TH fic "Kissing it Better" (Tom/Bill, explicit)
A twincest fic inspired by the toho_kinkmeme, specifically this prompt: "Tom has always licked Bill's cuts and scrapes to make them better. Bill accidentally cuts and scrapes himself an awful lot."
Many thanks to
helkamaria and misskass for betaing!
Kissing it Better
When small children hurt themselves, like little kids do, bumped their heads or scraped their knees, their parents sometimes kissed it better. It was like magic: a kiss that stopped the pain.
When Bill was small he sometimes hurt himself, and sometimes when he hurt himself and was upset, there were no adults around, only Tom. Tom was always around. Tom didn't know about kissing it better but he knew he had to comfort Bill, so he improvised and licked Bill. It worked; it was like magic.
When they were nine, they both had a rough time at school, and one day Bill had it especially bad and he basically wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out again. Tom tried to lift his spirits by suggesting that they build a blanket fort.
Bill scrunched up his nose. "Isn't that for babies?" he said, mostly because he was feeling blue. Worse than that: the constant bullying and the name-calling made it hard to go to school, and yet he had to go to school every day. He felt tired and like he couldn't get excited about anything.
"It's not," Tom said. Tom did look excited. "Come on! It's better now that we're older," he argued, "we can do more stuff. It'll be like we built a house together!"
Bill wasn't so sure about it but he gave it a try, and they built the best blanket fort they ever had. It was big and there were different levels (constructed out of chairs) and it looked dark and safe when they stood outside and peered at it. There were no bullies inside the blanket fort. There was no school inside it.
"You go first," Tom said generously, and Bill grinned at him. He took a step forward but then he got a brilliant idea.
"Wait," he said and grabbed Tom's arm. "You know how this could be even better? Cookies!"
Tom's eyes lit up. "We have cookies?"
"In the kitchen," Bill said, "I bet Mom has some somewhere up high where she thinks we can't get to them."
"But we can," Tom said and grinned, and Bill couldn't help chuckling, it was so bad to steal cookies, and yet so perfect. He turned to go to the kitchen and, in his rush and his excitement, hit his flailing hand on the edge of the table, so hard the pain seemed to make the whole world stop for a second.
It hurt so bad it felt like the table had bitten him maliciously, but of course the table just happened to have sharp edges. It was the whole world that was malicious. Bill had had this one good thing in his day and in his life and now it was ruined by the stupid, ugly table. He wanted to be angry at the table but it hurt too much, and he let out a sob.
Then Tom was there. Bill didn't know if Tom sensed what went through Bill's head at the time - he wouldn't have been surprised if Tom knew it exactly, but it was possible Tom only saw him hit his hand and thought that was all. At least it was what Tom concentrated on.
Tom took Bill's hand and cradled it on his palm, holding it gently by the wrist with his other hand, and asked where it hurt. Bill sobbed again.
"There," he said, pointing at the side of his hand, and Tom didn't comment on the fact that he was practically crying, didn't say he was a baby or anything like that. He turned Bill's hand carefully and they looked at the reddened skin together.
"There's no blood, so you don't need a band aid," Tom said, and then he stopped and looked at Bill. "Do you want a band aid?" he asked seriously, and Bill bit his lip to keep from making any more embarrassing noises and shook his head. It still touched him that Tom asked if he wanted one, even when he didn't need one.
"You'll get a bruise," Tom said.
"Yeah," Bill agreed, his voice more like a whimper than anything else, but he didn't feel embarrassed by it. The way Tom said it, a bruise could be as painful and impressive as a cut. It wasn't only a bruise.
Tom shuffled a bit until he was facing Bill and looked at him encouragingly. "It'll be all right," he said. He sounded so sure it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, and his eyes had a certain look that made Bill feel, and really believe, that it applied to both Bill's hand and his life altogether. It sucks now but it'll be all right. Then Tom lifted Bill's hand and fitted his tongue against the side of his palm where it hurt the most.
He didn't press, he didn't make it hurt any more, he just touched Bill's skin with his tongue and slid it wetly against Bill's hand. His tongue was warm in a way that was slightly uncomfortable; the harmed area throbbed hotly in a way that let Bill know something cold would make it feel better. Bill didn't say that though, and he didn't push Tom away. He was completely still and watched as Tom licked his hurt softly and thoroughly, the whole side of his hand from the heel of his palm to the knuckle of his pinky.
After maybe ten careful licks Tom stopped. Bill's skin felt wet and cool now that Tom's tongue wasn't warming it anymore.
"Did I get all of it?" Tom asked.
"Um," Bill said, and then he pointed uncertainly at his wrist. It didn't hurt, it hadn't made any contact with the table, but for some reason he felt compelled to. Tom seemed to sense that but he only grinned, as if he knew Bill was milking it and was being fondly magnanimous about it. He bent his head to give that part a quick, playful lick too, and then he looked up and smiled.
"All good?" he asked, and Bill nodded and smiled too, a shy little smile but completely unwavering.
Tom let go of his hand, and they went to get the cookies, and they had the best blanket fort time that day. The next day there was the biggest bruise he'd ever got on his hand, but on the blanket fort day Bill didn't even remember that his hand had been hurt. Because when he hurt himself, Tom licked it better, and it was like magic.
***
When they were fourteen they were almost adults. The year before was rough for them both, but when they were fourteen everything was good: they were together, they had a band, things were picking up with their music. Soon they'd be famous and have a house just to themselves and a career. (Bill felt it was somewhat bittersweet that those crazy dreams did actually come true, just not exactly as in his dreams, which were free of all negativity.) It was exciting. Sometimes it was a little scary.
It was just some magazine or other that Bill was leafing through that slit a nasty little cut to the side of Bill's right forefinger. "Ouch!" he yelped, and saw Tom's head raise in the corner of his eye.
"What?" Tom asked at the same time as Bill explained, "Paper cut." Bill grimaced. It didn't really hurt that much but the sharp sting of a paper cut was somehow disproportionately foul.
Tom stood up and came to him, as if curious. "It's nothing," Bill said and showed Tom the finger. Blood welled from the cut, but it was clearly a shallow wound and not very long either.
"Those things are evil," Tom said.
"Vicious," Bill agreed.
"Was it the magazine?" Tom pointed at the magazine in Bill's lap, and Bill pushed it so that it dropped on the floor.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm never reading that again."
Tom grinned and Bill smiled back. Sharing the sentiment and getting revenge on the magazine, as petty and ridiculous as that was, made him feel better. He was about to get up and go look for a band-aid when Tom sat down on the couch next to him. "Let me," he said and took hold of Bill's forearm. "I'll make it better."
Bill almost asked "Huh?" because it had been such a long time since he'd hurt himself that he didn't expect Tom to lick it better anymore. It was what Tom had done when they'd been children; surely he wouldn't do something so silly and childish now? But Tom guided Bill's hand to his mouth and touched Bill's skin with his tongue. Apparently Tom still felt like it was the thing to do.
Tom didn't actually lick, just pressed his tongue against the wound lightly. The blood spread into a little red spot in the tip of his tongue, and Bill frowned and tugged his hand instinctively away. Tom didn't let go, though.
"Isn't that gross?" Bill said.
Tom shrugged. "Not really," he said. "We've got the same blood anyway."
Bill snorted. "Do you go around tasting your own blood often then?" he asked.
"It's not that bad," Tom said and glanced at Bill slyly. "I always knew I'd be a better vampire than you," he said.
"What?" Bill said, not really as outraged as he maybe should have been, but Tom paid him no mind.
"Just like I'm better at everything else," he said, boasting like he always did, and Bill knew he didn't really mean it. Then, without warning, he pressed his tongue against Bill's finger again for a moment and made a show of smacking his tongue, as if savouring it. "Mmm, good," he said.
Bill giggled despite himself. "You're crazy," he said, but he didn't mean it either. Tom was acting silly with him and that made Bill feel warm. The fact that Tom was reviving the old habit of licking Bill made him feel even better. It felt so good that Tom would do something that was so childlike and uncool with him.
Tom put his tongue on Bill's skin once more, licking a wet stripe on Bill's finger, and then he smiled at Bill. "All better," he said patronisingly, and paradoxically Bill felt good and loved and even elated right down to his toes. He couldn't help but smile at Tom, but he put on a show of displeasure anyway.
"Thanks so much," Bill said. "Now it's all gross and I have to wash it."
"But it won't bleed anymore," Tom said brightly.
And it didn't.
***
At fifteen Bill dropped a cork that he'd been toying with and when he bent down to fish it from behind a chair right next to the backstage wall he accidentally knocked his head on the wall. Painfully. There was no way he would have done that on purpose. The surface of the wall was rough, too, so not only did he get a noticeable bump on his forehead, his skin was scraped so that make up stung for a couple of days. So it would have been really stupid to do that intentionally. And Bill hadn't.
He tried to catch the cork and stretched his fingers as long as he could. He turned his head so he could push his arm even further, or maybe to look for something that would help, a hook he could use or something. When his head made contact with the wall the pain blazed, startling and acute, and Bill let out a yowl.
When he looked up Georg and Gustav stared at him, frozen and wide-eyed, and he realised how loud he had been. Tom was already within three feet of him, looking concerned. "Uh," Bill said and rubbed the skin right over his eye, trying to ease the pain by distracting himself from it. "Hit my head."
