cameras
Disclaimer: I do not own these guys. If I did, ninja Jans would release the Krakken.
Cameras
The boys were so glad to get their own island for their vacation. Two months in paradise. No crazy ass fans, no touring. Just sand, sun, and the occasional lovely, tan bartender. Of course, there were drawbacks, or so Bill pointed out. Too much sun, sunburn. No civilization, no shopping. And no, no texting. But the internet. Still got that.
And with the internet, alone time. This made Gustav the happiest. He could indulge in his greatest passion, after drumming and OCD. Fan fic. This, no one could ever know of. He posted, and he commented, and all of his profiles on the various sites he visited proclaimed to the world that he was a happily married thirty-something housewife from England, who had a habit of squeeing in unfortunate moments, and writing smut that had girls spontaneously losing their innocence. His favorite subjects were his bandmates, and other bands they'd met on tours. No one knew that he was actually one of the world's most famous drummers.
He was in the middle of a third chapter, really, really into it, too, when he blanked out and ran out of material. Well, his much requested Georg-wanking-kink-sequel would have to wait. Gustav wanted a sandwich, and he was on his way to a really horrid neck crick.
Going down to the first level of the house helped, and he had run across great inspiration. Where he stood in the kitchen, he could clearly see a well-oiled Georg, tanning in the sand, much like a girl would. Gustav finished his sandwich and went back to barricade himself in his suite.
When he reached his faithful laptop, he pulled up his wordpad, read over what he had written, and frowned. His loyal followers would be disappointed, but he as he read and reread, he decided to go in a different direction. Hmmm... Maybe Little Georg needed company. A Little Tom, perhaps? That would definately appease his Torg fans. He smiled a little slash writer's smile and went back to work.
Two hours later, Gustav sat back. He read back over his fic and felt satisfied. He e-mailed it to his beta, stood and stretched. He went over to his window and enjoyed the view. Nothing made him feel better than being just that little bit naughty.
He saw a flash in the corner of his window and looked down. He strained, but all he could catch sight of was a foot. A manly foot. No one but Tokio Hotel would be on the island until dark, which was hours away, plus Tom and Bill were most likely still in bed. He wanted to see more Georg-foot, but all his efforts got him was a case of forehead-meet-glass. Still, he could enjoy the foot porn.
That was another thing no one could know. Gustav had a thing for feet. Not a huge, creepy thing, but a sightly embarrasing thing all the same. This made him ashamed. He wished that he wasn't so uncomfortable with being a gay porn writer with a foot fetish. He had met so many people, females he assumed, whose profiles described them as absolute fangirls, with all sorts of kinks. Of course, all of his did, too, but that was beside the-
Oh God. The toes attached to the foot gave a shameless wiggle. That little slut-foot! Gustav pressed his nose to the glass, and was glad to be alone when it made a loud, embarrasing squeak across the pane.
His pants reacted. He was a guy after all, no matter what his writer profiles said. Gustav knew that behind him, his door was locked. No one would bother him. He could touch himself if he wished. The owner of the foot on the sand would never what he was thinking, be it Tom, or Bill, or Georg. and even if anyone found out, he could say he was just trying to blow off steam. They were all guys. They were all friends. Surely, they could understand.
The wicked-minded drummer rejoined his laptop, woke it back up, pulled up his pictures, and unplugged it. He carried it into his bedroom and undressed. After making himself comfortable, He went through his pictures. Gustav knew exactly what he wanted to see.
There. he'd found it. It was a new picture, a gem he'd stumbled upon while trolling though a fansite. It was an early picture of Georg. Shirtless and sweaty. Gustav had plenty of pictures of Shirtlesss!Sweaty!Georg, but this one was very different.
The picture's subject had a leg propped up on an amp, again, common, but the look on his face, and the way his bass was positioned looked undeniably naughty. Georg looked like he was up to no good at all, and so far the picture had proved to be prime wanking material.
