," he calls without looking back - but when his two lovers enter, Richard beaming and holding a bouquet of roses, he brightens up considerably and rushes forward to greet them. "Rikh? Till? What brings you here?"
"Your largest performance yet tonight, isn't it?" Till laughs and hands him two bottles of champagne, while Richard presents the bouquet to the others. "of course we couldn't miss it. Don't you worry about us getting recognized either, they know we're here."
"Viel Gluck!" Richard also says. They all still have about twenty minutes before they need to go, and they're all pretty much set, so Richard pours the six officers their own glasses of champagne for luck. "remember the first time we met? Back then, it was you asking to see us backstage. And now it's the other way around. How much of a difference can twelve years make!"
He has to concur. Had he never asked to see Rammstein backstage that fateful day, and had he not helped to release Till in time, none of this would have happened. Without that glimpse of Till and Richard's photo, he wouldn't have become involved with the two of them, either. Though he does think that he did rather well, all those factors considered, at being able to immerse himself in the rituals and language shared only by both Till and Richard without actively needing to integrate into it. Almost an impossible feat; one cannot technically gain fluency in a language never learnt or known without help.
But it's clear enough to Dero, without any clues. And when he's out on stage later that night, singing his heart out, he sees the two men sitting at the frontmost table, sipping wine, smiling at him - and occasionally exchanging knowing glances that say: We've done well.
Y - Yearning
When he walks into the hotel lobby, the receptionist immediately stands up with a frozen look of terror in her face. "No worries, meine Fraulein, no worries," Dero says smoothly, showing that he isn't there to cause a scene or drag out anyone from their rooms. "there's a room under my name, I do believe. Could you look me up? Herr Dero Goi."
"Oh, yes," the receptionist says (now considerably relieved), and checks the register with a little contemplative frown on her face. "hmm. Suite, third floor, room number 333. Two others have also checked in - a Herr Lindemann and Herr Kruspe?"
"That'd be my friends. Vielen Dank."
"Would you like a key card? There's one spare."
He considers, and accepts. A policeman can't ever have too many keys or key cards. He declines to take the elevator and walks up the three flights of stairs, casually swiping the key card into the slot and opening the door; he closes it quietly behind him, and looks. It is a clean suite, with a large bed in the middle, another bedroom leading out of it and also equipped with a bathroom and balcony. The suite's really been booked just to take advantage of the extra large bed that comes with it - needless to say, the second won't be slept in, although they'll lightly muss it up in the morning to give the impression that they have. The bathroom door's closed, the sound of water running from it. Dero grins and takes off his police cap and sunglasses, arranging them neatly at the top shelf of the wardrobe (taking into note Till and Richard's clothing within), and takes off his uniform shirt and trousers, stripping down to his underpants before knocking politely on the door.
"Herein," a voice calls. He goes inside. Richard's lying in the jacuzzi tub with Till, his head lazily buried in the other's chest as he fondles the singer down below; his way of acknowledging Dero is a blink and a soft, sleepy grin as opposed to Till's greeting. "wonderful performance tonight, Dero. Fantastic, even the parts when you embarrassed me."
"Not just you. And I know you like it really, you sly dog, you."
"That much is true," Till shifts his leg, and beckons Dero. "come in, then. You're letting all the steam out."
Z - Zusammen
Till lights a cigarette when they're all quite spent and ready to drift off; it is now midnight. He takes the longest inhale, and the moment his lips leave the cigarette he leans over Richard and places his lips on his, blowing the pearly fumes into his mouth. The guitarist moans into the smoky kiss for only a second before he too inhales, throwing back his head, his long dark eyelashes fluttering shut as he parts his lips softly and exhales the diluted smoke. Till repeats the procedure with Dero, who insists on sharing the taste even more with tongue, their mouths engulfed in cigarette smoke as nicotine mingles in their kiss. Lazily, with the tip of his tongue, Richard traces a line from the hollow of Dero's neck to the tip of his chin.
"Second-hand smoke tastes so good," the guitarist says with a bright smile.
"Mmmh," Dero concurs, then opens a single eye to peer up at Till. "it is legal to smoke in this room, ja?"
"I don't know. Will you arrest us if it isn't?"
"I'm fairly sure indoor smoking is prohibited in all public buildings - but even if that is the case now, I don't think we quite need to go that far," he says, and licks at one of Till's nipples. "but you'd certainly need to be punished. Once we're absolutely certain we won't burn down the place."
"And now I half wish it was illegal to smoke in every room of this building," the singer says with a grin, but he nevertheless respects the thought and crushes out the cigarette. The most important part of that ritual has already been done anyway, the same smoke being part of all three of them, and that really is the important thing. Sated, Richard reaches over from his side of the bed to turn the bedside lamp off. Dero has to go out on duty at seven in the morning, and the two men need to go to band practice. But until then, they can rest. It's been an eventful night.
You forgot something, you might point out. What time or time period is this?
It doesn't really matter, either way. This is the past, this is the present, this is the future. This is a floating moment in time that happened, that's the most important thing, and in that moment he, Till and Richard are one.
One wouldn't think that they were one and the same, but - trust me on this - they are, and they're happy with it. That's all that matters.
Words, words, countless words upon a page. All sensual, all truthful, all woefully inadequate in describing the full truth; they squeeze the intensity from every moment and plaster it up in a dull and solidified form. That is not what we need. For genuine recollection and transfer of sensation we need another language, as universal as music and the lusty panting of a man during sex, its words nothing like our words but one that is a new tongue altogether, licking along the contours of bodies. Only then, perhaps, can we begin to imagine that we have shared qualia, that quality of being alive.
Gift me with this language, if you may.