"I kind of figured," Georg said dryly and turned away, having apparently determined that Bill was all right. Gustav did too, and without a sarcastic comment, which Bill appreciated.
Tom wasn't satisfied though. He reached out to Bill and tugged his hand away from his forehead. "Let me see," Tom said, and Bill submitted to his inspection. His head didn't hurt so badly now, there was only a dull ache that would probably continue for a while.
"How is it?" Bill asked.
"It's not as bad as it could be," Tom said and gave him a hard look, reproaching him for being so careless. "Let's go to the bathroom so you can see for yourself."
The bathroom wasn't luxurious by any means but there was a mirror and a decent light. Bill peered at his reflection. "The skin looks broken and there's already a lump forming," he said. "How is this 'not as bad as it could be'? Because my head isn't cracked open?"
He turned to Tom. Tom looked more relaxed, but he didn't respond to Bill's joking, only raised his eyebrows. "Exactly," he said. Bill felt a prick of remorse. He didn't know what it had looked and sounded like when he'd bumped his head, and there was a possibility that Tom had had a real scare.
"Well, it's not, and I can hide the bruise with foundation," Bill said. "Good thing I already use make-up, right?"
He glanced at Tom, but he didn't rise to even that bait, only replied neutrally, "Let's get that clean now."
Bill let Tom dab at the scratch with wet paper towels, figuring Tom would feel better if he was doing something. He could tell Tom was being careful, but it was sore and touching didn't exactly help. "Ow," Bill whined.
"You should have been more careful," Tom admonished, but then he looked at Bill and his expression softened at last. "Does it really hurt?"
"Not much, but yes," Bill said. He might have pushed his lower lip forward in a pitiful look; he couldn't help it. Tom's eyes became even kinder.
"Stay still," he said, and then he cupped Bill's face and reached up. Kiss, Bill though nonsensically, spurred by some kind of an association, but then he forgot about it when Tom licked gently at the graze.
It didn't last long - maybe six laps of Tom's velvety tongue. It felt longer though and when Tom stopped Bill was a bit light-headed. He thought it must be because the pain had went away: however contrary to common sense it was to touch a wound, Tom's soft licking made Bill feel worlds better. There was an uncomfortable ache deeper in his forehead but his skin didn't hurt at all.
"There," Tom murmured, still looking at Bill's forehead. He cocked his head. "I hope you can conceal the bruise," he said, "but I don't think there's any kind of make up that would hide the lump."
It was true, and Bill heard about it from various people who thought it was their business to take care of how he looked, and the exasperated "Be careful!" became quickly a familiar exclamation. He didn't enjoy it. It was a relief when his forehead healed. It would have been stupid to have bumped his head intentionally, and Bill hadn't... but there was still something magical about Tom's touch. And the only time Tom really touched him like that, intensely and gently and completely focused on Bill, was when Bill was hurt.
When they were fifteen Bill injured himself quite a lot. He burned himself on the stove, hit his elbow on the table and banged his hand against the doorframe. It became a joke among the band members. Especially Georg enjoyed it, joking about black eyes and wondering if they could really be identical twins when Tom never got hurt like that, and mock-praising Bill's gracefulness when he tripped and landed hard on his knee. Usually Bill didn't hurt himself when Georg and Gustav were around, though; they heard about what had happened after. Like when Tom and Bill were having breakfast and Bill poked at the bread-knife until it cut through skin.
Tom shook his head. "What am I going to do with you," he said, and it didn't sound like a question.
"I just wanted to see how sharp it was," Bill complained.
"So you tested it with your finger." Tom managed to look like he thought Bill was kind of an idiot, but an idiot he loved.
"I'm just so curious, you know how it is," Bill said and tried to look convincing.
"Sure you are," Tom said, lifted Bill's hand and licked at his bloody finger.
Tom kept going long after the cut was clean, his tongue almost unbearably soft, and Bill squirmed a bit, discomfited by the end of it. When Tom held Bill's finger up as if to inspect if it was really clean, Bill pulled his hand away and looked down. "It's just a small cut," he mumbled.
"Stay away from sharp things," Tom advised mildly, as if he knew that it wouldn't do any good, and then he left Bill to his thoughts. Bill wished he wouldn't have. Of course Tom knew it wouldn't do any good because Bill kept doing that: touching blades and pins and whatever he saw like a child who couldn't believe that they hurt. He'd done that so much already. Everyone else thought he was careless and graceless and maybe too plain stupid to stay unscathed.
He didn't know what Tom thought.
Bill breathed carefully through the next few moments while his mind was going a mile a minute imagining how Tom thought he was - not stupid, that he could live with, but something else, something that made his gut twist: weird or perverted. Bill realised he was afraid he was that himself.
But then he remembered how Tom looked at him, affectionately, always, and the sickening feeling eased inside him. Tom didn't think he was weird. Or not weird in a bad way, at least. Tom didn't think there was anything wrong with him cutting himself and hurting himself, it was obvious since Tom went along with him every time. Tom came to him to see what had happened, made sure he was all right, and made it better by licking whatever scrapes Bill had got.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.
***
When they were sixteen they were touring in earnest, and Bill had too much to do and too much to think about to engage in childish games that could get him seriously hurt if he wasn't careful. He was too mature for that, too busy. Or at least he wished he was. He wasn't as accident-prone as he'd been, anyway, but touring was stressful, he was tired a lot, and every once in a while a moment of carelessness was bound to occur. Travelling wasn't exactly safe either. Nor was helping the roadies and gathering a big armful of equipment that had sharp and protruding bits. Actually, it would have been better if Bill had left those alone, even if it was kind of boring to wait at the venue with nothing to do.
Bill was more reluctant to hurt himself, though. That was actually true. He might have carried the equipment with the objective of scratching his skin in mind but when he felt it happen he couldn't bring himself to attract any attention to it.
It just so happened he didn't have to. Something coarse raked the inside of his elbow and he flinched, and Tom was suddenly there as if he could read Bill's mind.
"Be careful with that," Tom said. "What are you doing, carrying this stuff anyway? I think you should leave the cables for professionals."
"I'm trying to help," Bill said.
"With your luck there's a good chance you'll electrocute yourself," Tom said.
Bill put the coil of wires down. When he straightened, Tom was next to him, so close his shirt touched Bill's arm, and he put his arm around Bill. Bill stayed still, surprised, not knowing what to expect.
"As soon as I saw you take that I knew it was a bad idea," Tom said in a low voice. "You shouldn't be left unsupervised for even a moment. Come on, let me see it."
For a moment Bill thought about denying that there was anything wrong. Tom sounded so determined though that it didn't seem like a good idea. He sighed and turned his arm so that the scrape inside the elbow was visible.
Tom clucked his tongue. "All right, let's go somewhere safer," he said and began to steer Bill toward the backstage area. "Just a moment!" he called behind them. "Bill's got some scratches, he needs a band-aid."
Bill heard a murmur of unsurprised voices but he couldn't really concentrate on them. Tom was taking him to the back, probably somewhere where there weren't any other people, and Bill knew what he meant by "band-aid." He was going to press his tongue on Bill's skin. The thought made Bill feel the oddest mix of delighted anticipation and nervousness. He toyed with the idea of stopping Tom and wiggling his way out of this, but again it seemed that Tom wouldn't let it go so easily, so he didn't say anything.
When they reached the backstage bathroom Bill was still nervous. Tom was standing really close to him, making him feel antsy. He cradled Bill's elbow in his hands and then he licked the patch of grazed skin. His tongue felt hot after the cool air of the venue and Bill's breathing got all funny. The inside of his elbow was ridiculously sensitive and responded to each lick. Something built inside Bill when Tom licked insistently, like he was never going to stop, and the bathroom felt very small and hot. Just when Tom licked the last time Bill realised it was pleasure that was making him feel woozy, that Tom's silky soft tongue gliding on his skin almost made him hard. He barely stifled a gasp but couldn't hide his start, judging from the way Tom turned his head sharply and zeroed in on him.
"All right?" Tom asked.
"All better," Bill said, going for an upbeat tone but ending up somewhere breathless and urgent. He tried to inch around Tom, who was still looking at him, eyelids heavy, focused in a way that would make Bill do something he was going to regret if he didn't leave soon. "Let's go see if they're ready for us yet," he suggested, and now Tom let him go.
Bill's cheeks burned as he left the bathroom. He'd almost kissed his own brother, had almost crowded closer and leaned against him. He had liked it when Tom had put his arm around him earlier, when Tom had been so close and wanted to protect him bodily from the harms of sharp, stinging things. He wanted to feel that again, he couldn't lie to himself; when he thought about that and looked at Tom during sound check he felt heat go through him in a thrilling, dizzying wave. He wanted Tom to lick him in places he hadn't been hurt until he'd be writhing in torturous ecstasy under that hot, wet, thorough tongue. And Tom would have been dismayed, had he known.
Or would he have been? Bill couldn't look at Tom at first, worrying that Tom could somehow read his mind if they made eye contact, but after a while Bill managed to push the thoughts from the centre of his mind and he ventured to glance at Tom. Tom's face was unreadable but he had licked Bill's little cuts and scrapes whenever Bill had them. He'd licked Bill's elbow that afternoon. He'd come close to Bill and licked his skin much longer than was- Bill took a deep breath. Much longer than was normal between brothers, even if they had a thing that involved licking. Did Tom do that on purpose? Did he want to get close and intimate with Bill like that?
