(no subject)
Title: Five Ways In Which Bill And Tom Narrowly Escaped Getting Busted and One Way They Definitely Didn’t.
Author: Razzle
Pairing: Bill/Tom
Rating: NC17
Summary: You can learn from a book, or you can learn from experience.
Warnings: Twincest. Underage sexual activity and consciousness. I’m not trying to make dry-humping ‘hot’. It’s just part of the story. Also, my chronology of their careers etc is probably fucked. I did 4.4 seconds research.
A/N: moblo413 is fast, fun and fabulous.
i.
The twins are ten years old. They’re even more curious than they used to be. The world has ten thousand new treats to offer. They learn by playing, by practise. It’s in the music they enjoy so much, and the games they create for themselves. They know that when they grow up, they’ll remain together. They’ll stay together forever; they’ll live in the same house.
Their mother laughs and tells them they’ll be married by then, but they both doubt that. Girls are kinda gross.
They’ll live in a big house, or two that join together (so their toys don’t get mixed up). And so that’s what they play. Making dinner or walking their dogs. And cats, Bill insists. Tom thinks you can’t walk a cat, but Bill is determined to try. Failing that, he’ll just get a monkey.
The twins play ‘watching the football and eating popcorn,’ where they shout at nothing in front of a TV that isn’t plugged in and pretend to eat popcorn from a plastic bucket in the shape of an upturned sandcastle.
Later, they pack the dogs off outside for the night and close the ragged curtain on the garden shed. This is Tom’s favourite part of the game. He copied it off the TV and it was such a good plan, he has to compliment his own genius. In the half-dark shed he pulls the top of Bill’s T-shirt down as far as he can, and puts his open mouth on Bill’s chest. If Bill is wearing a shirt, Tom undoes the buttons down to Bill’s tummy.
Bill giggled, the first time, but he doesn’t giggle anymore. Not since the first time Tom climbed across him and put his leg between Bill’s. Tom pushes down and rubs his crotch up and down Bill’s thigh. It feels good. Really good. It makes him go all stiff down there and rubbing it makes it better.
It makes Bill go hard, too, in the same place, and Bill goes all quiet and bites his lip. He makes funny little squeaking noises, sometimes, that Tom thinks are kinda funny. Bill closes his eyes but Tom likes to watch him; he looks so cute when his cheeks go red. Tom doesn’t think they look all that much like each other.
Sometimes he rubs himself too hard and Bill complains or swats him around the head. Other times he gets it right and he goes shivery, like there’s something crawling up his back. It feels amazing, and he gets a little wet in his pants. When they stop, they lie on the old carpet in the shed and hug like the people he saw on the TV, grinning and pretending to be asleep.
Tom thinks Bill probably likes that bit best, he never seems to want to let go.
The middle of the afternoon, on a summer Saturday, they’re cuddling together in the shed, playing the rubbing game.
Bill keeps shuddering and grabbing at Tom’s shoulders. Tom thinks Bill must be about to do the shivery, wet thing and he’s really excited to help his brother. It’s only when the door in front of them opens, unexpectedly, that he moves, he rolls away quickly and gets onto his knees, pulling Bill behind him.
“Hey guys, what are you playing?” Gordon asks.
“Wrestling,” Tom says, lying seamlessly. “I was winning.”
Bill’s facing away from them both and he doesn’t turn. It would help if he defended himself. Gordon looks concerned.
“Don’t hurt each other,” he says. “Go easy.” Tom knows to whom he’s talking. Bill would never be able to beat him. He nods.
“Well, your dinner’s on the table,” Gordon tells them, with a last, concerned glance at Bill, he leaves them alone.
“Did I hurt you?” Tom asks, addressing Bill’s turned back. “I’m sorry.” Bill half-turns back toward him, sparing him the briefest of glances. He looks crushed.
“We’re not supposed to touch each other there,” Tom says quietly. Bill squints an eye in his direction. “I don’t know why,” he goes on. “But we aren’t. So it has to be a secret game,” he explains. “It has to be ours, just for us. Do you see?”
“Just for us,” Bill echoes, looking up thoughtfully. “Our secret?”
“Our secret,” Tom confirms.
Bill smiles and stands up, reaching out for his hand.
“It’s dinner time.”
Tom grins. He doesn’t always understand Bill. But he adores him.
***
ii.
The twins were 16 and Tom was a better fighter than Bill, but Bill was fast. Bill’s fist came out of absolutely nowhere and caught Tom on the chin. Tom buckled back and cradled his face, swearing effusively and gritting his teeth.
People rarely believe that they deserve to be punched, although they so often do. But Tom knew he wasn’t going to return the blow.
Brothers fought. Of course they did; it was completely natural. They got angry and frustrated and sometimes they slapped each other around. Even twins who loved each other to distraction, whose worlds revolved around each other, whose worlds were each other. They fought.
Bill didn’t remember why the fight had started, and he had been trying to call an end to it since it started. Then Tom called him a heartless bastard and Bill had clocked him.
Bill was ready to get physical, and looked down in confusion as Tom stayed down. Bill hadn’t expected that. He opened his mouth to question the assertion but Tom didn’t give him the chance.
“The whole world already wants you,” Tom explained bitterly. “It’s only going to take the right girl, the right boy, the right deal and you’ll be off. How am I supposed to…”
Bill took two steps and fixed his mouth over Tom’s, his hand in Tom’s hair. Tom’s knees buckled and they collapsed to the floor of the bus, holding each other. Bill felt Tom’s shaky breaths and pulled away.
“Is that what this is about?” Bill asked. He didn’t know what had set his brother off. It could have been a million things. Tom could have seen something in a magazine, on some show, heard some guy saying he wanted to fuck Bill, or Bill saying he believed in true love. It could have been anything he’d seen that made him think too much and off he had gone.
Fuck knew, but Bill sympathised. He knew what it looked like. And, though Tom had no reason to fear from him, he scared easily when it came to Bill.