Guatav lay back and pressed his toes into the sheets. Hmmm... These were good sheets, Egyptian cotton, at the very least. He glanced back over to the screen and palmed his erection. This was so wrong and sinful, but he was a fuckin' rockstar, and somehow in his deceptively wicked mind, that was all the vindication he needed.
He curled his toes and lifted his hips into his hand. Yes, a good stretch, just to get the endorphins to chase around his whacked-out hormones. Another good thing a about isolated vacation spots: no one to hear his first moan, which was a shame, because he thought it was a rather nice moan.
Gustav wished he had the courage to fetch a mirror. He'd read in a few fics about mirror sex, both het and slash, and he'd found it to be incredibly hot. The experience would be good material, and he liked to have real things in his writings.
Crap. He'd forgotten his lube in his suitcase in the other room. Gustav didn't want to move. He looked around for a substitute. Having found none, he mentally shrugged and licked his busy palm. It wasn't as good a slide as his regular baby oil, but it helped get the job done.
When he finished, he didn't bother cleaning up. He did, however, get dressed enough to fetch his lube and check on that foot. He was bit disappointed to note that it was gone, but a bit farther out was something that made his stomach clench and made him want to run back to his trusty wordpad program.
Out in the sand between the ocean and the house was Georg, Naked as the day he was born, cigarette in hand, his back to the window, hair pulled into a messy bun-thing. Gustav's next thoughts were,"There is a God, and he hates me for being more famous than him."
Georg finished his cigarette, and lit up another, and another after that. Gustav stayed in his window, incredibly hard in his boxers but his hands far too occupied with digital camera to do anything about it.
---------------------
Georg knew he was a bit of an exibtionist, but no one was around. The island was deserted except for Tom, Bill, and Gustav, and he knew they were still in bed, taking advantage of having the time to lie in. The twins especially. Wtih all the noise they were making the night before, they'd have to be superhuman to be up so early.
He'd discovered nude yoga years ago. None of the guys could ever know this. They'd laugh their asses off. Somethings weren't protected by the bonds of band brotherhood.
He finished his pack of cigarettes quickly. It was a bit redundant to polish off a pack of cigaretes anf then attempt to bend his body into inhuman positions. Of course, it pay'd off. One night stands usually found his deceptive flexiblity insanely sexy and commented on it gratuitously. He'd never understand why girls didn't like it, though.
It was nice being out in the sun, all bare and such. Georg hated coming back from vacations with a tan line where his shorts were. It was annoying and something he looked forward to remedying while the others slept. The wind was blowing softly just there, against the crack of his toned ass and past it to the underside of his quickly filling cock. This was another reason why nude yoga rocked so hard, no pun intended.
Georg spread his legs to shoulder-width apart and reached down, really reached. He dug his heels into the sand and pressed his hands down.
---------------------
Gustav groaned, one hand ripping his boxers in it's haste to reach his nearly sobbing cock. He didn't care if Georg heard the camera knocking a rythym against the window, to look back and see one of his best friends jerking off to the sight of his bare, open, slightly pale ass. He didn't care if it was caught on film. This was truly something he could never regret. He never took his eyes off, not even as he came with the fithiest ideas in his head. He was without a doubt going to immortalise this moment, and if Georg found out, he'd tell him with pride that he had the prettiest ass he'd ever seen.
How the hell did Georg bend like that?! Guys shouldn't be able to bend like that! Girls hated it when guys were more flexible than they were.
As Georg took up another position, Gustav's traitorous cock stirred. He needed to find somewhere that the camera could catch everything that that fucking nudist was doing. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be conscious for long, and he didn't want to miss any sort of increment of time of this bit of heaven. His fangirls would never forgive him.