Bill kept a close eye on Tom for the next few days. It wasn't like he didn't have plenty of opportunities for observing, what with them spending every waking hour together, but he didn't find out anything new. Tom was inscrutable. Or rather, he was acting like himself, and maybe that was true, maybe there was nothing to see. He ragged on Georg and shared inside jokes with Bill and tongued his lip ring. That last thing was driving Bill crazy, but even that wasn't significant since Tom was always doing that anyway. The only new thing was how Bill reacted to it: he couldn't stop watching Tom when he flicked the ring and he couldn't stop imagining, and in some unfortunate cases of vivid imagination, feeling Tom teasing out reactions from Bill's body with that tongue.
When they had a rare treat, a free night and a hotel night as well, Bill was feeling dubious about spending much time in the same room with Tom. At the same time, he was tempted to play with fire and try to find out how Tom felt without revealing his own feelings. When Tom asked him if he wanted to spend some time in his hotel room however Bill didn't feel conflicted at all. Weird licking-related feelings aside, he wanted to spend as much time with Tom as possible, especially stress-free time just hanging out.
They watched TV and Bill ate a whole bag of candy and fiddled endlessly with his phone, trying to calm down but not being able to. At times he felt like just blurting it out. Sometimes I feel like pressing real close to you and maybe kissing you. It would have been such a relief to just get it out so that Tom would know about it. Bill wasn't very good at keeping secrets from Tom: usually an idea stayed in his head for seconds before he told Tom about it, instead of days. Or weeks. Bill felt horrified by the possibility. He had to do something sooner.
Bill cast about for something to cut himself accidentally with. The strategy had worked well for him so far and now that he knew what to look for, he wanted to do it again so he could observe Tom. A little voice inside him said he also wanted Tom's tongue on his skin but he ignored it, and also the flush that coloured his cheeks.
Tom had a guitar with him so Bill settled for that.
"What are you doing?" Tom asked at once when Bill reached for it.
"I want to play a little, you don't mind, do you?" Bill said.
"You want to play a guitar?" Tom sounded incredulous and Bill frowned.
"I just want to do something," he said. "I'm feeling really restless."
"I noticed," Tom said dryly. "Don't break it."
Bill played the two chords he knew a few times and then fingered the strings, trying to remember how to play a song he was sure he'd learned at some point. Then he dragged one of the strings a little and released it so that it snapped against his forefinger.
"Ow!" No matter how many times Bill did this, he was always unpleasantly surprised by how much it hurt to be hurt. He flinched, and even though the guitar was safely in his lap the whole time and there wasn't a chance of it falling, Tom reached for it at once and steadied it.
"I've got it," Bill said, pride wounded when Tom went for the guitar and not him even though he'd yelped.
"Obviously you don't," Tom pointed out calmly, lifting the guitar from him and putting it out of harm's way.
"There's no need to be so exaggerated," Bill started to say, but then Tom took his hand and he fell silent. His skin buzzed where Tom was touching him like there were ants busy right under it or something.
"There's no mark," Tom said, turning his hand this way and that. "Which one was it?"
"The forefinger," Bill said.
Tom looked at him and Bill couldn't help but look back. Tom was still completely inscrutable, the bastard, except that he looked slightly amused. He waited until Bill was focused on him before saying slowly, "Does it still hurt?"
Bill took a quick breath. "Yes," he said. And then he watched. It occurred to him that watching made it even more inappropriate, even though he'd watched Tom do this dozens of time and never felt anything but nice. That was in the past. Now he saw Tom lowering his eyes and opening his mouth and it was absolutely sinful. What Bill felt was in no way something a brother should feel. Tom reached with his tongue and brushed the tip of Bill's finger with a feather light touch, and Bill pressed his lips together so he wouldn't make any sounds.
Bill's finger hadn't really suffered any damage by the string. If anything, it was slightly more sensitive than usual, so the warmth and the slippery surface of Tom's tongue was felt clearly by, so it seemed, all parts of Bill's body. Tom dragged his tongue over the tip excruciatingly slowly, once, twice, and then so that the tip of his tongue slipped and the even softer underside of his tongue pressed against Bill's finger for a moment.
Bill felt like he was going to have an aneurism. He whimpered, then felt startled that Tom had heard and yanked his hand away. Tom looked up, surprised.
"Ah, I, it feels fine now," Bill said, trying not to pant.
"Are you sure? I know how much those strings can hurt, and since you're not exactly good at playing..." Tom grinned, but Bill didn't feel like defending himself. He didn't have the concentration.
"I'm sure." He got up abruptly, and Tom had to tilt his head to look at him. "I think I'm just tired," Bill said quickly, "too tired to do anything because I'll just hurt myself."
"I've seen that, all right," Tom said, raising an eyebrow and looking amused.
"Yes! Exactly. I'll just call it a night, then," Bill babbled. Tom had the expression that he knew something was up - and how could he not when Bill was acting so strangely? - and was trying to figure it out; and then he swiped his lower lip with his tongue, finding and toying with his lip ring.
Bill made a beeline for the door.
Bill slammed his own door closed and walked to the bed, shaking. If he'd had any doubts as to what he was feeling toward Tom, they were banished now. It was sexual. In a hot-and-sweaty, maddening, want to rub against you until I come way. Definitely sexual. Bill didn't bother to take his shoes off, never mind his trousers; he fell on the bed and opened his zipper and pulled his cock out, moaning already. The way Tom had asked him if it still hurt, so deliberate and knowing, he might as well have asked if Bill wanted him to lick his fingers. And Bill wanted him to, so badly. He squeezed his cock and muffled his wail in the bedspread. He wanted Tom to lick him all over with his soft, clever, tireless tongue. And then he wanted to see that Tom was turned on by it, that it made him hard to lick his twin brother's skin. And then... Bill stroked himself, his touch so sweet on his dick, and came thinking about Tom's cock and his face when Bill reached for it.
***
The next morning Bill knocked on Tom's door. The alternative wasn't even possible: he was hooked, he needed this.
When he'd woken that day it had been like fog had cleared from his head and he realised that there was no chance Tom didn't know what was going on. Bill had hurt his finger on the guitar (well, at least in principle) but there had been no mark, no cuts or any broken skin, and Tom had licked it anyway. If licking the blood, the grazes and the bruises of your brother was weird but sort of understandable, licking a non-existent hurt was just weird. And kind of kinky. Bill shivered and knocked again. Plus he had whimpered with Tom's tongue curled around his finger. He would have been embarrassed by that if he hadn't been quite sure that Tom hadn't minded. He was pretty sure Tom had been going for it.
Tom opened the door looking sleepy and rumpled, albeit dressed, and suddenly Bill felt awkward and nervous.
"Morning," he said and swept into the room. It smelled like Tom and the bed was unmade. Bill flexed his fingers, wanting something to fiddle with, and made a restless trek around the room.
"How can you be so cheery this early," Tom said. He squinted like hadn't really woken up yet and shuffled slowly to the couch.
"I'm not cheery, I'm jittery," Bill said. "There's been too much free time and we have a concert tonight, you know?"
"Whatever," Tom muttered. He looked so sleepy and adorable, Bill mused, slightly horrified by his train of thought. He looked at Tom's cheeks that had pillow streaks and imagined how warm his skin was. Edible.
Bill shook himself mentally and looked desperately for something else to concentrate on. "Can we watch TV? Where's the remote?"
"It's here somewhere," Tom said.
Bill looked around, thinking about dropping the remote on his foot. He'd have to take his shoe and sock off and Tom would give his instep some loving attention. Bill almost moaned at the idea, even though it was crazy - even he couldn't pretend that dropping a remote on his foot would hurt that much.
Tom chose exactly that moment to become more alert. "Really, why are so jittery?" he said, looking at Bill closely and somewhat suspiciously. Bill swallowed. "There's hours until the concert."
"I'm just, ehm," Bill said, spotted the small table by the TV that had a drawer and hurried to latch on it like it was a lifeline. "Maybe you put the remote in here," he said, and opened the drawer. There was nothing inside, but it was a nice, sturdy drawer that glided smoothly in and out, and it was just too easy for a stressed clumsy person to close it on his finger.
"Bill," Tom said right behind him, and Bill squeaked and pushed the drawer closed with his middle finger still resting on the edge.
"Ahh!" Bill said, shaking his hand because it really hurt. "You startled me!"
"Sorry," Tom said. He didn't sound particularly sorry. Bill felt he was entitled to some bitterness because even though he'd planned to abuse his poor finger, at least half of it had been Tom's fault. "Hurts, huh?" Tom said. He took Bill's hand and rubbed soothing circles on his palm.
"Like hell," Bill said, but he could hear his voice was less agitated now. Tom was distracting him from the pain quite efficiently.
Tom's eyes were keen on him. "Yeah?" he said in a rich sexy voice and advanced on Bill so that Bill was trapped against the wall. It did all kinds of wrong things to Bill's body, especially in the middle area. Tom inspected his hand. "It is a little red," he said musingly. Bill didn't know; he couldn't tear his eyes off Tom. "Which side of it hurts?"
