Lost
de_band_prompt: The twins are convinced by the Gs to go camping, since they "never do anything together anymore." To the Gs irritation and the twins' horror, they get lost. This could also be A G takes A twin camping. Either way, someone's going to need comforting.
“Lost?” Georg echoed, his lip curled in horrified disgust. “How the fuck did he get lost? You go up the trail to the outhouse and you follow the same goddamn trail back down. It’s lined with wood on both sides.”
Gustav shrugged one shoulder and hefted the tent onto his back before turning to help Tom adjust his straps. Tom grimaced and shifted uncomfortably under the light pack, earning him a disgusted look from Georg.
“What?” Tom snapped when he noticed Gustav watching him as well.
“You couldn’t have, I dunno, watched over him?” Georg huffed.
“Um, no,” Tom said. “You expect me to help him pee?” Georg rolled his eyes and tossed Bill’s sleeping bag at him. Tom missed and the sleeping bag fell to the ground, quickly getting covered in dead leaves and various bits of dry twigs. Tom scowled and grabbed it, the other two already setting off up the trail. Gustav looked back for a bare second, then moved on, keeping pace with Georg easily. Tom had no such luck and soon fell far behind his bandmates for all that Gustav paused every few hundred paces to wait for him.
“Fuck camping,” Tom grumbled. He pulled his phone out again, hoping futilely that this time there would be an adequate signal. Somehow, Bill had been able to send him a text during the night, a simple I don’t know where I am, but Tom had not been able to send a text back. There was no signal on this godforsaken mountain. Georg and Gustav were counting on a guide or a kindly hiker having found Bill and having taken him to one of the many trail shelters, where he would be warm and safe for the night. Well, as warm as a three-sided shelter with a firepit could be.
Tom was not entirely sure where they were headed, only that it was thankfully relatively flat with a gradual uphill slant. Tom had learned very quickly that uphill was far preferable to downhill, which tore into his knees and had him stumbling across rain-slick rocks and wooden steps built into the mountain. Supposedly, this uphill trail would take them to a popular rest stop, Tom privately wondering how ‘popular’ any fucking thing was on this blighted trail, where they would be able to alert the park authorities of Bill’s disappearance and possibly find someone who had seen Tom’s missing brother.
Tom sighed and kicked at a rock partially buried in the dusty trail. He yelped in pain when, instead of moving aside and falling off the trail, the rock stayed fast and tripped him, the lanky guitarist stumbling and falling hard to the ground. Tom rolled instinctively, keeping his eyes tightly closed to avoid filling them with dust and shards of rock. His roll fell apart into a frantic sideways scramble, the trail becoming curiously faint under his hands.
He landed with a pained thump onto his back. His knees stinging and his lungs suddenly emptied of air, Tom tried to come to his elbows and failed, collapsing back into the dirt, unable to breathe or move, paralyzed as he was with pain and lactic acid buildup. His backpack was gone, along with his water and gloves. Bill’s sleeping bag lay less than a meter away. Tom stuck out his foot to nudge it towards him. His knee spasmed. Tom groaned weakly and lay back in the tall grass surrounding him, fully in the belief that he would never move again. He prayed fervently to a god he did not believe in that Georg and Gustav would find him.
ØØØ
Georg stopped suddenly, realizing that he did not hear Gustav’s familiar plod beside him. He frowned and turned back, searching for his friend, bandmate, and sometimes lover.
Gustav was paused a few meters back, leaning against a lichen-spotted rock slab, his right foot set firmly on the ground, his left partway up the rock. Georg’s frown deepened as he trotted back to Gustav, his calm friend scanning the trail behind him.
“He coming?” Georg asked quietly. Gustav shook his head and moved away from the slab back down the trail. Georg scowled but followed, tightening the strap across his chest to redistribute the weight of his heavy pack. He was carrying a fair portion of Bill’s pack, having split it with Gustav before they had set off, and had been suffering under the extra load for the last kilometer. The rest stop was still a kilometer and a third off, and turning back to find Tom or even simply rest would lose them more time than they needed. Georg was positive Bill had found someone once he had gotten lost; the singer was well aware of his physical limits and would have at the least used his phone as a flashlight until he came across someone else’s camp from which he would have found a park ranger or one of the occasional restaurants and stops beside the main road.