----------------------
Now, Georg had a bit of a confession to make. He knew that his persona was straight, but he loved muscles. Not just his own, not at all. His best friend Gustav had magical abs, being a drummer and all. Georg had slowly watched them develop over the years of touring and publicity. He'd learned to keep a camera handy when he and Gustav roomed together. He'd also learned the fine art of waking up early to catch perfect shots of prime wanking material on said camera. Gustav slept in pajama pants to stay cool at night, but usually managed to kick of his duvet and sheets. This left untold tracts of muscular back, stomach, chest, and calf ripe for the stalking. Now, he didn't consider himself gay, but looking at his camera, one would definatly label him as such. Strange how he never considered guys until after seeing Gustav shirtless.
A relationship between them would be purely sexual. He wasn't on the same level with Gustav intellectually, but he had certainly entertained thoughts of being held down and shagged silly by him. It was, after all, Gustav's fault he was an equal opportunity lover. Gustav had a lovely body, not flashy, but very- SHIT!!!
THUD!
Georg rolled into the sand, having lost his balance, and stopped, layed out on his back, erect cock pointing up at the sky like an accusing finger. Shit, that hurt.
---------------
Gustav didn't know whether to drool or fall out laughing at the sight of the bassist on his back with suck an expression. He'd caught it on camera, too, for his personal enjoyment. Who said porn couldn't be comedy?
Georg's cock! When the hell did he buy THAT??!! It was so much bigger than when they roomed together. Gustav felt like rewriting every fic involving that monster, with an appropriate adjustment and a personal apology to those who'd read it. Gustav zoomed in on it, careful to get the color on immortal film. He was thankful for getting out of bed when he did.
He began to get worried when Georg didn't hop right back up, then noticed his friend's hand moving from where it had fallen. He was going to wank?! Wouldn't that be painful? There had to be sand on that palm!
Georg ran a fingertip across the head then stopped, frowned and held up his hands, as if just noticing the grit there. He was still frowning when he got up, grabbed his trunks and went inside.
Gustav could hear him come in though the door loud and careless at first, and then as if remembering the others, much more quietly. Gustav sighed and turned of his saving grace and put it on the table serving as his writing desk. Time to clean off the window.
-----------
Georg was on the fast track to a shower when he noticed food on the island in the kitchen. It looked as if someone had made a sandwich, eaten it, but hadn't cleaned up afterwards. That made no sense. The twins were usually this messy, but the foods were not of a sexual nature or something either of them would be interested in. But Gustav had OCD and these were foods he liked. Hmmm... This could be Georg's only chance to pick at Gustav for bad homekeeping skills. He pulled on his trunks to do just that.
--------------
Georg made his way onto the landing that led to Gustav's suite. The door was indeed ajar, further proof that he'd been the one downstairs. Georg had decided that if Gustav had been downstairs, then he'd seen him in his nude yoga session. They could trade insults of his gay-ass past time for Gustav's voyerism-err, This was akward...
Gustav, kneeling in shredded boxers, working to remove what looked like cum stains from his front window. Said window faced out where Georg had been naked.
Well, Georg thought, I just might get punched for this, but this could be positive as well. He quietly slipped off his trunks and left them at the door. He near silently pushed the door until the latch caught. It seemed like it was already locked.
Seeing Gustav scrubbing at the window with typical OCD fervor, Georg made his naked, ninja way into the open bedroom. He'd just wait in the bed to surprise the hell out of him. Well, hello there... Gustav's laptop sat there already, open but with a blank screen. He settled into the sheets and rubbed a knuckle over the mouse. Paydirt. The screen came back to life and what he saw boggled his mind. It was one of the naughtiest pictures he'd ever seen of himself. His cock twitched as his mind recrossed the logical/sexy-time boundry. Now, why ever in the world would the drummer have this picture? Or the cum on the window, or on the sheets? Georg couldn't see or feel it in the bed but he could sure as hell smell it, and it was gooood. His heart sped up and his toes curled. Unless he was sorely mistaken, Gustav wanted him! And Gustav, being such a private person, handled it the best way he could.