Bill moved his fingers reflexively and gasped a little when the middle finger let him know it wasn't ready to forgive and forget just yet. "Both," he said.
Bill was about to elaborate that the finger had caught between the table and the drawer's edge and it was doubly hurting now, but then he forgot what words were when Tom leaned forward and took the whole finger into his mouth. His mouth was hot and humid and his lips slid a little in a wet circle of sweet pressure around Bill's finger. Then he sucked Bill's finger, his full pink lips pursing around it and the sensations tugging at Bill's skin and his flesh, and curled his tongue around it and Bill was panting, he couldn't not. By the time Tom stopped he was hard, and no one could have blamed him. Fuck yes he was hard when watching and feeling something like that, a twin brother or no.
"Did that help at all?" Tom asked with an earnest, helpful face; Bill wanted to moan and he wanted to tell Tom to shut the hell up and wipe the faux-innocent, smug expression from his face. What he did do was shift and the next moment he was scrambling for balance, sure he would have taken a fall without the wall to support him. "Woah, careful," Tom said, laughter in his voice, and caught Bill's elbow to support him.
Bill's face felt like it was in flames; it was one thing to be so turned on by your brother that you couldn't stay upright, but quite another to stumble in front of him so that he knew, too. "Fuck you," he said, even though Tom hadn't really said anything to deserve it.
Tom seemed to know it too. "What?"
"I can't believe you did something like that!" Bill said. "What kind of a pervert are you?"
"Me? Are you sure?" Tom looked dangerous. "Cause I'm not the one who repeatedly danced the line of getting sent to a hospital by-"
Tom stopped and grabbed Bill's other hand. "You know," he said, "burning yourself," and he pressed his lips against the finger Bill had blistered by touching a hot stove, and licked it with a soft, lingering tongue. "Or cutting yourself," Tom said, glancing at Bill, and then he turned Bill's hand and sucked at the skin of his palm right next to his thumb that Bill had jabbed with a bread-knife.
Bill knew a losing battle when he saw one, and this one would end with him in a pleading heap on the floor if Tom kept going. "Okay," he said before Tom had time to remind him of another incident, and more importantly, put his mouth on Bill's body again. "Okay, you win."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Don't say anything," Bill warned him. He felt curious though, so he asked, "But why did you do it then? If I'm a pervert why did you indulge me?"
Tom looked down, his expression becoming quickly bashful. Bill was fascinated.
"Because," Tom said slowly, "I got to lick you." He shrugged and didn't look at Bill. "I got to do some pretty unconventional stuff to you." Now he met Bill's eyes. "Stuff people don't usually do to their little brothers."
Bill shook his head, breathless but empathetic. "We're not usual people," he said, dismissing it. He was so turned on by both Tom's tongue and what he was saying that he didn't want to contemplate things like "people don't usually do this" for even a moment.
Tom shook his head too. "I've got to say, you were pretty creative," he said. "You didn't do the same thing twice, did you?"
"Well, I probably did," Bill said, but Tom wasn't listening.
"Burning, cutting... banging your wrist," he said, and then he lifted Bill's arm to fasten his mouth on the inside of Bill's wrist, his eyes never leaving Bill's. It wasn't exactly where Bill had banged his wrist but Bill didn't feel like pointing that out. Apparently that was where Tom wanted to have his mouth and that was fine by Bill.
"Oh," Bill said, and closed his eyes briefly. Who knew the skin was so delicate and receptive right there?
"You never hurt your neck though," Tom murmured. Bill thought about Tom's tongue on his neck and squirmed. "I wonder why," Tom's eyes flicked to take in Bill's expression, "when you're so into vampires."
Then he bent and tilted his head and licked his way up Bill's throat with small, smooth touches with just the right amount of pressure on the vulnerable body part to make Bill throw his head back and shift against the wall as if he was giving it a subtle lap dance. Tom moved to his right to bite at his neck and suck like he really wanted to be a vampire, and Bill bit his lip desperately to keep in the noises that would surely be embarrassing. He might do something else though, like hump Tom's leg. The idea felt alarmingly inviting and Bill had to stop this before it went too far. Now Tom had all the power, and Bill didn't like being at his mercy.
"Wait," he said. Tom stopped and drew back, and for a millisecond the idea to pull him back to feel his lovely mouth again and grip his shoulders and hump against him anyway tempted Bill, tempted him terribly. "Um," Bill said and pushed at Tom so he could walk past him and put some needed distance between them. "I need a minute."
After a couple of steps Bill felt it was safe to turn back. Tom looked wary and Bill realised he might have misunderstood Bill's interruption. Bill didn't have time to explain though because Tom also looked amazing, flushed, his lips wet and swollen, and Bill's mouth opened on its own and he gaped. Maybe there were still too few steps between them.
"Bill?" Tom asked, quirking his eyebrow, but his expression had shifted into a more confident one already. Bill was losing the power again, it was unfair.
"Tom," he started to say, but he didn't really know how to continue, so he just cocked his hip in a sexy pose and gave Tom a look.
Tom gave him a blank look back, so that wasn't working, but Bill wasn't giving up. "So," he said, "you like to do things to your little brother?"
He lifted the hem of his shirt and he got Tom's attention: Tom's eyes were glued to the sliver of skin Bill had revealed. Bill intended to keep going, too. There was no way he wasn't going to come, and soon, so he might as well go all the way.
He lifted the shirt a bit more. "Do you like to watch?" he asked, and then he put his fingers on his stomach and pushed them down his trousers, his hand flat against his stomach. "Or touch?"
Tom was watching, oh yes, with a rapt look that made Bill's blood boil. Tom was watching him, he was stripping for Tom; he'd never done anything as hot. A broken sound escaped his lips.
Tom looked up. Bill didn't know what he saw in Bill's face but he nodded and said in a husky voice, "Yeah, take it off."
Bill did so, without finesse this time, but it still made him feel sexy. He was doing it because Tom told him to, after all, and Tom was in this room with him and they had the intention of doing things until they both came. It was erotic, heady.
"Do you want to-" Bill asked, gesturing at Tom's clothes, and Tom broke from his reverie.
Tom chucked off his shirts and Bill bent down to get rid of his shoes and his trousers. He still felt self-conscious about the bulge in his briefs and turned half away from Tom, but when he glanced over his shoulder Tom had stopped to stare at him again, and Bill felt a thrill that made his whole body quiver.
"Well?" he said, and Tom looked down and said "Right" and started to unfasten his belt. It made Bill smile.
When they were down on their underwear it was different, though, and Bill felt nervous again. "I don't have to injure myself, do I?" he said, knowing it was a bad joke, but it was better than saying nothing.
"Do you want to?" Tom asked and smirked.
"Definitely not," Bill said. He hoped fervently that he'd never have to injure himself on purpose again.
Tom stepped closer. "You don't have to." He looked at Bill and his eyes were soft, and he put his hands on Bill's sides, almost on his waist like they were courting and he wanted to be respectful. It was all ridiculously sappy and Bill would have mocked him if it hadn't made him feel so good. He was pretty sure he had the soft look in his eyes too.
Tom's mouth was hot and his lips slid wonderfully against Bill's. They fitted their mouths together again and again, taking their time, almost testing how it felt.
Tom's lip ring pressed against the side of Bill's mouth and Bill wanted to touch it with his tongue, but when he turned his head, Tom caught him and stopped him and sucked his lower lip gently. Bill was distracted for a moment but then he tried again, turning his head, wanting to feel the lip ring he'd watched for so long against his tongue and suck it, but Tom turned his head too, at the same moment. Bill whined, frustrated, and Tom chuckled and Bill drew back to look at him.
"I should have known you'd be infuriating at this, too," he grumbled.
Tom grinned, but then he bit his lip and whispered "I can be good too" and snaked a hand down to massage Bill through his briefs. Then Tom kissed him again, sliding his tongue into Bill's mouth and licking and sucking everything while palming his cock until Bill's legs were jelly and his cock ached. He moaned obscenely loud and Tom broke the kiss.
"Please," Bill said in a haze, without even really knowing what he was saying.
Tom latched onto the words at once though and asked "What?" looking at him like a hawk. Bill shook his head, his cheeks colouring, but Tom prompted him and told him, "Say it."
Bill swallowed. "Would you lick me... my cock?"
He knew Tom wouldn't, and it felt so cheeky, shameless to ask, but when Tom kissed him like that, it was all he could think about: Tom licking him, Tom's tongue pressing against him, Tom's hot, wet mouth.
After a pause Tom took a deep breath and croaked "Yeah," surprising and startling Bill.
"Really?" Bill said, feeling incredulous but sounding nothing but eager.
Tom gave a laugh. "Really," he said. "Get on the bed."
Bill lay down on the bed on his back, his heart pounding. Tom tugged his briefs off and settled next to him, putting his hand on Bill's cock without further ado. Bill took a breath, his hips shifting without asking him. Tom was petting his cock, his hand that Bill had seen thousands of times playing a guitar or grabbing a mug of coffee or opening the door, on Bill, and Bill couldn't stop making little noises that were barely more than stuttered breaths. Tom glanced at him, too quickly for Bill to comprehend his expression, and then he bowed down to lick it.