Tom was actually the more worrisome of the two what with his pride in his self-reliance and independence, neither of which had any relevance outside of any city limits. Georg really could not think of a good reason for this camping trip now.
“Strap’s too loose. The pack must’ve slipped off when he fell,” Gustav murmured as he stooped next to the backpack lying just off the trail. Georg looked it over and wanted to scream. It figured that Tom would have been wearing the pack wrong with the weight sitting around his hips and the straps far too loose around his shoulders. After two kilometers with the weight awkwardly set like that, Tom would have easily become exhausted and clumsy.
“You see him?” Georg asked as he unclipped his own pack, propping it against a nearby tree trunk before helping Gustav out of Bill’s pack, the drummer shrugging out of his own. Gustav dropped to a crouch, turning over on his stomach to carefully begin tracking down the slanted face of the mountain. The road stretched far below them in the distance but a lower trail presented itself not twenty meters below and another forty out, a slow angle that they could easily move across. The ground was strewn with dusty rock and dry, dead leaves, a fire hazard in drier weather. Georg was surprised to be unable to see Tom anywhere below and, as he carefully climbed downwards, began to wonder if the other guitarist had wandered off from where he had fallen.
If Tom had moved too far off, they would have difficulty finding him, especially if Tom confused the lower trail with the higher one he had fallen from. To an untrained- or, in Tom’s case, uncaring- eye, the trails were hard to differentiate. They were both lined with wooden slats, mostly eroded or just plain missing, and were covered with a dull brown dust from myriad past backpackers and day hikers.
Georg scanned the ground to his left and right but he could already hear Gustav’s solemn sigh and knew that there was no trace of their errant friend. He glanced down at the blonde and got a curt nod in response. The two G’s would return to the trail and gather their packs, then continue on to the rest stop where they could find professional help. Georg was not looking forward to sending out a search party- he certainly could do without the publicity for losing two twins in two days- but neither he nor Gustav could do more than the most basic of tracking, and it would be pointless to get themselves lost along with their bandmates.
Gustav smiled crookedly up at Georg, making the guitarist laugh softly as he took the invitation to race up the mountainside. Regardless of his four meter advantage, Gustav was the better climber and faster, besides. Georg would have to hurry to beat him.
They began to make their way back up the trail, kicking a storm of dust and small rocks behind them, not caring because there was no one on the trail below them.
ØØØ
Tom had fallen asleep against the side of a warm rock face, Bill’s sleeping bag serving as a makeshift pillow. The summer sun beat down strongly on the exhausted guitarist as he lay, arms spread wide, against the gray rock. A maze of large boulders was massed in a frozen rockslide against the mountainside, appearing as snow against a mass of grassy plain to those far away. Tom, though, had no knowledge of any of this, having collapsed against the flattest non-dirt surface he could find, not knowing that, had he but ventured a quarter kilometer on, he would have found a broad wildflower plain of more adequate comfort than his current granite bed.
A faint burning, a light sunburn, woke him and he turned uncomfortably, a painful crick in his neck. Tom sat up, stretching, and was shocked to find himself outside, in the middle of, in his opinion, nowhere. He looked around, hoping Georg and Gustav were playing a trick on him and would appear soon with decent food and a good explanation for why the hell he was sleeping on a fucking rock.
But they did not appear and Bill did not, either. Tom opened his cell, it having been in his pocket during his fall, and checked his inbox. He found only Bill’s text from the night before and sighed, remembering why he was still out in the goddamn wilderness on a stupid ass nature walk. Bill had gotten himself lost in less time than it took to play the opening to Rette Mich. Tom smirked as he began planning his revenge on his idiot of a twin. Singing Rette Mich back to Bill for a few days would be decent enough punishment for making Tom traipse through the motherfucking mountains after him. Not that Tom was exactly traipsing anywhere after Bill at the moment, considering that he was sitting on a rock on the side of a mountain kind of lost himself.