He heard footsteps and a gasp. He looked up with what he'd hoped was his most winning smile and twiddled his fingers playfully. He moved the laptop from his chest and displayed his hardon. And lastly, he twisted the screen around to show the picture, put on his best teacher's voice and said mock-sternly, "Would you like to explain this, Mr. Schafer?"
The look on Gustav's face was more than enough payment for whatever happened next.
---------------------
Gustav came back from putting the rags he'd cleaned up with in water to soak. Otherwise, the cum would never come out. He grabbed the camera and lube off the table and headed off to his room for what his cock hoped was to be the last wanking session of the day.
He turned on the camera and just as it started replaying the debauched sounds of his jerking off, Gustav looked up to see the embodiment of his secret shame, naked, oily, and sandy Georg.
That bastard of a bassist gave him a shit-eating grin, twiddled his fingers, and showed off the fact that his dick was bigger in person. Any good vibes that Georg had hoped to establish were gone with his next actions.
Georg showed him his laptop's screen, and sounding uncomfortably like a teacher, asked him to explain himself.
Gustav saw red. How dare his best friend mock him?! Georg himself had done more far more shameless things in the past, and Gustav had never taken the mickey out of him for it! Wait, nevermind, he had. Well, shit, there went his "I've always been a good friend to you" defense.
"So, what's on the camera, Juustchel?" Georg hadn't lost his evil grin. Was this some sort of sick joke? A loud thump pulled his gaze from Georg's lap. His camera was still playing the video of Georg's naked yoga, with the soundtrack of Gustav's moans.
"That sounds incredible." Gustav looked up and stared deeply into Georg's cheekbones. He'd never be able to meet his best friend's eyes again. "Bring it here, I want to see this."
"At the expense of losing our friendship? I think not."
"Look at me, laid up in your bed, waiting for you to make your move. You won't lose our friendship. So get over here and show that naughty camera!"
Gustav still wasn't sure. Then Georg sat up and moved like he was getting up off the bed. He felt so trapped, and so, so hopeful, and still so, so embarrased. This was both the best and worst day of his life.
"Gustav?"
He looked to see Georg wiggling his toes and pouting at him. Well, today just got better. He stepped into the room and halted. Something was niggling at the back of his mind. He could only ask...
"I have one condition: don't you dare judge or laugh at me for what's on this camera. If you do, I'm booting you out and we're never speaking of this again."
"Is it that bad?" Georg's face flushed. "It can't be any worse than all the pictures I have of you on my camera."
Okay, that slightly put this into his control...
Gustav came upon his Georg -infested bed. The very, very first thing he wanted to do was get his hands on those feet. With one hand he gripped the ankle of the one closest to him, and with the other he dragged the blunt end of a finger along the sandy instep. Georg sighed, falling back into the rumpled sheets. "How did I know you have a thing for feet? Just how did I know?"
"Don't you dare laugh at me, you nudist! Get the camera and look through it all you like, then. You'll find out just what all I have 'things' for!" Gustav increased the pressure this stroke, eyes hungry and just a bit anxious and he watched Georg scramble for the object.
Georg sighed again, seemingly enjoying the massage. He grinned suddenly, and wiggled his toes in an attempt to tickle the inside of Gustav's gripping arm. Then his grin turned evil and he turned his well earned attention to the device. The video seemed to be half-over, but a glimpse confirmed what he'd already known. Georg was, though, a bit surprised. Did his butt really look like that? What about in jeans?
Georg clicked out of the video and into the picture gallery. Mixed in with assorted embarrasing pictures of the band were shots of oblivious Georg doing mundane things: having his hair played with, making a sandwich, playing World of Warcraft. It seemed like Gustav had a thing for normalacy?
"Am I missing something here? These all seem pretty tame, 'cept for the video." Gustav checked the camera and discovered the problem.
"Erm, wrong card. Can't risk it, you know? I'll go get it." But Gustav was stopped from fetching it by a strong arm grabbing his wrist and dragging him up onto the bed, and by proxy, onto a muscular stomach. And then he was being kissed. And it was lovely.