Tom didn’t cry. He never did. But he clung to Bill like his brother was his tether and Bill held him like he was freezing. Tom didn’t answer the question but Bill knew it wasn’t just that. It was the stress and the anxiety and the fear of failure and the raging hormones and all the other reasons why being a teenager is a fucking nightmare.
Bill whispered reassurances and told him that it was going to be fine. He promised he would never, ever leave him. Bill kissed his chin, his lips, his nose, his cheek, his eyelid. Bill leaned his temple against Tom’s and sighed, protesting their name.
Georg popped the bus door open and tipped his head at them, narrowing his eyes in confusion. Bill looked up through smudged mascara and gave him the patented ‘fuck off, it’s twin-time,’ glare.
The door hit Georg in the ass on the way out.
***
iii.
The twins are 14, and they’ve been apart for three days. Bill went to the seaside with Andreas and his family, while Tom stayed at home and tried to perfect A minor. The first day was quiet and cool, with their parents being likewise absent, absconding to Austria for a week. The second day was okay, if a little dull. Now he’s climbing the walls, missing Bill and feeling stretched out.
He meets Bill off the bus and hugs him like it’s been months since they were together. Andreas comes too, to see his other best friend and to take advantage of the empty house and drink soda without putting it on a coaster.
Bill smiles and laughs behind his hand, but Tom can’t understand why he doesn’t speak, the whole walk home. Andreas is all mouth and Tom learns plenty about their little holiday, but Bill adds nothing. To Tom, that’s some seriously scary shit. Andreas keeps grinning at Bill and whatever joke they’re cradling has driven Tom into a slight panic by the time they reach their front door.
If Bill’s shared their secret, he’s in trouble. If he’s been letting Andreas play… The bile rises in Tom’s throat and worry gives way to a sudden spike of anger.
In the hall, Bill changes. He grasps Tom’s shirt and, nodding Andreas toward the kitchen, he pulls Tom aside, into the dining room. Fingers against Tom’s eyelids drive them closed as a hand to his chest pushes his back against the now closed door.
“Bill, what’s…”
Bill shushes him and it sounds odd to Tom. He tenses when he feels Bill’s breath on his cheek. Bill’s fingers have crept up to rest on his collarbone. A kiss finds his chin.
Then comes the unexpected sensation of Bill’s tongue, flat against his cheek, running from his chin to his cheekbone. And something else; the dull, smooth pressure of something resting on Bill’s tongue. Tom gasps and Bill’s tongue returns in the dark, pressed to the edge of Tom’s mouth and drawn, ever-so-slowly, across his lips.
The hardness slides between his lips and he feels its shape. It’s a perfect sphere, and there’s a pin leading out of it. Tom’s eyes flutter open.
“What the hell?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know. Bill sticks his tongue out and that’s all Tom needs. He turns them, pinning Bill to the door in his own place and holding his face.
“Good god, when did you get that?” he whispers.
“Tuesday,” Bill says smugly. “I told Andreas’s mum that our mum said it was okay.”
“She’s going to kill us,” Tom points out. Bill doesn’t have to ask why that was an ‘us’ and not a ‘you’.
Bill’s fingers are around his dreads again. People thought his hair grew fast. Tom was pretty sure it was because Bill was always hanging off it.
“The guy in the van said it was good for French kissing,” Bill purrs. The piercing made him sound different; younger. Tom shudders. Bill saying ‘French kissing,’ is more arousing than the most explicit filth he read in that chat room Georg had showed him.
Partly, probably, because he actually understands what it means. They tried French kissing a little over a month ago. It’s now officially Tom’s favourite thing in the world and it will be for the next couple of months, until he works out how to masturbate properly and then it will have serious competition. A while after that, the twins will discover doing both at once and there’ll be no stopping them.
In the meantime, though…
“Does it hurt?”
Bill shakes his head, a little coyly. “It did,” he admits. “And it’s all swollen, but…” he stops when he sees Tom’s expression. “What?”
Tom shakes his head.
“Don’t hurt yourself when I’m not there,” he says reproachfully. “I can’t look after you…”
Bill’s right. It is good for French kissing. They’re still clumsy, new to the whole thing, but Bill’s just so hungry. He never stops moving. His hands are everywhere and his body wriggles and shifts and grinds against Tom’s until Tom’s playing the rubbing game again. And he knows it’s a bad idea, and he knows Andreas is in the kitchen and will come looking for them soon, but he can’t stop. The bullet, as he has already nicknamed his new friend, is dragging over his tongue and keeps hitting his teeth and he just pulls Bill’s tongue in and sucks.
Bill pulls his hair so hard it makes Tom wince. Bill makes a noise that’s half-pain, half desperate, confused need. And he’s practically crawling up Tom.
There’s a girl in school who will let you put your hand in her bra for €10. Georg said that for €10 he’d want to put his dick in her mouth. Tom had laughed along, although he didn’t really get why Georg would want to put his dick in a girl’s mouth. All those teeth just look dangerous. But he realises that he would definitely put his dick in Bill’s mouth.
Bill squeaks, possibly because Tom has just shoved his thigh really hard against Bill’s groin. Tom releases him.
“Awesome,” Tom pants. He’s fourteen, not eloquent. “I want to put my dick in your mouth.”
Bill raises an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because you’re so sexy,” Tom whispers, opening Bill’s mouth with his thumbs and breathing in deeply as he kisses him again. It’s shorter, much shorter. Bill’s lips are bright red and the skin around his mouth is wet. They haven’t worked out how to control their spit, yet.
“You think it’s sexy?” Bill asks coquettishly.
“I think you’re sexy,” Tom corrects him. “Open your mouth.”
Tom’s thumbs rest on Bill’s lower lip, just touching the edges of his teeth. Bill sticks his tongue out to show off the delicate silver stud. His tongue catches the edge of Tom’s thumbs. Tom drops his hands to Bill’s jaw as he realises he could lean forward and set his teeth around it…
“Isn’t it awesome?” Andreas asks as he pushes the French windows open at the other end of the room. “He was so cool getting it done, then they pull out this huge needle and jam it right through his tongue and he’s all like, ‘I want Tom, I want Tom,’” Andreas mocks in a girlie, muffled voice. Bill scowls at him. Tom looks back at his brother mournfully. Andreas doesn’t notice. “Oh, and my mum totally bought that your mum was cool with it. Even though she so obviously won’t be!”