Tom picked up Bill’s sleeping bag and scrambled over the mass of boulders that led to the trail on the other side of the frozen rockslide. He jumped off the last boulder and dropped to the ground heavily, resolving to make Georg and Gustav promise not to tell Bill that he, Tom, had gotten lost. Once he found the two of them, that is.
ØØØ
“If I find that boy and he’s curled up in a ball, crying to his mommy that he’s fucking lost his way, I’m going to kill him,” Georg growled as he and Gustav continued down the trail.
Gustav smiled at him sleepily, his eyes heavily lidded.
“I’m telling you, Juschtel, this is fucking ridiculous, him getting lost after Bill does. How hard is it to stay on the trail? Honestly, they’re both hopeless!” Georg complained. Gustav simply looked at him, staying completely silent, his breathing not even close to heavy for all that his eyes were incredibly sleepy.
Georg paused, his attention suddenly catching on that one little detail. Gustav grinned lazily and dropped his and Bill’s packs to the ground. Georg’s followed right after and suddenly he had Gustav pressed against the closest tree, an old, sturdy yew. Gustav’s soft moan, the first sound he had made in over an hour, broke Georg’s control and he slammed his friend back into the tree, pressing their mouths together, his leg sliding between Gustav’s firm, muscular thighs. Georg probed into Gustav’s warm, wet mouth, tasting Gustav’s heavy, guttural moans as they emerged from his throat.
The day was already humid, the air tepid, sweat already erupting upon their foreheads. Georg’s honey colored hair, gathered back in a low ponytail, was slick with sweat under Gustav’s rough fingers. Gustav worked his fingers into the brown strands, pulling the taller guitarist’s mouth down to his as they kissed deeply. Georg pulled away and pressed their foreheads together for a moment, Gustav whining softly at the loss of contact, before dropping to his knees, his hands deftly undoing the button and zip of Gustav’s pants. Gustav grasped at the rough bark behind him as Georg breathed over his tented boxers. Their eyes met for a moment, both filled with heavy desire and the thrill of the outdoors, before Georg slid the pads of his fingers under the elastic of Gustav’s boxers and yanked them down.
He sucked Gustav’s thick, pulsating cock into his mouth centimeter by centimeter, Gustav’s head thrown too far back to watch the mind-blowing spectacle. Georg smiled ferally and sucked the last of Gustav’s bitter-tasting cock inside him, hollowing his cheeks and sucking firmly as he could. Gustav’s strong thighs began to quake and then he was gone in the glory of Georg’s talented, familiar mouth and his cock released its sour seed in a hot spasm. Georg swallowed it quickly and climbed up to catch Gustav’s mouth. They kissed fervently, the taste of Gustav’s come on Georg’s tongue making it all the hotter.
Georg hugged Gustav to him, supporting him until Gustav could stand on his own shakily, a rare show of weakness in the calm drummer. He held him as Gustav buttoned and zipped his pants back up, both of them suddenly lazy under the summer sun. Gustav kissed Georg softly, a silent thank you that Georg did not need but welcomed anyway. There was a moment that between anyone else might be called a cuddle but then it was gone and the two G’s were left standing beside the trail, hardly a sign that anything had passed between them. Georg shouldered his pack and clipped the straps back on, readjusting them slightly, feeling newly invigorated. Gustav grinned at him slyly.
Then came a high pitched giggle. Georg jerked backwards, slamming into Gustav, recognizing the giggle all too well.
“What the hell, Bill?” he snarked, positive the girlish singer had heard- and seen- everything that had passed between the guitarist and drummer.
Bill stepped out from behind a slab of granite, tittering madly. Georg groaned, not even wanting to wonder where Bill had found makeup or a mirror to put his show face on.
“Hi, Gusti, Georg,” Bill giggled, clicking his designer boots together. “Having fun without me?”
Gustav rolled his eyes and yanked Bill’s pack off, dropping it artlessly at the singer’s feet.
“I thought you were lost,” he said.
Bill grinned broadly.
“I was. But I’m not now. See, I met this really nice ranger guy and he totally found me a real bathroom, and it was really cool, though I had to drive in his icky truck, which has, like, never been washed. Oh my God, have you seen the bathrooms here? They’re completely disgusting with bugs and squirrels and squids and all sorts of other creatures living in them, and the smell is just ungodly! Ugh!”