The boys were so glad to get their own island for their vacation. Two months in paradise. No crazy ass fans, no touring. Just sand, sun, and the occasional lovely, tan bartender. Of course, there were drawbacks, or so Bill pointed out. Too much sun, sunburn. No civilization, no shopping. And no, no texting. But the internet. Still got that.
And with the internet, alone time. This made Gustav the happiest. He could indulge in his greatest passion, after drumming and OCD. Fan fic. This, no one could ever know of. He posted, and he commented, and all of his profiles on the various sites he visited proclaimed to the world that he was a happily married thirty-something housewife from England, who had a habit of squeeing in unfortunate moments, and writing smut that had girls spontaneously losing their innocence. His favorite subjects were his bandmates, and other bands they'd met on tours. No one knew that he was actually one of the world's most famous drummers.
He was in the middle of a third chapter, really, really into it, too, when he blanked out and ran out of material. Well, his much requested Georg-wanking-kink-sequel would have to wait. Gustav wanted a sandwich, and he was on his way to a really horrid neck crick.
Going down to the first level of the house helped, and he had run across great inspiration. Where he stood in the kitchen, he could clearly see a well-oiled Georg, tanning in the sand, much like a girl would. Gustav finished his sandwich and went back to barricade himself in his suite.
When he reached his faithful laptop, he pulled up his wordpad, read over what he had written, and frowned. His loyal followers would be disappointed, but he as he read and reread, he decided to go in a different direction. Hmmm... Maybe Little Georg needed company. A Little Tom, perhaps? That would definately appease his Torg fans. He smiled a little slash writer's smile and went back to work.
Two hours later, Gustav sat back. He read back over his fic and felt satisfied. He e-mailed it to his beta, stood and stretched. He went over to his window and enjoyed the view. Nothing made him feel better than being just that little bit naughty.
He saw a flash in the corner of his window and looked down. He strained, but all he could catch sight of was a foot. A manly foot. No one but Tokio Hotel would be on the island until dark, which was hours away, plus Tom and Bill were most likely still in bed. He wanted to see more Georg-foot, but all his efforts got him was a case of forehead-meet-glass. Still, he could enjoy the foot porn.
That was another thing no one could know. Gustav had a thing for feet. Not a huge, creepy thing, but a sightly embarrasing thing all the same. This made him ashamed. He wished that he wasn't so uncomfortable with being a gay porn writer with a foot fetish. He had met so many people, females he assumed, whose profiles described them as absolute fangirls, with all sorts of kinks. Of course, all of his did, too, but that was beside the-
Oh God. The toes attached to the foot gave a shameless wiggle. That little slut-foot! Gustav pressed his nose to the glass, and was glad to be alone when it made a loud, embarrasing squeak across the pane.
His pants reacted. He was a guy after all, no matter what his writer profiles said. Gustav knew that behind him, his door was locked. No one would bother him. He could touch himself if he wished. The owner of the foot on the sand would never what he was thinking, be it Tom, or Bill, or Georg. and even if anyone found out, he could say he was just trying to blow off steam. They were all guys. They were all friends. Surely, they could understand.
The wicked-minded drummer rejoined his laptop, woke it back up, pulled up his pictures, and unplugged it. He carried it into his bedroom and undressed. After making himself comfortable, He went through his pictures. Gustav knew exactly what he wanted to see.
There. he'd found it. It was a new picture, a gem he'd stumbled upon while trolling though a fansite. It was an early picture of Georg. Shirtless and sweaty. Gustav had plenty of pictures of Shirtlesss!Sweaty!Georg, but this one was very different.
The picture's subject had a leg propped up on an amp, again, common, but the look on his face, and the way his bass was positioned looked undeniably naughty. Georg looked like he was up to no good at all, and so far the picture had proved to be prime wanking material.