The first few licks on Bill's fever-hot cock felt like heaven, a perfect meeting of longing need and Tom's subservient tongue. Then the bliss gave place to frustration when Tom licked and stroked Bill's cock so lightly. Before Bill had time to complain though Tom fisted his cock and squeezed it, all the while licking and pressing his mouth against it like he'd been waiting to make its acquaintance. Bill keened at the thought, but Tom didn't even look up.
Finally Tom put Bill's cock where it belonged, in his mouth, and sucked at the head in a more satisfying manner. Bill's toes curled and he moaned appreciatively, reaching to pet Tom's shoulder in thanks. Tom was really into it, too, bobbing his head up and down, his tongue a hot, squirming ribbon all over Bill's cock. Bill wriggled and whined and groped Tom's dreads and his hot, toned arm that was keeping Bill down, and he barely had time to gasp a warning before he came into the hot, slippery ring of Tom's lips.
For a second Bill couldn't do more than pant and blink at the ceiling, amazed that anything could feel so good. As soon as he could, he looked down to check up on Tom.
Tom looked surprised, not necessarily pleasantly, but otherwise he was gorgeous: breathless, red shining lips apart, and most importantly, reclining above Bill's groin. He looked up at Bill when he moaned and pushed his hips up feebly at the sight. Tom grinned and licked his lips. "Oh god," Bill said weakly and let his head drop down against the pillow again.
Tom crawled up Bill's body, stretching next to him and rubbing against Bill's thigh in lazy circles. "How was it?" he asked, even though he very well knew.
"Your tongue should be illegal," Bill said. The way he'd just come, he didn't have the mental capacity to keep Tom's ego in check and not reveal too much.
"Huh," Tom said, kissed his shoulder and settled higher on the bed, closer to where Bill was lying; Bill put his arm around him and run his fingers down his back. Tom's hard-on poked at Bill's hip and Tom nudged it against him, careful not to touch Bill's oversensitive cock. "So did you always think that, or just now?"
Bill attempted to glare at Tom's shameless fishing for compliments, but Tom grinned at him so irresistibly that he couldn't help but smile a little too. He leaned forward and Tom gave him a kiss. "Just now," he said. His head met the bed with a thunk, as if his neck was too weak to hold it up. "But you were always very good with it." He brought his other hand up to toy with Tom's dreads. Obnoxious or not, he was feeling very affectionate with his brother at the moment. Orgasms seemed to be good for a sibling relationship.
"Well, it makes me very happy to hear that," Tom said, sounding official, as if someone had just complimented their music.
"If I had any energy I'd give you a swat," Bill said.
Tom rounded his eyes in surprise. "Now why would you do that?"
"Because," Bill informed him, "you teased me with that tongue for years. Don't try to deny it. You were trying to make me hot and you weren't going to do anything about it. That's the definition of 'tease' right there."
Tom pursed his mouth, then he smiled. "Yeah, I guess I can't deny it," he said happily. "Not years though. More like one year."
"I should hope so," Bill said dryly.
Tom shifted, pressing against him. "Talking about teasing," he said, "are you going to do anything to help me out here?" He grunted and slipped his hand between their bodies, touching himself.
"Hmm, I don't know," Bill said. "I feel like I have the strength of a wet noodle right now." He was only half-joking. He didn't think he could get up if the hotel was on fire, and he could only barely keep touching Tom, stroking lightly his back and touching his neck and shoulder with his other hand.
"Amazing, so this is how you get Bill Kaulitz to spend all of his energy," Tom commented. He was jerking himself off for real now, his knuckles brushing Bill with every stroke. Bill raised an eyebrow.
"Isn't it tacky to jerk off in bed with another person?" he said.
"Oh," Tom said, then closed his eyes and shook his head. "It's not tacky when the other person shows no sign of giving me any relief," he argued, opening his eyes again.
"Hmm," Bill said, but he had to concede a point, so he just kissed Tom. Tom's movements were distracting though, and the head of Tom's cock was sliding wetly against Bill's skin. "Are you sure it's not tacky when you're doing it against my, you know, body?" Bill said, but Tom just moaned and said it was the least Bill could do.
"And you are so not going to come first next time," Tom said, and Bill's heart jumped at the words. He felt overwhelmed by love all of a sudden, it was like a head rush, and he kissed Tom again, deeper, sucking at Tom's tongue when he responded eagerly. He wanted to make Tom feel good, so good, better than Tom made him feel. He slid his hand on Tom's skin, his face and his neck, bit lightly at Tom's lip and whispered to him, "Do you want to come on my skin?"
"Hnngg," Tom said. Bill took it as a yes, as well as the frantic movement of Tom's hand on his cock. He writhed against Tom's body, best as he could, wanting to make it better for Tom but also because he was starting to feel horny again.
"Have you thought about this before?" Bill said in a low voice. "Oh," Tom said, and Bill kissed him again. "I have," he whispered. "I jerked off thinking about it last night," and then Tom screwed his eyes shut and made a choked sound and came all over Bill's stomach.
Tom flopped against Bill, spent, and Bill gathered him closer, holding him tightly, and ran the sole of his foot up Tom's calf. "Was it good?" he inquired, and Tom snorted. "The best," he said, and Bill was surprised and touched by his openness. "Good," he said and kissed Tom's cheek. Tom shifted against him and put his arms around him, turning his head to give Bill a proper kiss. It seemed Tom had significantly more energy right after coming.
Bill turned his whole body so that he was chest to chest with Tom and pressed even closer. There was semen smearing between them but it could be taken care of later. Tom was holding him securely and kissing him like it was even better than sex, and nothing was more important than that.
"You know," Bill said, "when I was little I used to think that you really healed me when you licked me."
"You were always a weird kid," Tom said.
"Shut up," Bill said, continuing with what he wanted to say. "I used to think it was kind of like magic."
Tom kissed him again. "Felt like magic to me, all right," he whispered.
Many thanks to
helkamaria and misskass for betaing!
Kissing it Better
When small children hurt themselves, like little kids do, bumped their heads or scraped their knees, their parents sometimes kissed it better. It was like magic: a kiss that stopped the pain.
When Bill was small he sometimes hurt himself, and sometimes when he hurt himself and was upset, there were no adults around, only Tom. Tom was always around. Tom didn't know about kissing it better but he knew he had to comfort Bill, so he improvised and licked Bill. It worked; it was like magic.
When they were nine, they both had a rough time at school, and one day Bill had it especially bad and he basically wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out again. Tom tried to lift his spirits by suggesting that they build a blanket fort.
Bill scrunched up his nose. "Isn't that for babies?" he said, mostly because he was feeling blue. Worse than that: the constant bullying and the name-calling made it hard to go to school, and yet he had to go to school every day. He felt tired and like he couldn't get excited about anything.
"It's not," Tom said. Tom did look excited. "Come on! It's better now that we're older," he argued, "we can do more stuff. It'll be like we built a house together!"
Bill wasn't so sure about it but he gave it a try, and they built the best blanket fort they ever had. It was big and there were different levels (constructed out of chairs) and it looked dark and safe when they stood outside and peered at it. There were no bullies inside the blanket fort. There was no school inside it.
"You go first," Tom said generously, and Bill grinned at him. He took a step forward but then he got a brilliant idea.
"Wait," he said and grabbed Tom's arm. "You know how this could be even better? Cookies!"
Tom's eyes lit up. "We have cookies?"
"In the kitchen," Bill said, "I bet Mom has some somewhere up high where she thinks we can't get to them."
"But we can," Tom said and grinned, and Bill couldn't help chuckling, it was so bad to steal cookies, and yet so perfect. He turned to go to the kitchen and, in his rush and his excitement, hit his flailing hand on the edge of the table, so hard the pain seemed to make the whole world stop for a second.
It hurt so bad it felt like the table had bitten him maliciously, but of course the table just happened to have sharp edges. It was the whole world that was malicious. Bill had had this one good thing in his day and in his life and now it was ruined by the stupid, ugly table. He wanted to be angry at the table but it hurt too much, and he let out a sob.
Then Tom was there. Bill didn't know if Tom sensed what went through Bill's head at the time - he wouldn't have been surprised if Tom knew it exactly, but it was possible Tom only saw him hit his hand and thought that was all. At least it was what Tom concentrated on.
Tom took Bill's hand and cradled it on his palm, holding it gently by the wrist with his other hand, and asked where it hurt. Bill sobbed again.
"There," he said, pointing at the side of his hand, and Tom didn't comment on the fact that he was practically crying, didn't say he was a baby or anything like that. He turned Bill's hand carefully and they looked at the reddened skin together.
"There's no blood, so you don't need a band aid," Tom said, and then he stopped and looked at Bill. "Do you want a band aid?" he asked seriously, and Bill bit his lip to keep from making any more embarrassing noises and shook his head. It still touched him that Tom asked if he wanted one, even when he didn't need one.
"You'll get a bruise," Tom said.
"Yeah," Bill agreed, his voice more like a whimper than anything else, but he didn't feel embarrassed by it. The way Tom said it, a bruise could be as painful and impressive as a cut. It wasn't only a bruise.