“Uh huh,” Georg muttered, grabbing Bill’s pack when he did not pick it up. Gustav looked at him and they shared a silent suffering, glad that their delicate singer was not too focused on what he had just seen his bandmates doing.
“Hey, where’s Tomi?” Bill asked, stopping his twirling dance to look at Gustav and Georg in puzzlement.
Gustav sighed.
“We’re not really sure. He kind of fell off the trail,” Georg offered.
“Fell off the trail?” Bill repeated, his mouth in a tight ‘o’ (Georg had no idea where he found the ‘o’ sound, either). “How did he do that? I mean, the trail’s really obvious with all these wood markers on the sides and all.”
“That’s what we said about you,” Gustav muttered.
Bill did not seem to notice as he continued to dance up the trail, leading them in the direction of the rest stop from whence he came.
ØØØ
Tom stumbled the last bit of the way up the trail, his eyes set wearily on the shelter he could see at the top of the next rise. It was not far off now, he should be able to reach it in, oh, thirty minutes?
“What the fuck am I even talking about?” he growled, plodding on, his tired arms flopping against his sides. “Thirty minutes, my butt. Could be two hours for all I fucking know.”
He walked for a few more paces, his feet dragging through the dust and dirt, leaving not so much footprints as scratch marks. Tom growled, pushing himself a few steps more until, finally, his tired body collapsed. He fell to the ground, Bill’s sleeping bag, now horribly covered in grimy dirt, falling beside him.
Twenty minutes later, a young Austrian couple found him. The woman, a young, pretty creature, knelt beside him, not recognizing the superstar in his camping gear. Her boyfriend jogged back to the high trail and up to the main rest stop to find help.
“It’ll be alright,” she soothed as she lifted her water bottle to Tom’s dehydrated lips. He drank the water weakly.
“What’s your name, Herzchen?” she cooed.
“Tom,” he croaked out a little harsher than he actually felt.
“Tom,” she echoed, running her fingers through his black braids. “Tom, my name is Sabine. My friend, Rainer, is going to get help. You’re going to be fine.”
“Is Rainer…your boyfriend?” Tom asked weakly, making his voice as pathetic as possible.
Sabine smiled, her fingers still tracing through Tom’s soft braids.
“No, Tom, he isn’t.”
ØØØ
“Tomi!”
Tom lifted his head at his name being called and was immediately engulfed in his twin’s thin, pale arms, Bill babbling in his ear about how worried he was and how horrible camping was and how evil Georg and Gusti were for sending them out in the wilderness without even bothering to watch over them when the mountain was so obviously treacherous and impossible to stay found in and on and on and on. Tom was unpleasantly unsurprised to find that Bill, in his ethereal, effeminate beauty, was taking all of Sabine’s attention away. He sighed and pulled himself out of the beautiful Austrian’s lap.
Bill dragged him into a hug, laughing and crying deliriously. Tom rolled his eyes and promised Bill that he was glad to see him, too, and, yes, he was fine and, no, he did not want to meet Bill’s park ranger savior.
“Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you, Tomi!” Bill cheered. He let Tom go and sprang to his feet, dusting his skin-tight pants off. “C’mon, Tomi, you’re all sweaty. Gusti and Georg and I were going to go get some real food for lunch and then we’re going to go take showers and get all clean and-”
Tom tuned him out as he trudged to his feet, giving Sabine a hug as a thank you, turning the innocent hug a little bit naughty as he pressed his half-hard cock against her thigh. Sabine blushed and brought a hand to her mouth. Bill grabbed Tom’s wrist and hauled him up the trail, the guitarist tipping his nonexistent hat at the Austrian.
“Are you glad to see me?” Tom teased, wrapping his arm around Bill’s shoulders. Bill smiled devilishly and poked him in the ribs.
“Look at you, flirting with some chica you met five minutes ago. Like you’d actually do her.”
Tom cocked an eyebrow.
“I might.”
“You wouldn’t dare, Tom Kaulitz,” Bill laughed.
Tom leaned in close and whispered in Bill’s ear for only his twin to hear:
“You’re right. I’m already taken by a certain black-haired singer. What say you and I get away from the G’s for a little while, hmm?”