Guatav lay back and pressed his toes into the sheets. Hmmm... These were good sheets, Egyptian cotton, at the very least. He glanced back over to the screen and palmed his erection. This was so wrong and sinful, but he was a fuckin' rockstar, and somehow in his deceptively wicked mind, that was all the vindication he needed.
He curled his toes and lifted his hips into his hand. Yes, a good stretch, just to get the endorphins to chase around his whacked-out hormones. Another good thing a about isolated vacation spots: no one to hear his first moan, which was a shame, because he thought it was a rather nice moan.
Gustav wished he had the courage to fetch a mirror. He'd read in a few fics about mirror sex, both het and slash, and he'd found it to be incredibly hot. The experience would be good material, and he liked to have real things in his writings.
Crap. He'd forgotten his lube in his suitcase in the other room. Gustav didn't want to move. He looked around for a substitute. Having found none, he mentally shrugged and licked his busy palm. It wasn't as good a slide as his regular baby oil, but it helped get the job done.
When he finished, he didn't bother cleaning up. He did, however, get dressed enough to fetch his lube and check on that foot. He was bit disappointed to note that it was gone, but a bit farther out was something that made his stomach clench and made him want to run back to his trusty wordpad program.
Out in the sand between the ocean and the house was Georg, Naked as the day he was born, cigarette in hand, his back to the window, hair pulled into a messy bun-thing. Gustav's next thoughts were,"There is a God, and he hates me for being more famous than him."
Georg finished his cigarette, and lit up another, and another after that. Gustav stayed in his window, incredibly hard in his boxers but his hands far too occupied with digital camera to do anything about it.
---------------------
Georg knew he was a bit of an exibtionist, but no one was around. The island was deserted except for Tom, Bill, and Gustav, and he knew they were still in bed, taking advantage of having the time to lie in. The twins especially. Wtih all the noise they were making the night before, they'd have to be superhuman to be up so early.
He'd discovered nude yoga years ago. None of the guys could ever know this. They'd laugh their asses off. Somethings weren't protected by the bonds of band brotherhood.
He finished his pack of cigarettes quickly. It was a bit redundant to polish off a pack of cigaretes anf then attempt to bend his body into inhuman positions. Of course, it pay'd off. One night stands usually found his deceptive flexiblity insanely sexy and commented on it gratuitously. He'd never understand why girls didn't like it, though.
It was nice being out in the sun, all bare and such. Georg hated coming back from vacations with a tan line where his shorts were. It was annoying and something he looked forward to remedying while the others slept. The wind was blowing softly just there, against the crack of his toned ass and past it to the underside of his quickly filling cock. This was another reason why nude yoga rocked so hard, no pun intended.
Georg spread his legs to shoulder-width apart and reached down, really reached. He dug his heels into the sand and pressed his hands down.
---------------------
Gustav groaned, one hand ripping his boxers in it's haste to reach his nearly sobbing cock. He didn't care if Georg heard the camera knocking a rythym against the window, to look back and see one of his best friends jerking off to the sight of his bare, open, slightly pale ass. He didn't care if it was caught on film. This was truly something he could never regret. He never took his eyes off, not even as he came with the fithiest ideas in his head. He was without a doubt going to immortalise this moment, and if Georg found out, he'd tell him with pride that he had the prettiest ass he'd ever seen.
How the hell did Georg bend like that?! Guys shouldn't be able to bend like that! Girls hated it when guys were more flexible than they were.
As Georg took up another position, Gustav's traitorous cock stirred. He needed to find somewhere that the camera could catch everything that that fucking nudist was doing. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be conscious for long, and he didn't want to miss any sort of increment of time of this bit of heaven. His fangirls would never forgive him.