“She is going to kill us,” Tom says, tilting his head at Bill.
“Why would she kill you?” Andreas asks him. Tom smiles fondly at Andreas and half-winks at Bill, who slides his teeth over his tongue until they’re fastened around the bar and only the stud shows proud of his teeth.
***
iv.
The twins are 12 and Bill doesn’t cry all that much. Only when he has a really good reason. Being knocked to the ground and kicked in the pants was a pretty good reason.
Tom is confused by his own reaction. He wants to kill the boy who hurt his Bill. He wants to kill him because he knows why he hurt Bill.
He wants to kill the boy because he knows Bill has a crush on the kid and he’s pretty sure the feelings were returned. Tom had seen the kid watching Bill in the changing rooms after their despised PE class. Tom had watched them flirt over lunch. Tom had watched this kid practically pulling Bill’s pigtails for weeks, alternately teasing and taunting. Tom watched the boy play with Bill’s fledgling sexuality while his own was still clearly in a state of some confusion.
Then Tom had watched in horror as Bill had passed the boy a note suggesting they meet behind the bike shed and the boy had kicked the shit out of him because he wasn’t ready to admit he was gay.
Tom had found Bill, curled up against the wall, one hand climbing the bricks in front of him. He was sobbing hysterically and it was obvious that he had been sick. Which was when one impulse overrode all the others. Not to yell at Bill for being stupid. Not even to indulge the raging, churning jealousy he had been brewing for weeks. Just to hold his brother.
So Tom sits and holds his brother. Half an hour they sit there, long after the bell has sounded and they should be back in class. Tom cradles his brother against his chest and lets him cry. He doesn’t even quiet him, just wraps his long arms around Bill’s slight frame and leans his cheek against Bill’s hair. His dreadlocks are just about long enough to curtain Bill’s face.
“You didn’t like him,” Bill said. “You never did.”
“No,” Tom agrees. “I should have protected you.”
Bill shifts Tom’s dreads aside so he can look up at him.
“Why?” he asks faintly.
“Because you’re my brother,” Tom replies. “I love you, don’t I?”
Bill tips his head a little and sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he says and Tom’s heart breaks to hear the sob. He turns to kiss Bill on the forehead. The kiss hardens when he hears Bill begin to cry again.
“You want me to hurt him for you?” Tom offers, very quietly, against Bill’s skin. Bill stiffens and pulls back to look up at Tom, considering the question or considering the questioner. Tom smiles, eventually. “Yes?” he prompts delicately.
Bill’s hand finds the back of Tom’s neck and he pulls.
“What are you boys doing here?”
They grind to a halt a second before they can connect. Bill drops his hand onto Tom’s chest and Tom turns to look sheepishly at their teacher.
“You should be in class!” she exclaims. “What do you…”
Bill pulls his head back and she stops. He looks beaten; there’s blood on his clothes where his arms were grazed on the concrete. The grazes on his cheek are bright red up the side of his cheek. He has vomit on his shirt, on his jeans, on the back of his arm where he has wiped it from his lips. Their teacher is stunned.
“Oh, Bill,” she says, in the world’s most affectionate voice. “What happened?”
“I was dizzy,” Bill lies. “I fell down and got sick.” Tom doesn’t know if she believes him because he’s so damn innocent, or because it’s easier than delving deeper, she doesn’t press.
“You need to go to the nurse’s office,” she says, sensibly. “Come on, I’ll take you.”
Tom pulls his armful of everything to his feet and slips a supporting arm around his waist.
“I’ll take him,” Tom says determinedly.
“You should clean up and get back to class,” she replies.
But it’s futile; it’s for nothing. She might as well argue with a wall. Tom tries to look pleading, but he comes off meaner than he intended. He hitches his sick, tired brother higher up his arms, taking more of his weight.
“I’ll look after him,” he swears.
***
v.
The twins are 18 and, mercifully, they have found a little time to be alone. Tom sits against an unspecial headboard in an unspecial hotel room and stretches his back. He picks Bill’s hands up from his shoulders and lifts them up, pressing his palms against the wall. It pulls Bill forward, makes it hard to balance. So Bill has to grip Tom’s hips harder with his thighs. Tom smiles, breathing heavily and drifting forward, dropping soft kisses down the length of Bill’s neck.
Tom’s hands leave Bill’s hands and drag down his arms, thumbs pressing into the firm muscles. They tug at Bill’s shoulders, just slightly, just enough to make him give a little huff. Tom’s kisses grow wider, wetter.
This slender back carries so much. This smooth skin has taken so many blows. Tom has had Bill on this back so many times. But this way, with Bill riding him, he is momentarily without binding.
Bill wants the kisses on his mouth when Tom’s hands reach his backside. He pulls his own hands from the wall to tip Tom’s head back, bury his hands in Tom’s hair, and kiss him. There is such kissing, shallow and affectionate growing into the serious wrestling of tongues when Tom’s fingers slide down Bill’s crease, meet Tom’s cock where it is sunk into Bill.
Bill’s doing most of the work, but he’s more than happy with that. He’s happy to drive, rolling through the pressure of his own need, panting into Tom’s mouth as he cradles his brother’s head in his hands. Tom’s fingers are long and they stretch over Bill’s back, fanning out in a possessive cage. Not that Bill could go anywhere.
Slowly, slowly, he grinds down and shifts, twists, promises. Tom hopes he never comes.
…
He wants to know. He wants to know why they’re always together. Why they’re always so fascinated with each other. He wants to understand the jokes they tell, the ones that aren’t funny to anyone else but leave the two of them in hysterics. He wants to know if they’re laughing at him.
He wants to know what they’re saying to each other when they run off together. It’s twin-time; it’s a family moment. It’s ‘Kaulitz talk’.
But it’s not fair. They’re already best friends. He wants to know what they share that keeps them so close, that means they can stand to be around each other 24/7.