Bill grinned.
“I think I can live with that.”
“Lost?” Georg echoed, his lip curled in horrified disgust. “How the fuck did he get lost? You go up the trail to the outhouse and you follow the same goddamn trail back down. It’s lined with wood on both sides.”
Gustav shrugged one shoulder and hefted the tent onto his back before turning to help Tom adjust his straps. Tom grimaced and shifted uncomfortably under the light pack, earning him a disgusted look from Georg.
“What?” Tom snapped when he noticed Gustav watching him as well.
“You couldn’t have, I dunno, watched over him?” Georg huffed.
“Um, no,” Tom said. “You expect me to help him pee?” Georg rolled his eyes and tossed Bill’s sleeping bag at him. Tom missed and the sleeping bag fell to the ground, quickly getting covered in dead leaves and various bits of dry twigs. Tom scowled and grabbed it, the other two already setting off up the trail. Gustav looked back for a bare second, then moved on, keeping pace with Georg easily. Tom had no such luck and soon fell far behind his bandmates for all that Gustav paused every few hundred paces to wait for him.
“Fuck camping,” Tom grumbled. He pulled his phone out again, hoping futilely that this time there would be an adequate signal. Somehow, Bill had been able to send him a text during the night, a simple I don’t know where I am, but Tom had not been able to send a text back. There was no signal on this godforsaken mountain. Georg and Gustav were counting on a guide or a kindly hiker having found Bill and having taken him to one of the many trail shelters, where he would be warm and safe for the night. Well, as warm as a three-sided shelter with a firepit could be.
Tom was not entirely sure where they were headed, only that it was thankfully relatively flat with a gradual uphill slant. Tom had learned very quickly that uphill was far preferable to downhill, which tore into his knees and had him stumbling across rain-slick rocks and wooden steps built into the mountain. Supposedly, this uphill trail would take them to a popular rest stop, Tom privately wondering how ‘popular’ any fucking thing was on this blighted trail, where they would be able to alert the park authorities of Bill’s disappearance and possibly find someone who had seen Tom’s missing brother.
Tom sighed and kicked at a rock partially buried in the dusty trail. He yelped in pain when, instead of moving aside and falling off the trail, the rock stayed fast and tripped him, the lanky guitarist stumbling and falling hard to the ground. Tom rolled instinctively, keeping his eyes tightly closed to avoid filling them with dust and shards of rock. His roll fell apart into a frantic sideways scramble, the trail becoming curiously faint under his hands.
He landed with a pained thump onto his back. His knees stinging and his lungs suddenly emptied of air, Tom tried to come to his elbows and failed, collapsing back into the dirt, unable to breathe or move, paralyzed as he was with pain and lactic acid buildup. His backpack was gone, along with his water and gloves. Bill’s sleeping bag lay less than a meter away. Tom stuck out his foot to nudge it towards him. His knee spasmed. Tom groaned weakly and lay back in the tall grass surrounding him, fully in the belief that he would never move again. He prayed fervently to a god he did not believe in that Georg and Gustav would find him.
ØØØ
Georg stopped suddenly, realizing that he did not hear Gustav’s familiar plod beside him. He frowned and turned back, searching for his friend, bandmate, and sometimes lover.
Gustav was paused a few meters back, leaning against a lichen-spotted rock slab, his right foot set firmly on the ground, his left partway up the rock. Georg’s frown deepened as he trotted back to Gustav, his calm friend scanning the trail behind him.
“He coming?” Georg asked quietly. Gustav shook his head and moved away from the slab back down the trail. Georg scowled but followed, tightening the strap across his chest to redistribute the weight of his heavy pack. He was carrying a fair portion of Bill’s pack, having split it with Gustav before they had set off, and had been suffering under the extra load for the last kilometer. The rest stop was still a kilometer and a third off, and turning back to find Tom or even simply rest would lose them more time than they needed. Georg was positive Bill had found someone once he had gotten lost; the singer was well aware of his physical limits and would have at the least used his phone as a flashlight until he came across someone else’s camp from which he would have found a park ranger or one of the occasional restaurants and stops beside the main road.