----------------------
Now, Georg had a bit of a confession to make. He knew that his persona was straight, but he loved muscles. Not just his own, not at all. His best friend Gustav had magical abs, being a drummer and all. Georg had slowly watched them develop over the years of touring and publicity. He'd learned to keep a camera handy when he and Gustav roomed together. He'd also learned the fine art of waking up early to catch perfect shots of prime wanking material on said camera. Gustav slept in pajama pants to stay cool at night, but usually managed to kick of his duvet and sheets. This left untold tracts of muscular back, stomach, chest, and calf ripe for the stalking. Now, he didn't consider himself gay, but looking at his camera, one would definatly label him as such. Strange how he never considered guys until after seeing Gustav shirtless.
A relationship between them would be purely sexual. He wasn't on the same level with Gustav intellectually, but he had certainly entertained thoughts of being held down and shagged silly by him. It was, after all, Gustav's fault he was an equal opportunity lover. Gustav had a lovely body, not flashy, but very- SHIT!!!
THUD!
Georg rolled into the sand, having lost his balance, and stopped, layed out on his back, erect cock pointing up at the sky like an accusing finger. Shit, that hurt.
---------------
Gustav didn't know whether to drool or fall out laughing at the sight of the bassist on his back with suck an expression. He'd caught it on camera, too, for his personal enjoyment. Who said porn couldn't be comedy?
Georg's cock! When the hell did he buy THAT??!! It was so much bigger than when they roomed together. Gustav felt like rewriting every fic involving that monster, with an appropriate adjustment and a personal apology to those who'd read it. Gustav zoomed in on it, careful to get the color on immortal film. He was thankful for getting out of bed when he did.
He began to get worried when Georg didn't hop right back up, then noticed his friend's hand moving from where it had fallen. He was going to wank?! Wouldn't that be painful? There had to be sand on that palm!
Georg ran a fingertip across the head then stopped, frowned and held up his hands, as if just noticing the grit there. He was still frowning when he got up, grabbed his trunks and went inside.
Gustav could hear him come in though the door loud and careless at first, and then as if remembering the others, much more quietly. Gustav sighed and turned of his saving grace and put it on the table serving as his writing desk. Time to clean off the window.
-----------
Georg was on the fast track to a shower when he noticed food on the island in the kitchen. It looked as if someone had made a sandwich, eaten it, but hadn't cleaned up afterwards. That made no sense. The twins were usually this messy, but the foods were not of a sexual nature or something either of them would be interested in. But Gustav had OCD and these were foods he liked. Hmmm... This could be Georg's only chance to pick at Gustav for bad homekeeping skills. He pulled on his trunks to do just that.
--------------
Georg made his way onto the landing that led to Gustav's suite. The door was indeed ajar, further proof that he'd been the one downstairs. Georg had decided that if Gustav had been downstairs, then he'd seen him in his nude yoga session. They could trade insults of his gay-ass past time for Gustav's voyerism-err, This was akward...
Gustav, kneeling in shredded boxers, working to remove what looked like cum stains from his front window. Said window faced out where Georg had been naked.
Well, Georg thought, I just might get punched for this, but this could be positive as well. He quietly slipped off his trunks and left them at the door. He near silently pushed the door until the latch caught. It seemed like it was already locked.
Seeing Gustav scrubbing at the window with typical OCD fervor, Georg made his naked, ninja way into the open bedroom. He'd just wait in the bed to surprise the hell out of him. Well, hello there... Gustav's laptop sat there already, open but with a blank screen. He settled into the sheets and rubbed a knuckle over the mouse. Paydirt. The screen came back to life and what he saw boggled his mind. It was one of the naughtiest pictures he'd ever seen of himself. His cock twitched as his mind recrossed the logical/sexy-time boundry. Now, why ever in the world would the drummer have this picture? Or the cum on the window, or on the sheets? Georg couldn't see or feel it in the bed but he could sure as hell smell it, and it was gooood. His heart sped up and his toes curled. Unless he was sorely mistaken, Gustav wanted him! And Gustav, being such a private person, handled it the best way he could.