He follows them, some time after they abandon the others. Hand on the handle of Tom’s room, he stops. He recalls the way Tom looked when he first heard Bill’s anxious a cappella version of In Die Nacht, read off the back of a napkin that shook in nervous hands. He knows they’re not laughing at him. He has to admit that, because it’s not as if they ever look at anyone else when the giggling is going on.
And they’ve had eighteen years for in-jokes. It isn’t anything to do with him. It isn’t his business. They’ll grow out of it, they’ll learn to share, or they won’t. And they’ll live next door to each other, work together forever, grow old together. Either way…
He leaves them alone.
***
vi.
The twins were eight, and already Tom was thinking too much.
Bill liked to run in the snow, fall down in the dirt, play kiss-chase and watch as all the girls ran after him. He didn’t even mind getting caught.
Tom wanted to know why there was snow, who decided there was going to be mud, what made Bill so much more of a draw to the girls than he. Just how much attention would be too much for Bill?
Tom wanted to know how they could look so similar and yet be so different. Tom wanted to know if being a twin meant he only had half of a soul. He wanted to know if that meant he would die if he lost his brother. He was pretty sure he would.
Tom wanted to know if he was normal. And, if he was or if he wasn’t, was he okay with that? Tom wanted to know the point of the sky, and why even crap music made him feel good. Tom wanted to know why Britney Spears sold records and who decided to put marshmallows in cereal. Tom wanted to know what it was like to be Japanese, and what was the point of his willy?
That was really bothering him of late. He quite liked it; it was warm and inoffensive. It liked a good scratch but it really, really hurt when you hit it. He'd had numerous ‘talks’ and knew what its ultimate purpose was, but he wanted to know why it hadn’t been made a bit more convenient.
Which made him wonder if everyone else’s was the same. In the end, he gave in and asked the only person to whom he could say absolutely anything.
“Well…” Bill said, thinking quite hard for an 8-year-old. “What does it look like?”
“What?” Tom asked, embarrassment giving rise to shortness. “I don’t know, it looks like… sort of like a fat sausage.”
“Sounds about right,” Bill said.
“But it’s not a normal sausage,” Tom said hurriedly. “It’s not smooth, and the end…”
Bill pouted sympathetically.
“Why don’t you just show me?” he volunteered. Tom’s eyes went wide.
“I can’t show you!” he said. “It’s private!”
“I’ll show you mine,” Bill replied generously.
Tom stared for a moment, then nodded dumbly. Simultaneously, they went for their trousers. It took Tom longer because he was wearing button fly jeans (which he would need help refastening), whereas Bill was wearing tracksuit bottoms. Bill only glanced down a little bit, but Tom stared, a smile spreading across his lips.
“Yours looks just the same as mine!” he exclaimed. His face fell. “But we’re twins! Maybe we’re both wrong.”
Bill arched an eyebrow at him. “Well, Mum saw mine last week, and she’d know if it was weird,” he pointed out, with quick, solid logic. “She’s seen two others! Although her and Gordon don’t have any babies…” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s fine. It’s normal.”
Tom smiled gratefully. He bit his lip, precisely where a ring would one day prove quite the pull.
“Can I touch it?”
“Mine?” Bill asked sceptically.
Tom nodded sheepishly.
“Just a little,” he specified.
“If you want,” Bill said carefully. “But only a bit.”
Tom shuffled forward and reached out until his fingers brushed the edge of Bill. Bill kept his eyes on his brother, waiting for this revelation.
“Oh my god!”
Tom pulled his hand away and they turned, simultaneously, to face their shocked mother. “What are you boys doing?” she asked in a high pitch reserved for when the boys were really pushing their luck. “Put your clothes back on!”
The boys scrambled for their trousers and arranged them as best they could. Tom got one button fastened but that was all. Their mother knelt next to them, holding one of each of their arms.
“Boys, I know you must be curious, but you can’t touch each other there! And you mustn’t let other people touch you there, either. It’s a private place!”
“We were just looking,” Bill started to argue.
“You mustn’t look, either,” she insisted. “No touching, no looking. If you have any questions, come to me or Gordon but you have to understand, that’s really wrong!” She was laying it on pretty thick. A little too thick. Bill couldn’t bear to be told off and he immediately burst into tears.
“Okay, I’m sorry!” he cried, wriggling out of his mother’s hand and running from the room. His mother called after him but he wasn’t coming back. She paused, turning to Tom and fastening his jeans for him. He was staring at her dispassionately. All he wanted to do was get to his brother.
His mother sighed.
“You’re growing up,” she said faintly. “Maybe it’s time you had your own rooms.”
“No!” Tom cried out instinctively. “Please! I promise, we understand, we won’t do it again! Please don’t split us up!”
She smiled sadly, resting her hands on his cheeks and her forehead against his.
“You always said you couldn’t go to sleep unless Bill was already sleeping,” she said, her voice soft with nostalgia.
“It’s true,” Tom whispered, his voice beginning to shake with his own threatened tears.
“You can’t share a room forever,” his mother said kindly. Her expression darkened again. “So you know you can’t do it anymore?” she reassured herself. “Not with anyone.”
He nodded firmly and she let him go with a kiss and a ruffle of his hair. He was gone, just like that, not sobbing but with silent tears streaming down his cheeks.
He wrenched open their bedroom door and flung it shut behind himself as Bill barrelled into his arms. They held each other tightly as they collapsed, Tom’s back against the door and Bill held against him.
“I won’t let them split us up,” Tom said, as much to himself as to his brother. “We can keep our secrets. They can’t touch us.”
“Promise,” Bill said. “Promise me we’ll always be together."
“We will always be together,” Tom said. “I promise.”
They’ll create a secret handshake for it, which will take an hour to design. They will never forget it.
One night, several years later, they will make the pact again, with a cut to each palm and a shared promise of blood.
After that, Bill will write In Die Nacht without giving a shit if it’s obvious to everyone.
They’ll argue sometimes and some stupid shit will happen, but they’ll recover at the speed of light and be stronger than they were before.
