Japan (3/?) - Cream and Jack and Asamushi Sushi
Pairing: Tom/Bill, Georg/Gustav, Saki/OFC (so far)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody and as far as anyone knows, this never has and never will happen and no offense is meant at all
Warnings: heavy sexuality, language, drug use, crossover (Death Note)
Summary: When you're on vacation in Tokyo, you're supposed to enjoy yourself, relax, right? Right??
Author's Notes: I absolutely love writing Georg/Gustav... even more than Bill and Tom. Next chapter chronicles the barhopping twins, I'll try not to disappoint!
All Chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine
- - - -
PART THREE
- - - -
As they disembarked, Bill was silently rejoicing. As large as their fan base was, they’d never played a show in Japan, and no one knew they were taking this brief respite in Tokyo. They were able to leave the plane with little interference - the only people asking for autographs and pictures were their fellow passengers, and thankfully they’d finished all the photo-ops on board the airplane before being ushered quickly through the tunnel first.
Gustav flashed Bill a dazzling smile. He’s in a good mood. Bill grinned back and turned to his brother, pulling on Tom’s baseball cap. “Isn’t it amazing, Tomi? We’re finally here!”
Saki flanked the boys, keeping an eye out for incoming fan-girls. He’d been asked to come with the boys for security, of course, but he didn’t realize at first that he’d be coming alone - he felt a bit nervous without Tobi around, but he’d never tell anyone that. Saki was a big boy; he could handle himself and the four rambunctious youngsters left in his care.
“Look at that..,” Georg said as he pointed to a large black rectangle blocking their way to the luggage pickup. “What is it?”
“It’s got legs,” Tom walked up to the rectangle, which stood a good six inches shorter than him, and pushed it lightly.
The rectangle squeaked and turned around.
“Nani?” a girl’s muffled voice demanded from the rectangle, which the boys could now see fully. It was not a rectangle; it was a rectangular cylinder… a humongous sushi roll costume. The girl in the costume stamped her tiny foot and waved her arms in the air.
“Are you kidding me?” Tom exclaimed. “We come all the way to Japan, and this is what we get? Where are all the cat-girls and busty space pirates and shit?”
Another girl appeared at the top of the stairs and shouted down to the costumed girl, who was now staring at Bill’s hair and Tom’s hat in rapid succession. She shouted back up at the girl in rapid Japanese, pointing to the boys.
“Saki...,” Gustav whispered, backing away slowly. “Did you catch that? I think she said
‘something something Tokio Hotel’.”
The new girl bounded down the stairs and the guys saw her completely for the first time; she, too, wore a costume, though hers was a bit more attractive. Tom whistled under his breath - this new girl was the same height as Georg in her ridiculously high heels, and her low cut uniform proudly displayed “Asamushi Sushi!!!” across her breasts. She pulled on the sushi roll’s arm and pointed to the top of the stairs as she berated her coworker. The sushi-bedecked girl’s little painted face fell and she pouted up at Tom - her sad face reminded him strongly of a certain little brother and he couldn’t help but laugh while her sexy coworker dragged her back up the stairs and out of sight.
“I guess we do have fans in Japan,” Bill giggled, patting his hair. “We’d better try to look a little less like… like us. At least until we get to the hotel.”
- - - -
Georg stood by the door and surveyed his room. It was a large suite, two queen sized beds… the hotel had pulled all the stops to make the band happy, and he could certainly understand why. Tokio Hotel were known for their generosity and Georg knew he’d be spending a few hundred dollars on alcohol alone. He took a second tiny bottle of Jack from the mini-bar and plopped on the bed to watch Gustav go through his luggage.
“You’re getting drunk already?” Gustav asked as he folded a black t-shirt and placed it in the drawer under the television. “You haven’t even unpacked yet!”
“Why unpack, Gus?” Georg grinned and fell back on his soft bed. “We’re only going to be here for two weeks. It’s not like we’re moving in.” He smirked at his friend’s solitary suitcase, which had held exactly three pairs of pants, one pair of shorts, four shirts, two hats, four socks and two extra underpants. “Though it looks like you’ve brought your entire closet with you.”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Gustav grimaced and zipped up his now empty suitcase. “I should say the same to you. You put Bill to shame with all the shit you brought with you.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Georg sat up and downed the entire bottle of Jack Daniels. “I need all of that stuff. It’s not my fault that you have exactly zero fashion sense.” He tossed the bottle in the trashcan and crossed the room to open the curtains. “Look at this, Gustav. I have never seen so many people trying to cross the street at once in my life.”
