Chapter Text
It’s raining.
Till has opened the window, and the sound of it has swollen from a muted, soothing ambience into a crisp patter, a thick wall of sound full of detail. The water sounds different on the roof than it does on the wood and plastic of the lawn furniture outside and different again on the gravel underneath it. There is a metallic ring where it hits and rushes through the roof gutter, a soft rustle where it hits the leaves of the trees. Behind all that, there is wind and the bubbly sound of mud under grass.
The sound fills his mind and slows it down until it almost stands still and his muscles ease up. Richard takes a deep breath of the cold and musky air that rushes inside and draws the quilt closer around his knees. The newspaper on his lap suddenly feels boring and irrelevant.
The hiss and sulfur smell of a freshly lit matchstick makes him look up. Till supports his head in his palms, leans out the window and is lighting a cigarette.
“Ey! You’re not supposed to smoke!”
Till’s reaction comes delayed, and then it’s only a scoff and a glance that pretends to be incredulous.
Richard raises his hands in defense. The irony isn’t lost on him.
“Look, I’m just saying. I don’t have to sing.”
Till shrugs.
“I’m trusting you not to tell on me.”
“Pretty naive of you.”
“You’d never.”
It’s Richard’s turn to scoff. He wouldn’t, of course.
“Don’t let Jacob see you,” he says and throws the quilt off the sofa to get up. It lands with a soft thud, and the cold air hits his skin through the cotton of his shirt and makes him shiver.
Richard joins Till by the window and steals a cigarette from his slightly soaked pack on the window sill. Squeezed next to each other, he can feel the warmth of his friends’s body. It keeps him from freezing.
“How long do you think they’ll be gone?” Richard asks, while he fishes a matchstick from the box. It breaks at the first strike.
“Forever, hopefully” Till replies grumpily and turns to him, cigarette glimming between his lips, offering to light it with his with a tilt of his head. It works after a few tries when Till holds him still with a heavy arm over his shoulder. Richard regrets when it leaves. The rain is icy, really.
“I reckon they’ll be gone a few hours more at least, if they want to get all that shopping done.”
Till humms, and draws out a battered piece of paper from his pockets. It’s full of scribbles and crossed out lines and he frowns over it while he smokes. Richard reads sideways around Till’s arms, refusing to acknowledge the way he hunches over it like he wants to keep it to himself.
“You should change the end,” he says casually, and blows smoke across Till’s face.
“Would you mind?”
Richard ignores him.
“Make it ‘auch für mich’ in the end.”
Till groans.
“We’ve been over this thing soo many times now. No more changes, please.”
“But you still don’t like it.”
Till folds the paper back up and tears it a little in the process before he stuffs his back into his back pocket. He pinches his lips with displeasure, but then waves his hand, prompting Richard to talk.
“Ok, so why would I do that.”
Richard shrugs. Because it’s nice, sonically, to have that bit of a change there. A bit of a climax, something to build the song towards. It makes for better storytelling. And also ...
“Just feels nice. You know. Love should be there for you, too.”
“It’s about a creep with obsessive, possessive fantasies, Richard.”
Sure it is.
“Oh, ok. I didn’t read it that way.”
They watch the rain in silence until long after both their cigarettes are used up and Richard is a hairline away from clattering his teeth before Till finally bites.
“How did you read it?”
“Like someone who’s lonely. Someone who yearns for love and feels like their perfectly normal desires are wrong and deprived and makes them undeserving of love.”
“Perfectly normal.”
Richard crosses his arms and steps half a step back from the window. It’s getting too cold.
“Yeah, normal. Seeing someone and desiring them is fairly normal, you know. As is wanting them for yourself, or fantasizing about them not resisting you. We all have those feelings.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Also, being friendly to someone you want to have sex with isn’t manipulative, it’s just being polite. You wrote it like it’s creepy, but it’s actually a perfectly normal scenario. As you know, perfectly well. At least you should, with the amount you fuck around.”
Till looks even grumpier than before. He doesn’t like talking about his feelings. He especially doesn’t like it when he feels negatively, because he doesn’t want to complain.
“Maybe I don’t actually think it’s a high point of my character to want to bang anything pretty enough. Anyway, it’s not about ...”
“... you. Yeah, yeah.”
Till closes the window.
“Would you like being thought about that way?”