They’ll stay together.
Author: Razzle
Pairing: Bill/Tom
Rating: NC17
Summary: You can learn from a book, or you can learn from experience.
Warnings: Twincest. Underage sexual activity and consciousness. I’m not trying to make dry-humping ‘hot’. It’s just part of the story. Also, my chronology of their careers etc is probably fucked. I did 4.4 seconds research.
A/N: moblo413 is fast, fun and fabulous.
i.
The twins are ten years old. They’re even more curious than they used to be. The world has ten thousand new treats to offer. They learn by playing, by practise. It’s in the music they enjoy so much, and the games they create for themselves. They know that when they grow up, they’ll remain together. They’ll stay together forever; they’ll live in the same house.
Their mother laughs and tells them they’ll be married by then, but they both doubt that. Girls are kinda gross.
They’ll live in a big house, or two that join together (so their toys don’t get mixed up). And so that’s what they play. Making dinner or walking their dogs. And cats, Bill insists. Tom thinks you can’t walk a cat, but Bill is determined to try. Failing that, he’ll just get a monkey.
The twins play ‘watching the football and eating popcorn,’ where they shout at nothing in front of a TV that isn’t plugged in and pretend to eat popcorn from a plastic bucket in the shape of an upturned sandcastle.
Later, they pack the dogs off outside for the night and close the ragged curtain on the garden shed. This is Tom’s favourite part of the game. He copied it off the TV and it was such a good plan, he has to compliment his own genius. In the half-dark shed he pulls the top of Bill’s T-shirt down as far as he can, and puts his open mouth on Bill’s chest. If Bill is wearing a shirt, Tom undoes the buttons down to Bill’s tummy.
Bill giggled, the first time, but he doesn’t giggle anymore. Not since the first time Tom climbed across him and put his leg between Bill’s. Tom pushes down and rubs his crotch up and down Bill’s thigh. It feels good. Really good. It makes him go all stiff down there and rubbing it makes it better.
It makes Bill go hard, too, in the same place, and Bill goes all quiet and bites his lip. He makes funny little squeaking noises, sometimes, that Tom thinks are kinda funny. Bill closes his eyes but Tom likes to watch him; he looks so cute when his cheeks go red. Tom doesn’t think they look all that much like each other.
Sometimes he rubs himself too hard and Bill complains or swats him around the head. Other times he gets it right and he goes shivery, like there’s something crawling up his back. It feels amazing, and he gets a little wet in his pants. When they stop, they lie on the old carpet in the shed and hug like the people he saw on the TV, grinning and pretending to be asleep.
Tom thinks Bill probably likes that bit best, he never seems to want to let go.
The middle of the afternoon, on a summer Saturday, they’re cuddling together in the shed, playing the rubbing game.
Bill keeps shuddering and grabbing at Tom’s shoulders. Tom thinks Bill must be about to do the shivery, wet thing and he’s really excited to help his brother. It’s only when the door in front of them opens, unexpectedly, that he moves, he rolls away quickly and gets onto his knees, pulling Bill behind him.
“Hey guys, what are you playing?” Gordon asks.
“Wrestling,” Tom says, lying seamlessly. “I was winning.”
Bill’s facing away from them both and he doesn’t turn. It would help if he defended himself. Gordon looks concerned.
“Don’t hurt each other,” he says. “Go easy.” Tom knows to whom he’s talking. Bill would never be able to beat him. He nods.
“Well, your dinner’s on the table,” Gordon tells them, with a last, concerned glance at Bill, he leaves them alone.
“Did I hurt you?” Tom asks, addressing Bill’s turned back. “I’m sorry.” Bill half-turns back toward him, sparing him the briefest of glances. He looks crushed.
“We’re not supposed to touch each other there,” Tom says quietly. Bill squints an eye in his direction. “I don’t know why,” he goes on. “But we aren’t. So it has to be a secret game,” he explains. “It has to be ours, just for us. Do you see?”
“Just for us,” Bill echoes, looking up thoughtfully. “Our secret?”
“Our secret,” Tom confirms.
Bill smiles and stands up, reaching out for his hand.
“It’s dinner time.”
Tom grins. He doesn’t always understand Bill. But he adores him.
***
ii.
The twins were 16 and Tom was a better fighter than Bill, but Bill was fast. Bill’s fist came out of absolutely nowhere and caught Tom on the chin. Tom buckled back and cradled his face, swearing effusively and gritting his teeth.
People rarely believe that they deserve to be punched, although they so often do. But Tom knew he wasn’t going to return the blow.
Brothers fought. Of course they did; it was completely natural. They got angry and frustrated and sometimes they slapped each other around. Even twins who loved each other to distraction, whose worlds revolved around each other, whose worlds were each other. They fought.
Bill didn’t remember why the fight had started, and he had been trying to call an end to it since it started. Then Tom called him a heartless bastard and Bill had clocked him.
Bill was ready to get physical, and looked down in confusion as Tom stayed down. Bill hadn’t expected that. He opened his mouth to question the assertion but Tom didn’t give him the chance.
“The whole world already wants you,” Tom explained bitterly. “It’s only going to take the right girl, the right boy, the right deal and you’ll be off. How am I supposed to…”
Bill took two steps and fixed his mouth over Tom’s, his hand in Tom’s hair. Tom’s knees buckled and they collapsed to the floor of the bus, holding each other. Bill felt Tom’s shaky breaths and pulled away.
“Is that what this is about?” Bill asked. He didn’t know what had set his brother off. It could have been a million things. Tom could have seen something in a magazine, on some show, heard some guy saying he wanted to fuck Bill, or Bill saying he believed in true love. It could have been anything he’d seen that made him think too much and off he had gone.
Fuck knew, but Bill sympathised. He knew what it looked like. And, though Tom had no reason to fear from him, he scared easily when it came to Bill.
Tom didn’t cry. He never did. But he clung to Bill like his brother was his tether and Bill held him like he was freezing. Tom didn’t answer the question but Bill knew it wasn’t just that. It was the stress and the anxiety and the fear of failure and the raging hormones and all the other reasons why being a teenager is a fucking nightmare.