Tom was actually the more worrisome of the two what with his pride in his self-reliance and independence, neither of which had any relevance outside of any city limits. Georg really could not think of a good reason for this camping trip now.
“Strap’s too loose. The pack must’ve slipped off when he fell,” Gustav murmured as he stooped next to the backpack lying just off the trail. Georg looked it over and wanted to scream. It figured that Tom would have been wearing the pack wrong with the weight sitting around his hips and the straps far too loose around his shoulders. After two kilometers with the weight awkwardly set like that, Tom would have easily become exhausted and clumsy.
“You see him?” Georg asked as he unclipped his own pack, propping it against a nearby tree trunk before helping Gustav out of Bill’s pack, the drummer shrugging out of his own. Gustav dropped to a crouch, turning over on his stomach to carefully begin tracking down the slanted face of the mountain. The road stretched far below them in the distance but a lower trail presented itself not twenty meters below and another forty out, a slow angle that they could easily move across. The ground was strewn with dusty rock and dry, dead leaves, a fire hazard in drier weather. Georg was surprised to be unable to see Tom anywhere below and, as he carefully climbed downwards, began to wonder if the other guitarist had wandered off from where he had fallen.
If Tom had moved too far off, they would have difficulty finding him, especially if Tom confused the lower trail with the higher one he had fallen from. To an untrained- or, in Tom’s case, uncaring- eye, the trails were hard to differentiate. They were both lined with wooden slats, mostly eroded or just plain missing, and were covered with a dull brown dust from myriad past backpackers and day hikers.
Georg scanned the ground to his left and right but he could already hear Gustav’s solemn sigh and knew that there was no trace of their errant friend. He glanced down at the blonde and got a curt nod in response. The two G’s would return to the trail and gather their packs, then continue on to the rest stop where they could find professional help. Georg was not looking forward to sending out a search party- he certainly could do without the publicity for losing two twins in two days- but neither he nor Gustav could do more than the most basic of tracking, and it would be pointless to get themselves lost along with their bandmates.
Gustav smiled crookedly up at Georg, making the guitarist laugh softly as he took the invitation to race up the mountainside. Regardless of his four meter advantage, Gustav was the better climber and faster, besides. Georg would have to hurry to beat him.
They began to make their way back up the trail, kicking a storm of dust and small rocks behind them, not caring because there was no one on the trail below them.
ØØØ
Tom had fallen asleep against the side of a warm rock face, Bill’s sleeping bag serving as a makeshift pillow. The summer sun beat down strongly on the exhausted guitarist as he lay, arms spread wide, against the gray rock. A maze of large boulders was massed in a frozen rockslide against the mountainside, appearing as snow against a mass of grassy plain to those far away. Tom, though, had no knowledge of any of this, having collapsed against the flattest non-dirt surface he could find, not knowing that, had he but ventured a quarter kilometer on, he would have found a broad wildflower plain of more adequate comfort than his current granite bed.
A faint burning, a light sunburn, woke him and he turned uncomfortably, a painful crick in his neck. Tom sat up, stretching, and was shocked to find himself outside, in the middle of, in his opinion, nowhere. He looked around, hoping Georg and Gustav were playing a trick on him and would appear soon with decent food and a good explanation for why the hell he was sleeping on a fucking rock.
But they did not appear and Bill did not, either. Tom opened his cell, it having been in his pocket during his fall, and checked his inbox. He found only Bill’s text from the night before and sighed, remembering why he was still out in the goddamn wilderness on a stupid ass nature walk. Bill had gotten himself lost in less time than it took to play the opening to Rette Mich. Tom smirked as he began planning his revenge on his idiot of a twin. Singing Rette Mich back to Bill for a few days would be decent enough punishment for making Tom traipse through the motherfucking mountains after him. Not that Tom was exactly traipsing anywhere after Bill at the moment, considering that he was sitting on a rock on the side of a mountain kind of lost himself.
Tom picked up Bill’s sleeping bag and scrambled over the mass of boulders that led to the trail on the other side of the frozen rockslide. He jumped off the last boulder and dropped to the ground heavily, resolving to make Georg and Gustav promise not to tell Bill that he, Tom, had gotten lost. Once he found the two of them, that is.