Richard shrugs.
“I’m sure I already am. Actually, 80% of my fanmail says I am. The point is, normally I wouldn’t know. I think it’s a bit flattering, actually.”
Till looks at him as if he was being absurd.
“What, three weeks in a studio and you’re so underfucked you’d be ok with that?”
”What, with being a sex object, or with someone wanting to possess you?”
”Eh ... I was talking about the former but both is creepy.”
How can one person alone beat themselves up so much?
“You’re the one writing about sex and love all the time. You even know it’s normal. Just because it’s you it suddenly feels wrong to you. It’s ok to want sex, and it’s ok to want it with someone you can love, and it’s ok to feel posessive about it it. Just don’t actually rape and kidnap someone and you’re good.”
Till shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair in almost comical despair. He’s done talking about this.
“Not like I had the opportunity. I’m holed up with six men I can hear wank into their pillows each morning. Can’t you people at least do it under the shower?”
Richard is willing to let his evasion slide and play along. He doesn’t want to corner him and make him feel worse when he’s surrounded by clouds like that. Till won’t admit it now, but he will think about what he said and maybe that does just enough of good.
“Yeah well, welcome to the Rockstar lifestyle,” he shrugs, and turns, in search of his sweater and maybe some warm tea in the kitchen. “Don’t pretend you aren’t doing the same thing.”
He’s crossed half the room before Till catches his wrist and it sends a bolt of heat through his entire body so fast, he can’t even blink. When he turns, Till’s eyes are dark and full of old questions that never get answered. He runs a thumb over the back of Richard’s hands and tugs, asking him to come closer.
Fuck.
Jesus fucking christ, they really are touch starved.
Till lets his hand go and winds an arm around his waist when he’s still wondering how he got close enough to do so, and puts a warm hand behind his neck pulling him in. There is a moment of hesitation, an unspoken and frankly boring ‘this is not a good idea’ that Richard answers with an eye roll, but then he presses their lips together.
Richard almost yelps because it’s so harsh. Till pries his mouth open hungrily and he would have stumbled backwards if it wasn’t for being held in place. Till tastes good though, of smoke and rain and spices, so he lets him be and doesn’t complain about sharp teeth and the metallic taste of iron mixing into it. It’s been too long, Till’s breath is warm and his tongue is slick and the way he grunts into his mouth is dark and desperate and tempting. Harsh may be the only way to go about it for that reason alone.
Till drops his hand to his hips, and claws hurriedly underneath his shirt and grips into his flesh. His hand feels so warm and reassuring on his skin despite being rough and Richard hooks his arm around his neck instead, chasing that bruising kiss because he’s suddenly worried it might end too soon. Till makes a sound like a suppressed whimper and clumsily tears at his sweatpants.
Richard breaks the kiss, gasping for air.
“You wanna go upstairs?” he asks, hopefully.
Till shakes his head. He looks sad underneath the flushed skin and swollen lips and he doesn’t meet his eyes. Richard will never understand why he will feel so guilty for only ever doing this behind garbage cans in a parking lot, or during stolen moments when their band members aren’t looking, and yet refuses to ever let them find a room and a bed together, but he’s learned not to argue the point years ago.
“I’ll be quick.”
He doesn’t argue when Till pushes the waistband down over his hips either, and he just argues a little when he closes a rough hand around his dick and starts stroking. It always felt like it fit perfectly, filling Till’s palm like it belonged there, and the sensation empties his mind, but it’s too fast and too sudden.
“Easy.”
“Sorry.”
Till gets him off expertly and a bit too clinical in the middle of a silent studio living room, standing with their bare feet on an ugly carpet while it rains outside like the apocalypse has come early. If the band comes back, they won’t hear the car, and the edge of fear about what will happen if they find them here kissing like greedy degenerates while Till gives him a handjob that’s not much above a wank in the morning without ever meeting his eyes, makes Richard’s blood swell into a cascading flow that he can’t control. He grips into his hair and forces Till to look at him. His eyes are dark and empty and hopeless, and he almost regrets not leaving him be.
Oh, Till.
“Tighter?”
Richard nods, although he doesn’t want that. He just doesn’t have the heart to demand more than that.
Till rubs a thumb over his head, spreading moisture and he spills into his hand sudden and hot. It’s emptying.
“Fuck.”