Tom shuffled a bit until he was facing Bill and looked at him encouragingly. "It'll be all right," he said. He sounded so sure it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, and his eyes had a certain look that made Bill feel, and really believe, that it applied to both Bill's hand and his life altogether. It sucks now but it'll be all right. Then Tom lifted Bill's hand and fitted his tongue against the side of his palm where it hurt the most.
He didn't press, he didn't make it hurt any more, he just touched Bill's skin with his tongue and slid it wetly against Bill's hand. His tongue was warm in a way that was slightly uncomfortable; the harmed area throbbed hotly in a way that let Bill know something cold would make it feel better. Bill didn't say that though, and he didn't push Tom away. He was completely still and watched as Tom licked his hurt softly and thoroughly, the whole side of his hand from the heel of his palm to the knuckle of his pinky.
After maybe ten careful licks Tom stopped. Bill's skin felt wet and cool now that Tom's tongue wasn't warming it anymore.
"Did I get all of it?" Tom asked.
"Um," Bill said, and then he pointed uncertainly at his wrist. It didn't hurt, it hadn't made any contact with the table, but for some reason he felt compelled to. Tom seemed to sense that but he only grinned, as if he knew Bill was milking it and was being fondly magnanimous about it. He bent his head to give that part a quick, playful lick too, and then he looked up and smiled.
"All good?" he asked, and Bill nodded and smiled too, a shy little smile but completely unwavering.
Tom let go of his hand, and they went to get the cookies, and they had the best blanket fort time that day. The next day there was the biggest bruise he'd ever got on his hand, but on the blanket fort day Bill didn't even remember that his hand had been hurt. Because when he hurt himself, Tom licked it better, and it was like magic.
***
When they were fourteen they were almost adults. The year before was rough for them both, but when they were fourteen everything was good: they were together, they had a band, things were picking up with their music. Soon they'd be famous and have a house just to themselves and a career. (Bill felt it was somewhat bittersweet that those crazy dreams did actually come true, just not exactly as in his dreams, which were free of all negativity.) It was exciting. Sometimes it was a little scary.
It was just some magazine or other that Bill was leafing through that slit a nasty little cut to the side of Bill's right forefinger. "Ouch!" he yelped, and saw Tom's head raise in the corner of his eye.
"What?" Tom asked at the same time as Bill explained, "Paper cut." Bill grimaced. It didn't really hurt that much but the sharp sting of a paper cut was somehow disproportionately foul.
Tom stood up and came to him, as if curious. "It's nothing," Bill said and showed Tom the finger. Blood welled from the cut, but it was clearly a shallow wound and not very long either.
"Those things are evil," Tom said.
"Vicious," Bill agreed.
"Was it the magazine?" Tom pointed at the magazine in Bill's lap, and Bill pushed it so that it dropped on the floor.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm never reading that again."
Tom grinned and Bill smiled back. Sharing the sentiment and getting revenge on the magazine, as petty and ridiculous as that was, made him feel better. He was about to get up and go look for a band-aid when Tom sat down on the couch next to him. "Let me," he said and took hold of Bill's forearm. "I'll make it better."
Bill almost asked "Huh?" because it had been such a long time since he'd hurt himself that he didn't expect Tom to lick it better anymore. It was what Tom had done when they'd been children; surely he wouldn't do something so silly and childish now? But Tom guided Bill's hand to his mouth and touched Bill's skin with his tongue. Apparently Tom still felt like it was the thing to do.
Tom didn't actually lick, just pressed his tongue against the wound lightly. The blood spread into a little red spot in the tip of his tongue, and Bill frowned and tugged his hand instinctively away. Tom didn't let go, though.
"Isn't that gross?" Bill said.
Tom shrugged. "Not really," he said. "We've got the same blood anyway."
Bill snorted. "Do you go around tasting your own blood often then?" he asked.
"It's not that bad," Tom said and glanced at Bill slyly. "I always knew I'd be a better vampire than you," he said.
"What?" Bill said, not really as outraged as he maybe should have been, but Tom paid him no mind.
"Just like I'm better at everything else," he said, boasting like he always did, and Bill knew he didn't really mean it. Then, without warning, he pressed his tongue against Bill's finger again for a moment and made a show of smacking his tongue, as if savouring it. "Mmm, good," he said.
Bill giggled despite himself. "You're crazy," he said, but he didn't mean it either. Tom was acting silly with him and that made Bill feel warm. The fact that Tom was reviving the old habit of licking Bill made him feel even better. It felt so good that Tom would do something that was so childlike and uncool with him.
Tom put his tongue on Bill's skin once more, licking a wet stripe on Bill's finger, and then he smiled at Bill. "All better," he said patronisingly, and paradoxically Bill felt good and loved and even elated right down to his toes. He couldn't help but smile at Tom, but he put on a show of displeasure anyway.
"Thanks so much," Bill said. "Now it's all gross and I have to wash it."
"But it won't bleed anymore," Tom said brightly.
And it didn't.
***
At fifteen Bill dropped a cork that he'd been toying with and when he bent down to fish it from behind a chair right next to the backstage wall he accidentally knocked his head on the wall. Painfully. There was no way he would have done that on purpose. The surface of the wall was rough, too, so not only did he get a noticeable bump on his forehead, his skin was scraped so that make up stung for a couple of days. So it would have been really stupid to do that intentionally. And Bill hadn't.
He tried to catch the cork and stretched his fingers as long as he could. He turned his head so he could push his arm even further, or maybe to look for something that would help, a hook he could use or something. When his head made contact with the wall the pain blazed, startling and acute, and Bill let out a yowl.
When he looked up Georg and Gustav stared at him, frozen and wide-eyed, and he realised how loud he had been. Tom was already within three feet of him, looking concerned. "Uh," Bill said and rubbed the skin right over his eye, trying to ease the pain by distracting himself from it. "Hit my head."
"I kind of figured," Georg said dryly and turned away, having apparently determined that Bill was all right. Gustav did too, and without a sarcastic comment, which Bill appreciated.
Tom wasn't satisfied though. He reached out to Bill and tugged his hand away from his forehead. "Let me see," Tom said, and Bill submitted to his inspection. His head didn't hurt so badly now, there was only a dull ache that would probably continue for a while.
"How is it?" Bill asked.
"It's not as bad as it could be," Tom said and gave him a hard look, reproaching him for being so careless. "Let's go to the bathroom so you can see for yourself."
The bathroom wasn't luxurious by any means but there was a mirror and a decent light. Bill peered at his reflection. "The skin looks broken and there's already a lump forming," he said. "How is this 'not as bad as it could be'? Because my head isn't cracked open?"
He turned to Tom. Tom looked more relaxed, but he didn't respond to Bill's joking, only raised his eyebrows. "Exactly," he said. Bill felt a prick of remorse. He didn't know what it had looked and sounded like when he'd bumped his head, and there was a possibility that Tom had had a real scare.
"Well, it's not, and I can hide the bruise with foundation," Bill said. "Good thing I already use make-up, right?"
He glanced at Tom, but he didn't rise to even that bait, only replied neutrally, "Let's get that clean now."
Bill let Tom dab at the scratch with wet paper towels, figuring Tom would feel better if he was doing something. He could tell Tom was being careful, but it was sore and touching didn't exactly help. "Ow," Bill whined.
"You should have been more careful," Tom admonished, but then he looked at Bill and his expression softened at last. "Does it really hurt?"
"Not much, but yes," Bill said. He might have pushed his lower lip forward in a pitiful look; he couldn't help it. Tom's eyes became even kinder.
"Stay still," he said, and then he cupped Bill's face and reached up. Kiss, Bill though nonsensically, spurred by some kind of an association, but then he forgot about it when Tom licked gently at the graze.
It didn't last long - maybe six laps of Tom's velvety tongue. It felt longer though and when Tom stopped Bill was a bit light-headed. He thought it must be because the pain had went away: however contrary to common sense it was to touch a wound, Tom's soft licking made Bill feel worlds better. There was an uncomfortable ache deeper in his forehead but his skin didn't hurt at all.
"There," Tom murmured, still looking at Bill's forehead. He cocked his head. "I hope you can conceal the bruise," he said, "but I don't think there's any kind of make up that would hide the lump."
It was true, and Bill heard about it from various people who thought it was their business to take care of how he looked, and the exasperated "Be careful!" became quickly a familiar exclamation. He didn't enjoy it. It was a relief when his forehead healed. It would have been stupid to have bumped his head intentionally, and Bill hadn't... but there was still something magical about Tom's touch. And the only time Tom really touched him like that, intensely and gently and completely focused on Bill, was when Bill was hurt.
When they were fifteen Bill injured himself quite a lot. He burned himself on the stove, hit his elbow on the table and banged his hand against the doorframe. It became a joke among the band members. Especially Georg enjoyed it, joking about black eyes and wondering if they could really be identical twins when Tom never got hurt like that, and mock-praising Bill's gracefulness when he tripped and landed hard on his knee. Usually Bill didn't hurt himself when Georg and Gustav were around, though; they heard about what had happened after. Like when Tom and Bill were having breakfast and Bill poked at the bread-knife until it cut through skin.
Tom shook his head. "What am I going to do with you," he said, and it didn't sound like a question.
"I just wanted to see how sharp it was," Bill complained.
"So you tested it with your finger." Tom managed to look like he thought Bill was kind of an idiot, but an idiot he loved.