ØØØ
“If I find that boy and he’s curled up in a ball, crying to his mommy that he’s fucking lost his way, I’m going to kill him,” Georg growled as he and Gustav continued down the trail.
Gustav smiled at him sleepily, his eyes heavily lidded.
“I’m telling you, Juschtel, this is fucking ridiculous, him getting lost after Bill does. How hard is it to stay on the trail? Honestly, they’re both hopeless!” Georg complained. Gustav simply looked at him, staying completely silent, his breathing not even close to heavy for all that his eyes were incredibly sleepy.
Georg paused, his attention suddenly catching on that one little detail. Gustav grinned lazily and dropped his and Bill’s packs to the ground. Georg’s followed right after and suddenly he had Gustav pressed against the closest tree, an old, sturdy yew. Gustav’s soft moan, the first sound he had made in over an hour, broke Georg’s control and he slammed his friend back into the tree, pressing their mouths together, his leg sliding between Gustav’s firm, muscular thighs. Georg probed into Gustav’s warm, wet mouth, tasting Gustav’s heavy, guttural moans as they emerged from his throat.
The day was already humid, the air tepid, sweat already erupting upon their foreheads. Georg’s honey colored hair, gathered back in a low ponytail, was slick with sweat under Gustav’s rough fingers. Gustav worked his fingers into the brown strands, pulling the taller guitarist’s mouth down to his as they kissed deeply. Georg pulled away and pressed their foreheads together for a moment, Gustav whining softly at the loss of contact, before dropping to his knees, his hands deftly undoing the button and zip of Gustav’s pants. Gustav grasped at the rough bark behind him as Georg breathed over his tented boxers. Their eyes met for a moment, both filled with heavy desire and the thrill of the outdoors, before Georg slid the pads of his fingers under the elastic of Gustav’s boxers and yanked them down.
He sucked Gustav’s thick, pulsating cock into his mouth centimeter by centimeter, Gustav’s head thrown too far back to watch the mind-blowing spectacle. Georg smiled ferally and sucked the last of Gustav’s bitter-tasting cock inside him, hollowing his cheeks and sucking firmly as he could. Gustav’s strong thighs began to quake and then he was gone in the glory of Georg’s talented, familiar mouth and his cock released its sour seed in a hot spasm. Georg swallowed it quickly and climbed up to catch Gustav’s mouth. They kissed fervently, the taste of Gustav’s come on Georg’s tongue making it all the hotter.
Georg hugged Gustav to him, supporting him until Gustav could stand on his own shakily, a rare show of weakness in the calm drummer. He held him as Gustav buttoned and zipped his pants back up, both of them suddenly lazy under the summer sun. Gustav kissed Georg softly, a silent thank you that Georg did not need but welcomed anyway. There was a moment that between anyone else might be called a cuddle but then it was gone and the two G’s were left standing beside the trail, hardly a sign that anything had passed between them. Georg shouldered his pack and clipped the straps back on, readjusting them slightly, feeling newly invigorated. Gustav grinned at him slyly.
Then came a high pitched giggle. Georg jerked backwards, slamming into Gustav, recognizing the giggle all too well.
“What the hell, Bill?” he snarked, positive the girlish singer had heard- and seen- everything that had passed between the guitarist and drummer.
Bill stepped out from behind a slab of granite, tittering madly. Georg groaned, not even wanting to wonder where Bill had found makeup or a mirror to put his show face on.
“Hi, Gusti, Georg,” Bill giggled, clicking his designer boots together. “Having fun without me?”
Gustav rolled his eyes and yanked Bill’s pack off, dropping it artlessly at the singer’s feet.
“I thought you were lost,” he said.
Bill grinned broadly.
“I was. But I’m not now. See, I met this really nice ranger guy and he totally found me a real bathroom, and it was really cool, though I had to drive in his icky truck, which has, like, never been washed. Oh my God, have you seen the bathrooms here? They’re completely disgusting with bugs and squirrels and squids and all sorts of other creatures living in them, and the smell is just ungodly! Ugh!”