Till kisses the side of his chin while they’re both still gasping for air and throws a glance outside.
“We better get out of here.”
Richard blinks and follows his line of sight, not quite comprehensive over the thud in his ears. A red pick up creeps up the hill.
They flee before it’s too late, Till into his room with the view down into the valley full of deer and birds and hares, and Richard upstairs where he flops down on to his bed and presses the heel of his hands into his eyes and tries to breathe calmly. It feels claustrophobic between all the amps he’s tried to squeeze inside.
He texts Till, because they aren’t done yet, and Till doesn’t reply. Probably wanking under the shower.
—-
At dinner, Till laughs with Paul and Schneider and meets Richards eyes for split seconds across the table. The rain outside has turned into a constant wet drizzle, a cacophony of little drops hitting the window in incomprehensible rhythms. The light is a warm yellow, the wine is sweet and heavy, their soup is hearty and rich. It feels like home and family and like maybe tomorrow they won’t be fighting as much, even though they all know they will. It gets late while they tease Flake over his new hat and indulge in old anecdotes. They can’t agree how things went exactly in Portugal that one time, and Richard waits until only him, Till and Schneider are left.
“I think I’ll go outside for a bit, stretch my legs,” Till announces and pushes back his chair the second he’s done laughing over Schneider’s last joke.
“You want to go out into that?” Schneider looks at the black window as if he could actually see outside. “You’ll catch a cold. We don’t need that.”
Till groans in exaggerated annoyance, and his eyes tear into Richard like he’s planned it. He probably has.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t stay too long,” he mumbles and scrambles to get up.
“Good night, Schneider.”
“You’re both crazy.”
—-
They don’t talk while they walk down the road to the group of trees that isn’t quite a forrest but almost. There is nothing to talk about. It takes a good 10 minutes, and the water seeps through Richard’s jacket but doesn’t quite reach his skin. From down here, the house is just a flick of yellow light in a shadowy landscape full of mist and rain and leaves whispering and darkness. The full moon is hidden behind heavy clouds, but after a while outside it’s just enough for them too see and not break their necks in the night somewhere. When they leave the asphalt path and turn sideways onto the bark mulch under the branches, their steps get quiet and Till takes his hand. It’s gentle.
They find a tree amongst the big ones further back that has a branching trunk that Richard can sit on at just the right height if Till holds him up enough. The bark flakes off and it’s wet and dirty and Richard doesn’t give a single shit. He gets out of his slippers and pants, wet socks be damned, because he has no patience for clothing hanging around his ankles and restricting him today. Till watches, curiously, and takes the cotton from him to drape it over a low branch to the right.
“Richard ...”
It’s a warning and an apology all at once.
“I know.”
It hurts a bit, there is no way around that really. They only have spit and not enough patience, and Till is big and Richard doesn’t do this often enough. The tree bites into his skin, and Till bruises his thighs to keep him from slipping while he struggles to push inside of him slowly. His arms are straining from the effort, and Richard watches mesmerized how his face distorts into a grimace of bliss and lust and despair all at once while he fights for self control. He’s so gorgeous, and hurt or not, when he’s all the way in deep, Richard feels like he’s come home.
“I love you.”
Till moans into his mouth and kisses him as harshly as earlier before he starts rocking experimentally. Richard can feel it deep inside his stomach, and rolls his hip down as much as he can. It feels so addictive, like he wants to just stay with this low level of it the rest of time because it’s so good even like this, and he would pray for it to build at the same time, and it makes him wince against the burn. Pain and pleasure truly run so close.
“Till ...”
Till’s kisses turn gentler.
“I love you, too.”
It’s a blur after that, of gasps echoing too loudly in the night and discomfort setting off the blinding, all consuming light of Till’s dick gliding over his prostate. Till isn’t as strong as he used to be, Richard isn’t as light and underfed as he used to be way back when, and it shows. They’re wrestling a bit to keep standing and make it work the way they are, and it makes it utterly exhausting and deliciously long before Till comes with his mouth pressed against Richard’s throat and a soft, deep whine and he follows him seconds after. He thinks he’s been sobbing but he isn’t sure.
“Why don’t we do this more often?” Till asks, when they’re just hugging afterwards, sweaty and tired. Richard can feel his heart racing against his ear.
“Life, I think.”