"I'm just so curious, you know how it is," Bill said and tried to look convincing.
"Sure you are," Tom said, lifted Bill's hand and licked at his bloody finger.
Tom kept going long after the cut was clean, his tongue almost unbearably soft, and Bill squirmed a bit, discomfited by the end of it. When Tom held Bill's finger up as if to inspect if it was really clean, Bill pulled his hand away and looked down. "It's just a small cut," he mumbled.
"Stay away from sharp things," Tom advised mildly, as if he knew that it wouldn't do any good, and then he left Bill to his thoughts. Bill wished he wouldn't have. Of course Tom knew it wouldn't do any good because Bill kept doing that: touching blades and pins and whatever he saw like a child who couldn't believe that they hurt. He'd done that so much already. Everyone else thought he was careless and graceless and maybe too plain stupid to stay unscathed.
He didn't know what Tom thought.
Bill breathed carefully through the next few moments while his mind was going a mile a minute imagining how Tom thought he was - not stupid, that he could live with, but something else, something that made his gut twist: weird or perverted. Bill realised he was afraid he was that himself.
But then he remembered how Tom looked at him, affectionately, always, and the sickening feeling eased inside him. Tom didn't think he was weird. Or not weird in a bad way, at least. Tom didn't think there was anything wrong with him cutting himself and hurting himself, it was obvious since Tom went along with him every time. Tom came to him to see what had happened, made sure he was all right, and made it better by licking whatever scrapes Bill had got.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.
***
When they were sixteen they were touring in earnest, and Bill had too much to do and too much to think about to engage in childish games that could get him seriously hurt if he wasn't careful. He was too mature for that, too busy. Or at least he wished he was. He wasn't as accident-prone as he'd been, anyway, but touring was stressful, he was tired a lot, and every once in a while a moment of carelessness was bound to occur. Travelling wasn't exactly safe either. Nor was helping the roadies and gathering a big armful of equipment that had sharp and protruding bits. Actually, it would have been better if Bill had left those alone, even if it was kind of boring to wait at the venue with nothing to do.
Bill was more reluctant to hurt himself, though. That was actually true. He might have carried the equipment with the objective of scratching his skin in mind but when he felt it happen he couldn't bring himself to attract any attention to it.
It just so happened he didn't have to. Something coarse raked the inside of his elbow and he flinched, and Tom was suddenly there as if he could read Bill's mind.
"Be careful with that," Tom said. "What are you doing, carrying this stuff anyway? I think you should leave the cables for professionals."
"I'm trying to help," Bill said.
"With your luck there's a good chance you'll electrocute yourself," Tom said.
Bill put the coil of wires down. When he straightened, Tom was next to him, so close his shirt touched Bill's arm, and he put his arm around Bill. Bill stayed still, surprised, not knowing what to expect.
"As soon as I saw you take that I knew it was a bad idea," Tom said in a low voice. "You shouldn't be left unsupervised for even a moment. Come on, let me see it."
For a moment Bill thought about denying that there was anything wrong. Tom sounded so determined though that it didn't seem like a good idea. He sighed and turned his arm so that the scrape inside the elbow was visible.
Tom clucked his tongue. "All right, let's go somewhere safer," he said and began to steer Bill toward the backstage area. "Just a moment!" he called behind them. "Bill's got some scratches, he needs a band-aid."
Bill heard a murmur of unsurprised voices but he couldn't really concentrate on them. Tom was taking him to the back, probably somewhere where there weren't any other people, and Bill knew what he meant by "band-aid." He was going to press his tongue on Bill's skin. The thought made Bill feel the oddest mix of delighted anticipation and nervousness. He toyed with the idea of stopping Tom and wiggling his way out of this, but again it seemed that Tom wouldn't let it go so easily, so he didn't say anything.
When they reached the backstage bathroom Bill was still nervous. Tom was standing really close to him, making him feel antsy. He cradled Bill's elbow in his hands and then he licked the patch of grazed skin. His tongue felt hot after the cool air of the venue and Bill's breathing got all funny. The inside of his elbow was ridiculously sensitive and responded to each lick. Something built inside Bill when Tom licked insistently, like he was never going to stop, and the bathroom felt very small and hot. Just when Tom licked the last time Bill realised it was pleasure that was making him feel woozy, that Tom's silky soft tongue gliding on his skin almost made him hard. He barely stifled a gasp but couldn't hide his start, judging from the way Tom turned his head sharply and zeroed in on him.
"All right?" Tom asked.
"All better," Bill said, going for an upbeat tone but ending up somewhere breathless and urgent. He tried to inch around Tom, who was still looking at him, eyelids heavy, focused in a way that would make Bill do something he was going to regret if he didn't leave soon. "Let's go see if they're ready for us yet," he suggested, and now Tom let him go.
Bill's cheeks burned as he left the bathroom. He'd almost kissed his own brother, had almost crowded closer and leaned against him. He had liked it when Tom had put his arm around him earlier, when Tom had been so close and wanted to protect him bodily from the harms of sharp, stinging things. He wanted to feel that again, he couldn't lie to himself; when he thought about that and looked at Tom during sound check he felt heat go through him in a thrilling, dizzying wave. He wanted Tom to lick him in places he hadn't been hurt until he'd be writhing in torturous ecstasy under that hot, wet, thorough tongue. And Tom would have been dismayed, had he known.
Or would he have been? Bill couldn't look at Tom at first, worrying that Tom could somehow read his mind if they made eye contact, but after a while Bill managed to push the thoughts from the centre of his mind and he ventured to glance at Tom. Tom's face was unreadable but he had licked Bill's little cuts and scrapes whenever Bill had them. He'd licked Bill's elbow that afternoon. He'd come close to Bill and licked his skin much longer than was- Bill took a deep breath. Much longer than was normal between brothers, even if they had a thing that involved licking. Did Tom do that on purpose? Did he want to get close and intimate with Bill like that?
Bill kept a close eye on Tom for the next few days. It wasn't like he didn't have plenty of opportunities for observing, what with them spending every waking hour together, but he didn't find out anything new. Tom was inscrutable. Or rather, he was acting like himself, and maybe that was true, maybe there was nothing to see. He ragged on Georg and shared inside jokes with Bill and tongued his lip ring. That last thing was driving Bill crazy, but even that wasn't significant since Tom was always doing that anyway. The only new thing was how Bill reacted to it: he couldn't stop watching Tom when he flicked the ring and he couldn't stop imagining, and in some unfortunate cases of vivid imagination, feeling Tom teasing out reactions from Bill's body with that tongue.
When they had a rare treat, a free night and a hotel night as well, Bill was feeling dubious about spending much time in the same room with Tom. At the same time, he was tempted to play with fire and try to find out how Tom felt without revealing his own feelings. When Tom asked him if he wanted to spend some time in his hotel room however Bill didn't feel conflicted at all. Weird licking-related feelings aside, he wanted to spend as much time with Tom as possible, especially stress-free time just hanging out.
They watched TV and Bill ate a whole bag of candy and fiddled endlessly with his phone, trying to calm down but not being able to. At times he felt like just blurting it out. Sometimes I feel like pressing real close to you and maybe kissing you. It would have been such a relief to just get it out so that Tom would know about it. Bill wasn't very good at keeping secrets from Tom: usually an idea stayed in his head for seconds before he told Tom about it, instead of days. Or weeks. Bill felt horrified by the possibility. He had to do something sooner.
Bill cast about for something to cut himself accidentally with. The strategy had worked well for him so far and now that he knew what to look for, he wanted to do it again so he could observe Tom. A little voice inside him said he also wanted Tom's tongue on his skin but he ignored it, and also the flush that coloured his cheeks.
Tom had a guitar with him so Bill settled for that.
"What are you doing?" Tom asked at once when Bill reached for it.
"I want to play a little, you don't mind, do you?" Bill said.
"You want to play a guitar?" Tom sounded incredulous and Bill frowned.
"I just want to do something," he said. "I'm feeling really restless."
"I noticed," Tom said dryly. "Don't break it."
Bill played the two chords he knew a few times and then fingered the strings, trying to remember how to play a song he was sure he'd learned at some point. Then he dragged one of the strings a little and released it so that it snapped against his forefinger.
"Ow!" No matter how many times Bill did this, he was always unpleasantly surprised by how much it hurt to be hurt. He flinched, and even though the guitar was safely in his lap the whole time and there wasn't a chance of it falling, Tom reached for it at once and steadied it.
"I've got it," Bill said, pride wounded when Tom went for the guitar and not him even though he'd yelped.
"Obviously you don't," Tom pointed out calmly, lifting the guitar from him and putting it out of harm's way.
"There's no need to be so exaggerated," Bill started to say, but then Tom took his hand and he fell silent. His skin buzzed where Tom was touching him like there were ants busy right under it or something.
"There's no mark," Tom said, turning his hand this way and that. "Which one was it?"
"The forefinger," Bill said.
Tom looked at him and Bill couldn't help but look back. Tom was still completely inscrutable, the bastard, except that he looked slightly amused. He waited until Bill was focused on him before saying slowly, "Does it still hurt?"