“Uh huh,” Georg muttered, grabbing Bill’s pack when he did not pick it up. Gustav looked at him and they shared a silent suffering, glad that their delicate singer was not too focused on what he had just seen his bandmates doing.
“Hey, where’s Tomi?” Bill asked, stopping his twirling dance to look at Gustav and Georg in puzzlement.
Gustav sighed.
“We’re not really sure. He kind of fell off the trail,” Georg offered.
“Fell off the trail?” Bill repeated, his mouth in a tight ‘o’ (Georg had no idea where he found the ‘o’ sound, either). “How did he do that? I mean, the trail’s really obvious with all these wood markers on the sides and all.”
“That’s what we said about you,” Gustav muttered.
Bill did not seem to notice as he continued to dance up the trail, leading them in the direction of the rest stop from whence he came.
ØØØ
Tom stumbled the last bit of the way up the trail, his eyes set wearily on the shelter he could see at the top of the next rise. It was not far off now, he should be able to reach it in, oh, thirty minutes?
“What the fuck am I even talking about?” he growled, plodding on, his tired arms flopping against his sides. “Thirty minutes, my butt. Could be two hours for all I fucking know.”
He walked for a few more paces, his feet dragging through the dust and dirt, leaving not so much footprints as scratch marks. Tom growled, pushing himself a few steps more until, finally, his tired body collapsed. He fell to the ground, Bill’s sleeping bag, now horribly covered in grimy dirt, falling beside him.
Twenty minutes later, a young Austrian couple found him. The woman, a young, pretty creature, knelt beside him, not recognizing the superstar in his camping gear. Her boyfriend jogged back to the high trail and up to the main rest stop to find help.
“It’ll be alright,” she soothed as she lifted her water bottle to Tom’s dehydrated lips. He drank the water weakly.
“What’s your name, Herzchen?” she cooed.
“Tom,” he croaked out a little harsher than he actually felt.
“Tom,” she echoed, running her fingers through his black braids. “Tom, my name is Sabine. My friend, Rainer, is going to get help. You’re going to be fine.”
“Is Rainer…your boyfriend?” Tom asked weakly, making his voice as pathetic as possible.
Sabine smiled, her fingers still tracing through Tom’s soft braids.
“No, Tom, he isn’t.”
ØØØ
“Tomi!”
Tom lifted his head at his name being called and was immediately engulfed in his twin’s thin, pale arms, Bill babbling in his ear about how worried he was and how horrible camping was and how evil Georg and Gusti were for sending them out in the wilderness without even bothering to watch over them when the mountain was so obviously treacherous and impossible to stay found in and on and on and on. Tom was unpleasantly unsurprised to find that Bill, in his ethereal, effeminate beauty, was taking all of Sabine’s attention away. He sighed and pulled himself out of the beautiful Austrian’s lap.
Bill dragged him into a hug, laughing and crying deliriously. Tom rolled his eyes and promised Bill that he was glad to see him, too, and, yes, he was fine and, no, he did not want to meet Bill’s park ranger savior.
“Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you, Tomi!” Bill cheered. He let Tom go and sprang to his feet, dusting his skin-tight pants off. “C’mon, Tomi, you’re all sweaty. Gusti and Georg and I were going to go get some real food for lunch and then we’re going to go take showers and get all clean and-”
Tom tuned him out as he trudged to his feet, giving Sabine a hug as a thank you, turning the innocent hug a little bit naughty as he pressed his half-hard cock against her thigh. Sabine blushed and brought a hand to her mouth. Bill grabbed Tom’s wrist and hauled him up the trail, the guitarist tipping his nonexistent hat at the Austrian.
“Are you glad to see me?” Tom teased, wrapping his arm around Bill’s shoulders. Bill smiled devilishly and poked him in the ribs.
“Look at you, flirting with some chica you met five minutes ago. Like you’d actually do her.”
Tom cocked an eyebrow.
“I might.”
“You wouldn’t dare, Tom Kaulitz,” Bill laughed.
Tom leaned in close and whispered in Bill’s ear for only his twin to hear:
“You’re right. I’m already taken by a certain black-haired singer. What say you and I get away from the G’s for a little while, hmm?”
Bill grinned.
“I think I can live with that.”