Bill whispered reassurances and told him that it was going to be fine. He promised he would never, ever leave him. Bill kissed his chin, his lips, his nose, his cheek, his eyelid. Bill leaned his temple against Tom’s and sighed, protesting their name.
Georg popped the bus door open and tipped his head at them, narrowing his eyes in confusion. Bill looked up through smudged mascara and gave him the patented ‘fuck off, it’s twin-time,’ glare.
The door hit Georg in the ass on the way out.
***
iii.
The twins are 14, and they’ve been apart for three days. Bill went to the seaside with Andreas and his family, while Tom stayed at home and tried to perfect A minor. The first day was quiet and cool, with their parents being likewise absent, absconding to Austria for a week. The second day was okay, if a little dull. Now he’s climbing the walls, missing Bill and feeling stretched out.
He meets Bill off the bus and hugs him like it’s been months since they were together. Andreas comes too, to see his other best friend and to take advantage of the empty house and drink soda without putting it on a coaster.
Bill smiles and laughs behind his hand, but Tom can’t understand why he doesn’t speak, the whole walk home. Andreas is all mouth and Tom learns plenty about their little holiday, but Bill adds nothing. To Tom, that’s some seriously scary shit. Andreas keeps grinning at Bill and whatever joke they’re cradling has driven Tom into a slight panic by the time they reach their front door.
If Bill’s shared their secret, he’s in trouble. If he’s been letting Andreas play… The bile rises in Tom’s throat and worry gives way to a sudden spike of anger.
In the hall, Bill changes. He grasps Tom’s shirt and, nodding Andreas toward the kitchen, he pulls Tom aside, into the dining room. Fingers against Tom’s eyelids drive them closed as a hand to his chest pushes his back against the now closed door.
“Bill, what’s…”
Bill shushes him and it sounds odd to Tom. He tenses when he feels Bill’s breath on his cheek. Bill’s fingers have crept up to rest on his collarbone. A kiss finds his chin.
Then comes the unexpected sensation of Bill’s tongue, flat against his cheek, running from his chin to his cheekbone. And something else; the dull, smooth pressure of something resting on Bill’s tongue. Tom gasps and Bill’s tongue returns in the dark, pressed to the edge of Tom’s mouth and drawn, ever-so-slowly, across his lips.
The hardness slides between his lips and he feels its shape. It’s a perfect sphere, and there’s a pin leading out of it. Tom’s eyes flutter open.
“What the hell?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know. Bill sticks his tongue out and that’s all Tom needs. He turns them, pinning Bill to the door in his own place and holding his face.
“Good god, when did you get that?” he whispers.
“Tuesday,” Bill says smugly. “I told Andreas’s mum that our mum said it was okay.”
“She’s going to kill us,” Tom points out. Bill doesn’t have to ask why that was an ‘us’ and not a ‘you’.
Bill’s fingers are around his dreads again. People thought his hair grew fast. Tom was pretty sure it was because Bill was always hanging off it.
“The guy in the van said it was good for French kissing,” Bill purrs. The piercing made him sound different; younger. Tom shudders. Bill saying ‘French kissing,’ is more arousing than the most explicit filth he read in that chat room Georg had showed him.
Partly, probably, because he actually understands what it means. They tried French kissing a little over a month ago. It’s now officially Tom’s favourite thing in the world and it will be for the next couple of months, until he works out how to masturbate properly and then it will have serious competition. A while after that, the twins will discover doing both at once and there’ll be no stopping them.
In the meantime, though…
“Does it hurt?”
Bill shakes his head, a little coyly. “It did,” he admits. “And it’s all swollen, but…” he stops when he sees Tom’s expression. “What?”
Tom shakes his head.
“Don’t hurt yourself when I’m not there,” he says reproachfully. “I can’t look after you…”
Bill’s right. It is good for French kissing. They’re still clumsy, new to the whole thing, but Bill’s just so hungry. He never stops moving. His hands are everywhere and his body wriggles and shifts and grinds against Tom’s until Tom’s playing the rubbing game again. And he knows it’s a bad idea, and he knows Andreas is in the kitchen and will come looking for them soon, but he can’t stop. The bullet, as he has already nicknamed his new friend, is dragging over his tongue and keeps hitting his teeth and he just pulls Bill’s tongue in and sucks.
Bill pulls his hair so hard it makes Tom wince. Bill makes a noise that’s half-pain, half desperate, confused need. And he’s practically crawling up Tom.
There’s a girl in school who will let you put your hand in her bra for €10. Georg said that for €10 he’d want to put his dick in her mouth. Tom had laughed along, although he didn’t really get why Georg would want to put his dick in a girl’s mouth. All those teeth just look dangerous. But he realises that he would definitely put his dick in Bill’s mouth.
Bill squeaks, possibly because Tom has just shoved his thigh really hard against Bill’s groin. Tom releases him.
“Awesome,” Tom pants. He’s fourteen, not eloquent. “I want to put my dick in your mouth.”
Bill raises an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because you’re so sexy,” Tom whispers, opening Bill’s mouth with his thumbs and breathing in deeply as he kisses him again. It’s shorter, much shorter. Bill’s lips are bright red and the skin around his mouth is wet. They haven’t worked out how to control their spit, yet.
“You think it’s sexy?” Bill asks coquettishly.
“I think you’re sexy,” Tom corrects him. “Open your mouth.”
Tom’s thumbs rest on Bill’s lower lip, just touching the edges of his teeth. Bill sticks his tongue out to show off the delicate silver stud. His tongue catches the edge of Tom’s thumbs. Tom drops his hands to Bill’s jaw as he realises he could lean forward and set his teeth around it…
“Isn’t it awesome?” Andreas asks as he pushes the French windows open at the other end of the room. “He was so cool getting it done, then they pull out this huge needle and jam it right through his tongue and he’s all like, ‘I want Tom, I want Tom,’” Andreas mocks in a girlie, muffled voice. Bill scowls at him. Tom looks back at his brother mournfully. Andreas doesn’t notice. “Oh, and my mum totally bought that your mum was cool with it. Even though she so obviously won’t be!”