The pair walked out onto the fourth floor balcony and peered into the street below. It was nearing nightfall - the business men were fighting through the crowd, headed to the subway to return home; the party kids were pushing back, pouring out of the station and onto the narrow sidewalk.
“Hey! Let’s go out!” Bill called, startling Georg and Gustav. The twins were observing the same scene from the balcony two rooms to the right. Saki had taken the room in between the boys for himself, but his curtains were drawn and the door securely latched. Tom was preoccupied, of course - he’d caught the attention of two pink haired girls in skin-tight black leather standing directly beneath the balcony.
“Hey sexy ladies! Wanna join us up here?” Tom called, rubbing his hands over his chest in his best ‘I’m the man’ pose. The shorter girl laughed so hard she fell into the wall; her companion grinned up at him and flipped him the double bird before pulling her friend and disappearing into the huge crowd.
Gustav nearly died at the look on Tom’s face - he wasn’t used to being rejected and you could definitely tell. “I guess the finger really is universal!” he choked out between laughs.
Bill gave Tom his best shit-eating grin and put his hands up. “Ah, just give them some time, Tomi. These Japanese girls will be eating out of the palm of your hand by tomorrow! How about we go out and find some better looking ones?”
“You guys go ahead,” Georg waved as he walked back through the balcony door. “I’m so jet-lagged I don’t know how I’m standing up right now.” He was followed by a still-chuckling Gustav, who closed the curtains and shut the door behind him, leaving Bill to pick up the pieces of Tom’s ego.
- - - -
“What do you think Bill and Tom are doing right now?” Georg wondered aloud through bites of birthday cake ice cream. The two boys had holed themselves up in their hotel room, refusing to leave even after Bill had banged on the door for a solid minute, begging them to go clubbing with the twins.
“Who knows? I feel bad for Saki; he stands out like a sore thumb against these tiny Asian men. I can’t imagine he’s having too much fun being gawked at in those bars Bill likes to go to,” Gustav replied lazily from his bed, flipping through the TV channels and swearing under his breath. “Look at the shit they have on every channel! Japanese people are fucked up.”
They’d landed on a game show. Skinny men in Borat-esque bathing suits were competing to see who could pull a giant rubber band the farthest using the back of their swimsuit - resulting in many bare bottoms being displayed like the Coppertone baby.
“Asses, asses, asses,” Georg mused, wiggling his spoon at his friend. “Though I have to say, your ass looks better than any of theirs, hands down.” He stuck his spoon back in his mouth and gave Gustav an impish grin.
“What is it with you people and my backside?” Gus cried, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. He stood between the two beds and struck a pose in his boxers. “Though, I can see why everyone loves it. I’m hot.”
Whistling loudly, Georg reached around and grabbed a huge handful of Gusti-ass. “You need to work out more, Justchel - all you do is sit during concerts!”
“Hey, now,” Gustav backed up and rubbed his behind. “That hurt, you drunk. No more booze for you.”
The bassist cradled his gallon of ice cream protectively in his toned arms. “You say no more sugar and we’re going to have a problem.”
Gustav gave a frightening grin and lunged for the spoon.
- - - -
Ten minutes later, Georg sat tensely with his head in his hands, covered in melted ice cream, eyes wide, absently licking the sticky sweetness that’d fallen on his lips. From his seat on the big fluffy chair near the door, he could just see Gustav from the corner of his eye…
Gus sat on his bed with his back to his friend, and Georg could see the wings on his back flutter each time he clenched his fists into the sheets. What is going on? Georg wondered, lifting his head infinitesimally to peer across the room at Gustav’s hunched silhouette - he’d covered his face in his hands and was shaking his head.
“Listen..,” Georg tried to find the right words. What were the right words? Were there any, really? He couldn’t finish his sentence - what had happened had surprised them both, but Georg knew things had changed between them. Nothing felt the same. He didn’t feel the same. Damn Gustav. Damn, damn, damn.
“I’m sorry,” Gustav whispered into his hands. “I don’t know… I didn’t…” Georg watched him struggle in silence, torn between comforting him and knocking his fucking lights out for making him so confused.