Till holds on tighter, and doesn’t say anything.
“Do you ever think about what would happen if we did?” Richard asks. He knows he shouldn’t, but the wine and the sex have gone to his head and have made him sentimental and thoughtless.
“Did what.”
“I don’t know. Do this more often. Do this all the time. Till and Richard. No-one else. No more fucking around, no more drama, no more hurting others ...”
“No.” Till’s voice is clipped. “I never think about that.”
The pain catches him of guard. It’s so palpable and real and sudden. He can’t even be sure if it’s because he didn’t see the no coming, because he is pretty sure that he has. Maybe it’s because Till didn’t even hesitate. It feels like his heart has stopped beating, and his soul has left him behind as an automaton shell, all in the time it takes to play a single note.
Richard manages a shrug.
“Let’s go back.”
“Ok.”
It hurts so much, it makes him stagger a bit when they start walking. Like being punched in the stomach, only much worse. Till drapes a warm arm over his shoulder and looks at him with concern, but he can hardly feel it through the rejection. It’s like that love confession minutes ago never happened. He remembers that they don’t do this more often, because it always ends like this.
By the time they’re back at the house, Richard has lost the fight against the tears. They’re silent and invisible in the dark, but he knows that Till knows, and it’s embarrassing. Still, he can’t say no when Till pulls him into his room and asks him to stay the night. It might be the first and the last time that he can, and Richard would be damned before he would miss out.
“Get out of your clothes, they’re wet.” Till mumbles and starts undressing himself. He’s naked before Richard can even lift a hand and dries his hair with a towel. It feels to heavy.
“Come here.”
Till starts fussing over him, suddenly all gentle and caring. He gets him out of his clothes and dries his skin with a shirt because it’s less rough than a towel, as he says. He leaves gentle kisses on the scratches the tree has left on Richard’s skin, and blow dries his hair. He turns on the heat a little and the light off and insists to maneuver him under the sheets, where he hugs him and holds him tight. They’re stark naked and it’s the only thing that somehow feels right about this. It’s a warm fortress of soft fabric and skin, and Richard can’t help but think how hypocritical it is.
“Rich.”
“Fuck off, Till.”
He doesn’t, but he starts caressing him. It’s long, soft strokes over his shoulder blades and his chest, and his stomach. It’s like he suddenly tries to get to know all the skin he normally doesn’t even think worthy of looking at when he lets Richard suck his cock between sound-checks and dinner, and now there’s nothing even remotely sexual about it. Richard thinks it’s so fucking condescending.
“You’re my best friend.”
“Who you fuck. And tell you love. And can’t even bring yourself to take on a single date.”
Richard is bitter.
“I do love you.”
“Piss off.”
Till is silent for a really long time, and Richard knows he’s crying too now.
Serves him right.
“Whatever happens,” he finally says in that stupid soft voice that seems unbelievably small if you ever heard him sing and that never fails to soften Richard’s heart.
“I know you’ll always be there. I know I can get burned and fail, I can be on the other of the planet and do the stupidest shit, and you’ll still be there and love me and shelter me. We don’t even have to talk about it, and I still know. It’s always been just us, and that will never change. Maybe one day Rammstein won’t be anymore, but Till and Richard will be. You’ll be with me for the rest of my life, and if there’s anything after that, you’ll be there with me too. I just know you will. And you know I will do the same thing for you. And we’re not risking that anyone gets a hand on what’s ours. Why are you doubting me?”
Richard snorts.
“Are you promising me forever?”
“Yes.”
Just great.
“What if I don’t want to be your secret anymore?”
“I can only hope that never happens. But you’re not just my secret. I’m your secret, too.”
“It’s like you want to own me. Like you want to keep me to yourself completely.”
“I do. You told me that’s normal three hours ago.”
Richard sighs. Damn his loose mouth.
“Maybe it’s not normal. It’s love, though.”
He relaxes. Richard remembers that it always ends like this, too, only not quite because today he at least managed to weasel his way into Till’s bed, and into his arms. He supposes it could be worse.
“Do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“You know, I could literally ask for anything now, right?”
Till sighs.
“Well, I trust you not to ask for anything I can’t give you.”
“Change the lyrics.”
Till entwines their legs and smothers him with a heavy arm. Richard can feel his lips softly brushing his temple in the dark.
“Allright.”