“She is going to kill us,” Tom says, tilting his head at Bill.
“Why would she kill you?” Andreas asks him. Tom smiles fondly at Andreas and half-winks at Bill, who slides his teeth over his tongue until they’re fastened around the bar and only the stud shows proud of his teeth.
***
iv.
The twins are 12 and Bill doesn’t cry all that much. Only when he has a really good reason. Being knocked to the ground and kicked in the pants was a pretty good reason.
Tom is confused by his own reaction. He wants to kill the boy who hurt his Bill. He wants to kill him because he knows why he hurt Bill.
He wants to kill the boy because he knows Bill has a crush on the kid and he’s pretty sure the feelings were returned. Tom had seen the kid watching Bill in the changing rooms after their despised PE class. Tom had watched them flirt over lunch. Tom had watched this kid practically pulling Bill’s pigtails for weeks, alternately teasing and taunting. Tom watched the boy play with Bill’s fledgling sexuality while his own was still clearly in a state of some confusion.
Then Tom had watched in horror as Bill had passed the boy a note suggesting they meet behind the bike shed and the boy had kicked the shit out of him because he wasn’t ready to admit he was gay.
Tom had found Bill, curled up against the wall, one hand climbing the bricks in front of him. He was sobbing hysterically and it was obvious that he had been sick. Which was when one impulse overrode all the others. Not to yell at Bill for being stupid. Not even to indulge the raging, churning jealousy he had been brewing for weeks. Just to hold his brother.
So Tom sits and holds his brother. Half an hour they sit there, long after the bell has sounded and they should be back in class. Tom cradles his brother against his chest and lets him cry. He doesn’t even quiet him, just wraps his long arms around Bill’s slight frame and leans his cheek against Bill’s hair. His dreadlocks are just about long enough to curtain Bill’s face.
“You didn’t like him,” Bill said. “You never did.”
“No,” Tom agrees. “I should have protected you.”
Bill shifts Tom’s dreads aside so he can look up at him.
“Why?” he asks faintly.
“Because you’re my brother,” Tom replies. “I love you, don’t I?”
Bill tips his head a little and sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he says and Tom’s heart breaks to hear the sob. He turns to kiss Bill on the forehead. The kiss hardens when he hears Bill begin to cry again.
“You want me to hurt him for you?” Tom offers, very quietly, against Bill’s skin. Bill stiffens and pulls back to look up at Tom, considering the question or considering the questioner. Tom smiles, eventually. “Yes?” he prompts delicately.
Bill’s hand finds the back of Tom’s neck and he pulls.
“What are you boys doing here?”
They grind to a halt a second before they can connect. Bill drops his hand onto Tom’s chest and Tom turns to look sheepishly at their teacher.
“You should be in class!” she exclaims. “What do you…”
Bill pulls his head back and she stops. He looks beaten; there’s blood on his clothes where his arms were grazed on the concrete. The grazes on his cheek are bright red up the side of his cheek. He has vomit on his shirt, on his jeans, on the back of his arm where he has wiped it from his lips. Their teacher is stunned.
“Oh, Bill,” she says, in the world’s most affectionate voice. “What happened?”
“I was dizzy,” Bill lies. “I fell down and got sick.” Tom doesn’t know if she believes him because he’s so damn innocent, or because it’s easier than delving deeper, she doesn’t press.
“You need to go to the nurse’s office,” she says, sensibly. “Come on, I’ll take you.”
Tom pulls his armful of everything to his feet and slips a supporting arm around his waist.
“I’ll take him,” Tom says determinedly.
“You should clean up and get back to class,” she replies.
But it’s futile; it’s for nothing. She might as well argue with a wall. Tom tries to look pleading, but he comes off meaner than he intended. He hitches his sick, tired brother higher up his arms, taking more of his weight.
“I’ll look after him,” he swears.
***
v.
The twins are 18 and, mercifully, they have found a little time to be alone. Tom sits against an unspecial headboard in an unspecial hotel room and stretches his back. He picks Bill’s hands up from his shoulders and lifts them up, pressing his palms against the wall. It pulls Bill forward, makes it hard to balance. So Bill has to grip Tom’s hips harder with his thighs. Tom smiles, breathing heavily and drifting forward, dropping soft kisses down the length of Bill’s neck.
Tom’s hands leave Bill’s hands and drag down his arms, thumbs pressing into the firm muscles. They tug at Bill’s shoulders, just slightly, just enough to make him give a little huff. Tom’s kisses grow wider, wetter.
This slender back carries so much. This smooth skin has taken so many blows. Tom has had Bill on this back so many times. But this way, with Bill riding him, he is momentarily without binding.
Bill wants the kisses on his mouth when Tom’s hands reach his backside. He pulls his own hands from the wall to tip Tom’s head back, bury his hands in Tom’s hair, and kiss him. There is such kissing, shallow and affectionate growing into the serious wrestling of tongues when Tom’s fingers slide down Bill’s crease, meet Tom’s cock where it is sunk into Bill.
Bill’s doing most of the work, but he’s more than happy with that. He’s happy to drive, rolling through the pressure of his own need, panting into Tom’s mouth as he cradles his brother’s head in his hands. Tom’s fingers are long and they stretch over Bill’s back, fanning out in a possessive cage. Not that Bill could go anywhere.
Slowly, slowly, he grinds down and shifts, twists, promises. Tom hopes he never comes.
…
He wants to know. He wants to know why they’re always together. Why they’re always so fascinated with each other. He wants to understand the jokes they tell, the ones that aren’t funny to anyone else but leave the two of them in hysterics. He wants to know if they’re laughing at him.
He wants to know what they’re saying to each other when they run off together. It’s twin-time; it’s a family moment. It’s ‘Kaulitz talk’.
But it’s not fair. They’re already best friends. He wants to know what they share that keeps them so close, that means they can stand to be around each other 24/7.