He looked down at his hands, covered in cream and sprinkles… the same hands that’d just scratched the hell out of Gustav’s shoulders. He’d been prepared for Gustav to tackle him; the taunting was a challenge and his friend was not known for backing down. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the fiery look in his eyes when he pounced into Georg’s chest, spilling cold liquid from the carton all over their bare skin. Georg had gasped - the shit was cold, damn it - but recovered quickly enough to grab a handful of ice cream and shove it down Gustav’s boxers as he tried to smear gobs of it into Georg’s mouth.
They’d fallen off the bed and onto the floor, the alcohol making Georg’s brain buzz, the colors blur, and he’d watched Gustav’s face soften as he wrestled Georg onto his back and straddled his hips. What had he said? It’d been somewhere along the lines of ‘perfect position’, and Gustav’s face had lit up when he laughed at that. That smile…
Maybe it was the night’s six little bottles of Jack, or maybe it was simply the heat from Gustav’s body on his own, but Georg had suddenly felt warm and fuzzy. His eyes had drifted sleepily to his hands, his hands that seemed to be moving on their own, caressing Gustav’s thighs, spreading the pink and white ice cream from his boxers with his fingertips.
The very next thing he knew, Gustav was kissing him, his fingers tangling themselves loosely in Georg’s soft hair, and…
…and he was kissing him back.
I did, Georg finally admitted to himself. I wanted it.
Georg had threaded his arms under his friend’s and pulled him down until their chests were touching, sticky with heat and sugar and sweat and passion, as Gustav kissed him like he’d never been kissed before - like he’d never imagined a kiss could be.
He remembered tasting the ice cream on his lips as Gustav’s tongue danced over his own, slowly, playfully, but hesitantly until Georg had felt himself moan into the drummer’s mouth. He pushed lightly on Gustav’s chest until they were upright, lips locked, Gus still seated across his lap, and he’d nearly lost his head when he felt the swell in his friend’s boxers pulse against his own. He knew Gustav could feel it too - his eyes had shot open and he’d lost his breath as Georg pushed his hips up and tore his nails into the tattoo across his back.
“Fuck,” Gustav had cried into Georg’s open mouth, and Georg was sure a word had never sounded so delicious. He’d let his hands wander again, and wander they did, until his fingers came to rest tucked inside the waistband of Gustav’s underwear. “N-No…”
Gustav had pulled away, whispering the same word over and over again. “No. No, no, no, no.” He stumbled as he disentangled himself from his almost-lover, pushing his hands away from his hips and backing away, horrified, leaving Georg panting and hurt on the floor.
And that’s how they’d ended up on separate sides of the room.
It’d happened so fast, from the bed to the floor to the kiss, boom boom boom. Georg’s head was spinning, his body aching, his mind befuddled.
His heart hurt.
He stood slowly and crossed the room to sit on the opposite side of Gustav’s queen sized bed, his back to his friend’s shaking shadow. Is he… crying?
A tiny sob confirmed Georg’s thought and he felt his chest explode.
“No! Gustav, don’t do that! Please don’t cry!” He whirled around and flew across the wide bed, wrapping his strong arms around his friend’s solid form as he buried his face into the back of Gus’s head. All pretenses of manliness and pride were gone… His eyes were burning; he felt the tears flow from his eyelashes, dampening Gustav’s beautiful blond hair, running down to the scratches on his back. He wept silently, pulling Gustav’s bent frame around until they faced each other - he wiped the wetness from his cheeks and forced Gustav’s chin up until their eyes met.
Gustav shook his head and tried to escape, tried to push away, ashamed of himself, but Georg would have none of it. “Quit, Justchel. Just stop and listen to me for a second.”
Gus sniffled but kept his gaze low, fixated on the bassist’s knee, a place he felt was safe to have one’s eyes. If he looked any higher he might lose it again. He waited.
After a few deep breaths, Georg took his arms away from Gustav and turned away toward the wall, pulling himself up into a ball on the bed as he held onto his knees. “I need to tell you something important.” A few more deep breaths. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, mockingly, and he waited five more terrifying seconds - fuck, what am I doing? - before finally - is this really happening? - coming clean about - yes… I want to do this…
- his love for -
- okay, Georg…no more secrets… -
...his best friend...