He heard footsteps and a gasp. He looked up with what he'd hoped was his most winning smile and twiddled his fingers playfully. He moved the laptop from his chest and displayed his hardon. And lastly, he twisted the screen around to show the picture, put on his best teacher's voice and said mock-sternly, "Would you like to explain this, Mr. Schafer?"
The look on Gustav's face was more than enough payment for whatever happened next.
---------------------
Gustav came back from putting the rags he'd cleaned up with in water to soak. Otherwise, the cum would never come out. He grabbed the camera and lube off the table and headed off to his room for what his cock hoped was to be the last wanking session of the day.
He turned on the camera and just as it started replaying the debauched sounds of his jerking off, Gustav looked up to see the embodiment of his secret shame, naked, oily, and sandy Georg.
That bastard of a bassist gave him a shit-eating grin, twiddled his fingers, and showed off the fact that his dick was bigger in person. Any good vibes that Georg had hoped to establish were gone with his next actions.
Georg showed him his laptop's screen, and sounding uncomfortably like a teacher, asked him to explain himself.
Gustav saw red. How dare his best friend mock him?! Georg himself had done more far more shameless things in the past, and Gustav had never taken the mickey out of him for it! Wait, nevermind, he had. Well, shit, there went his "I've always been a good friend to you" defense.
"So, what's on the camera, Juustchel?" Georg hadn't lost his evil grin. Was this some sort of sick joke? A loud thump pulled his gaze from Georg's lap. His camera was still playing the video of Georg's naked yoga, with the soundtrack of Gustav's moans.
"That sounds incredible." Gustav looked up and stared deeply into Georg's cheekbones. He'd never be able to meet his best friend's eyes again. "Bring it here, I want to see this."
"At the expense of losing our friendship? I think not."
"Look at me, laid up in your bed, waiting for you to make your move. You won't lose our friendship. So get over here and show that naughty camera!"
Gustav still wasn't sure. Then Georg sat up and moved like he was getting up off the bed. He felt so trapped, and so, so hopeful, and still so, so embarrased. This was both the best and worst day of his life.
"Gustav?"
He looked to see Georg wiggling his toes and pouting at him. Well, today just got better. He stepped into the room and halted. Something was niggling at the back of his mind. He could only ask...
"I have one condition: don't you dare judge or laugh at me for what's on this camera. If you do, I'm booting you out and we're never speaking of this again."
"Is it that bad?" Georg's face flushed. "It can't be any worse than all the pictures I have of you on my camera."
Okay, that slightly put this into his control...
Gustav came upon his Georg -infested bed. The very, very first thing he wanted to do was get his hands on those feet. With one hand he gripped the ankle of the one closest to him, and with the other he dragged the blunt end of a finger along the sandy instep. Georg sighed, falling back into the rumpled sheets. "How did I know you have a thing for feet? Just how did I know?"
"Don't you dare laugh at me, you nudist! Get the camera and look through it all you like, then. You'll find out just what all I have 'things' for!" Gustav increased the pressure this stroke, eyes hungry and just a bit anxious and he watched Georg scramble for the object.
Georg sighed again, seemingly enjoying the massage. He grinned suddenly, and wiggled his toes in an attempt to tickle the inside of Gustav's gripping arm. Then his grin turned evil and he turned his well earned attention to the device. The video seemed to be half-over, but a glimpse confirmed what he'd already known. Georg was, though, a bit surprised. Did his butt really look like that? What about in jeans?
Georg clicked out of the video and into the picture gallery. Mixed in with assorted embarrasing pictures of the band were shots of oblivious Georg doing mundane things: having his hair played with, making a sandwich, playing World of Warcraft. It seemed like Gustav had a thing for normalacy?
"Am I missing something here? These all seem pretty tame, 'cept for the video." Gustav checked the camera and discovered the problem.
"Erm, wrong card. Can't risk it, you know? I'll go get it." But Gustav was stopped from fetching it by a strong arm grabbing his wrist and dragging him up onto the bed, and by proxy, onto a muscular stomach. And then he was being kissed. And it was lovely.
End part 1