He follows them, some time after they abandon the others. Hand on the handle of Tom’s room, he stops. He recalls the way Tom looked when he first heard Bill’s anxious a cappella version of In Die Nacht, read off the back of a napkin that shook in nervous hands. He knows they’re not laughing at him. He has to admit that, because it’s not as if they ever look at anyone else when the giggling is going on.
And they’ve had eighteen years for in-jokes. It isn’t anything to do with him. It isn’t his business. They’ll grow out of it, they’ll learn to share, or they won’t. And they’ll live next door to each other, work together forever, grow old together. Either way…
He leaves them alone.
***
vi.
The twins were eight, and already Tom was thinking too much.
Bill liked to run in the snow, fall down in the dirt, play kiss-chase and watch as all the girls ran after him. He didn’t even mind getting caught.
Tom wanted to know why there was snow, who decided there was going to be mud, what made Bill so much more of a draw to the girls than he. Just how much attention would be too much for Bill?
Tom wanted to know how they could look so similar and yet be so different. Tom wanted to know if being a twin meant he only had half of a soul. He wanted to know if that meant he would die if he lost his brother. He was pretty sure he would.
Tom wanted to know if he was normal. And, if he was or if he wasn’t, was he okay with that? Tom wanted to know the point of the sky, and why even crap music made him feel good. Tom wanted to know why Britney Spears sold records and who decided to put marshmallows in cereal. Tom wanted to know what it was like to be Japanese, and what was the point of his willy?
That was really bothering him of late. He quite liked it; it was warm and inoffensive. It liked a good scratch but it really, really hurt when you hit it. He'd had numerous ‘talks’ and knew what its ultimate purpose was, but he wanted to know why it hadn’t been made a bit more convenient.
Which made him wonder if everyone else’s was the same. In the end, he gave in and asked the only person to whom he could say absolutely anything.
“Well…” Bill said, thinking quite hard for an 8-year-old. “What does it look like?”
“What?” Tom asked, embarrassment giving rise to shortness. “I don’t know, it looks like… sort of like a fat sausage.”
“Sounds about right,” Bill said.
“But it’s not a normal sausage,” Tom said hurriedly. “It’s not smooth, and the end…”
Bill pouted sympathetically.
“Why don’t you just show me?” he volunteered. Tom’s eyes went wide.
“I can’t show you!” he said. “It’s private!”
“I’ll show you mine,” Bill replied generously.
Tom stared for a moment, then nodded dumbly. Simultaneously, they went for their trousers. It took Tom longer because he was wearing button fly jeans (which he would need help refastening), whereas Bill was wearing tracksuit bottoms. Bill only glanced down a little bit, but Tom stared, a smile spreading across his lips.
“Yours looks just the same as mine!” he exclaimed. His face fell. “But we’re twins! Maybe we’re both wrong.”
Bill arched an eyebrow at him. “Well, Mum saw mine last week, and she’d know if it was weird,” he pointed out, with quick, solid logic. “She’s seen two others! Although her and Gordon don’t have any babies…” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s fine. It’s normal.”
Tom smiled gratefully. He bit his lip, precisely where a ring would one day prove quite the pull.
“Can I touch it?”
“Mine?” Bill asked sceptically.
Tom nodded sheepishly.
“Just a little,” he specified.
“If you want,” Bill said carefully. “But only a bit.”
Tom shuffled forward and reached out until his fingers brushed the edge of Bill. Bill kept his eyes on his brother, waiting for this revelation.
“Oh my god!”
Tom pulled his hand away and they turned, simultaneously, to face their shocked mother. “What are you boys doing?” she asked in a high pitch reserved for when the boys were really pushing their luck. “Put your clothes back on!”
The boys scrambled for their trousers and arranged them as best they could. Tom got one button fastened but that was all. Their mother knelt next to them, holding one of each of their arms.
“Boys, I know you must be curious, but you can’t touch each other there! And you mustn’t let other people touch you there, either. It’s a private place!”
“We were just looking,” Bill started to argue.
“You mustn’t look, either,” she insisted. “No touching, no looking. If you have any questions, come to me or Gordon but you have to understand, that’s really wrong!” She was laying it on pretty thick. A little too thick. Bill couldn’t bear to be told off and he immediately burst into tears.
“Okay, I’m sorry!” he cried, wriggling out of his mother’s hand and running from the room. His mother called after him but he wasn’t coming back. She paused, turning to Tom and fastening his jeans for him. He was staring at her dispassionately. All he wanted to do was get to his brother.
His mother sighed.
“You’re growing up,” she said faintly. “Maybe it’s time you had your own rooms.”
“No!” Tom cried out instinctively. “Please! I promise, we understand, we won’t do it again! Please don’t split us up!”
She smiled sadly, resting her hands on his cheeks and her forehead against his.
“You always said you couldn’t go to sleep unless Bill was already sleeping,” she said, her voice soft with nostalgia.
“It’s true,” Tom whispered, his voice beginning to shake with his own threatened tears.
“You can’t share a room forever,” his mother said kindly. Her expression darkened again. “So you know you can’t do it anymore?” she reassured herself. “Not with anyone.”
He nodded firmly and she let him go with a kiss and a ruffle of his hair. He was gone, just like that, not sobbing but with silent tears streaming down his cheeks.
He wrenched open their bedroom door and flung it shut behind himself as Bill barrelled into his arms. They held each other tightly as they collapsed, Tom’s back against the door and Bill held against him.
“I won’t let them split us up,” Tom said, as much to himself as to his brother. “We can keep our secrets. They can’t touch us.”
“Promise,” Bill said. “Promise me we’ll always be together."
“We will always be together,” Tom said. “I promise.”
They’ll create a secret handshake for it, which will take an hour to design. They will never forget it.
One night, several years later, they will make the pact again, with a cut to each palm and a shared promise of blood.
After that, Bill will write In Die Nacht without giving a shit if it’s obvious to everyone.
They’ll argue sometimes and some stupid shit will happen, but they’ll recover at the speed of light and be stronger than they were before.
They’ll stay together.