Bill took a quick breath. "Yes," he said. And then he watched. It occurred to him that watching made it even more inappropriate, even though he'd watched Tom do this dozens of time and never felt anything but nice. That was in the past. Now he saw Tom lowering his eyes and opening his mouth and it was absolutely sinful. What Bill felt was in no way something a brother should feel. Tom reached with his tongue and brushed the tip of Bill's finger with a feather light touch, and Bill pressed his lips together so he wouldn't make any sounds.
Bill's finger hadn't really suffered any damage by the string. If anything, it was slightly more sensitive than usual, so the warmth and the slippery surface of Tom's tongue was felt clearly by, so it seemed, all parts of Bill's body. Tom dragged his tongue over the tip excruciatingly slowly, once, twice, and then so that the tip of his tongue slipped and the even softer underside of his tongue pressed against Bill's finger for a moment.
Bill felt like he was going to have an aneurism. He whimpered, then felt startled that Tom had heard and yanked his hand away. Tom looked up, surprised.
"Ah, I, it feels fine now," Bill said, trying not to pant.
"Are you sure? I know how much those strings can hurt, and since you're not exactly good at playing..." Tom grinned, but Bill didn't feel like defending himself. He didn't have the concentration.
"I'm sure." He got up abruptly, and Tom had to tilt his head to look at him. "I think I'm just tired," Bill said quickly, "too tired to do anything because I'll just hurt myself."
"I've seen that, all right," Tom said, raising an eyebrow and looking amused.
"Yes! Exactly. I'll just call it a night, then," Bill babbled. Tom had the expression that he knew something was up - and how could he not when Bill was acting so strangely? - and was trying to figure it out; and then he swiped his lower lip with his tongue, finding and toying with his lip ring.
Bill made a beeline for the door.
Bill slammed his own door closed and walked to the bed, shaking. If he'd had any doubts as to what he was feeling toward Tom, they were banished now. It was sexual. In a hot-and-sweaty, maddening, want to rub against you until I come way. Definitely sexual. Bill didn't bother to take his shoes off, never mind his trousers; he fell on the bed and opened his zipper and pulled his cock out, moaning already. The way Tom had asked him if it still hurt, so deliberate and knowing, he might as well have asked if Bill wanted him to lick his fingers. And Bill wanted him to, so badly. He squeezed his cock and muffled his wail in the bedspread. He wanted Tom to lick him all over with his soft, clever, tireless tongue. And then he wanted to see that Tom was turned on by it, that it made him hard to lick his twin brother's skin. And then... Bill stroked himself, his touch so sweet on his dick, and came thinking about Tom's cock and his face when Bill reached for it.
***
The next morning Bill knocked on Tom's door. The alternative wasn't even possible: he was hooked, he needed this.
When he'd woken that day it had been like fog had cleared from his head and he realised that there was no chance Tom didn't know what was going on. Bill had hurt his finger on the guitar (well, at least in principle) but there had been no mark, no cuts or any broken skin, and Tom had licked it anyway. If licking the blood, the grazes and the bruises of your brother was weird but sort of understandable, licking a non-existent hurt was just weird. And kind of kinky. Bill shivered and knocked again. Plus he had whimpered with Tom's tongue curled around his finger. He would have been embarrassed by that if he hadn't been quite sure that Tom hadn't minded. He was pretty sure Tom had been going for it.
Tom opened the door looking sleepy and rumpled, albeit dressed, and suddenly Bill felt awkward and nervous.
"Morning," he said and swept into the room. It smelled like Tom and the bed was unmade. Bill flexed his fingers, wanting something to fiddle with, and made a restless trek around the room.
"How can you be so cheery this early," Tom said. He squinted like hadn't really woken up yet and shuffled slowly to the couch.
"I'm not cheery, I'm jittery," Bill said. "There's been too much free time and we have a concert tonight, you know?"
"Whatever," Tom muttered. He looked so sleepy and adorable, Bill mused, slightly horrified by his train of thought. He looked at Tom's cheeks that had pillow streaks and imagined how warm his skin was. Edible.
Bill shook himself mentally and looked desperately for something else to concentrate on. "Can we watch TV? Where's the remote?"
"It's here somewhere," Tom said.
Bill looked around, thinking about dropping the remote on his foot. He'd have to take his shoe and sock off and Tom would give his instep some loving attention. Bill almost moaned at the idea, even though it was crazy - even he couldn't pretend that dropping a remote on his foot would hurt that much.
Tom chose exactly that moment to become more alert. "Really, why are so jittery?" he said, looking at Bill closely and somewhat suspiciously. Bill swallowed. "There's hours until the concert."
"I'm just, ehm," Bill said, spotted the small table by the TV that had a drawer and hurried to latch on it like it was a lifeline. "Maybe you put the remote in here," he said, and opened the drawer. There was nothing inside, but it was a nice, sturdy drawer that glided smoothly in and out, and it was just too easy for a stressed clumsy person to close it on his finger.
"Bill," Tom said right behind him, and Bill squeaked and pushed the drawer closed with his middle finger still resting on the edge.
"Ahh!" Bill said, shaking his hand because it really hurt. "You startled me!"
"Sorry," Tom said. He didn't sound particularly sorry. Bill felt he was entitled to some bitterness because even though he'd planned to abuse his poor finger, at least half of it had been Tom's fault. "Hurts, huh?" Tom said. He took Bill's hand and rubbed soothing circles on his palm.
"Like hell," Bill said, but he could hear his voice was less agitated now. Tom was distracting him from the pain quite efficiently.
Tom's eyes were keen on him. "Yeah?" he said in a rich sexy voice and advanced on Bill so that Bill was trapped against the wall. It did all kinds of wrong things to Bill's body, especially in the middle area. Tom inspected his hand. "It is a little red," he said musingly. Bill didn't know; he couldn't tear his eyes off Tom. "Which side of it hurts?"
Bill moved his fingers reflexively and gasped a little when the middle finger let him know it wasn't ready to forgive and forget just yet. "Both," he said.
Bill was about to elaborate that the finger had caught between the table and the drawer's edge and it was doubly hurting now, but then he forgot what words were when Tom leaned forward and took the whole finger into his mouth. His mouth was hot and humid and his lips slid a little in a wet circle of sweet pressure around Bill's finger. Then he sucked Bill's finger, his full pink lips pursing around it and the sensations tugging at Bill's skin and his flesh, and curled his tongue around it and Bill was panting, he couldn't not. By the time Tom stopped he was hard, and no one could have blamed him. Fuck yes he was hard when watching and feeling something like that, a twin brother or no.
"Did that help at all?" Tom asked with an earnest, helpful face; Bill wanted to moan and he wanted to tell Tom to shut the hell up and wipe the faux-innocent, smug expression from his face. What he did do was shift and the next moment he was scrambling for balance, sure he would have taken a fall without the wall to support him. "Woah, careful," Tom said, laughter in his voice, and caught Bill's elbow to support him.
Bill's face felt like it was in flames; it was one thing to be so turned on by your brother that you couldn't stay upright, but quite another to stumble in front of him so that he knew, too. "Fuck you," he said, even though Tom hadn't really said anything to deserve it.
Tom seemed to know it too. "What?"
"I can't believe you did something like that!" Bill said. "What kind of a pervert are you?"
"Me? Are you sure?" Tom looked dangerous. "Cause I'm not the one who repeatedly danced the line of getting sent to a hospital by-"
Tom stopped and grabbed Bill's other hand. "You know," he said, "burning yourself," and he pressed his lips against the finger Bill had blistered by touching a hot stove, and licked it with a soft, lingering tongue. "Or cutting yourself," Tom said, glancing at Bill, and then he turned Bill's hand and sucked at the skin of his palm right next to his thumb that Bill had jabbed with a bread-knife.
Bill knew a losing battle when he saw one, and this one would end with him in a pleading heap on the floor if Tom kept going. "Okay," he said before Tom had time to remind him of another incident, and more importantly, put his mouth on Bill's body again. "Okay, you win."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Don't say anything," Bill warned him. He felt curious though, so he asked, "But why did you do it then? If I'm a pervert why did you indulge me?"
Tom looked down, his expression becoming quickly bashful. Bill was fascinated.
"Because," Tom said slowly, "I got to lick you." He shrugged and didn't look at Bill. "I got to do some pretty unconventional stuff to you." Now he met Bill's eyes. "Stuff people don't usually do to their little brothers."
Bill shook his head, breathless but empathetic. "We're not usual people," he said, dismissing it. He was so turned on by both Tom's tongue and what he was saying that he didn't want to contemplate things like "people don't usually do this" for even a moment.
Tom shook his head too. "I've got to say, you were pretty creative," he said. "You didn't do the same thing twice, did you?"
"Well, I probably did," Bill said, but Tom wasn't listening.
"Burning, cutting... banging your wrist," he said, and then he lifted Bill's arm to fasten his mouth on the inside of Bill's wrist, his eyes never leaving Bill's. It wasn't exactly where Bill had banged his wrist but Bill didn't feel like pointing that out. Apparently that was where Tom wanted to have his mouth and that was fine by Bill.
"Oh," Bill said, and closed his eyes briefly. Who knew the skin was so delicate and receptive right there?
"You never hurt your neck though," Tom murmured. Bill thought about Tom's tongue on his neck and squirmed. "I wonder why," Tom's eyes flicked to take in Bill's expression, "when you're so into vampires."
Then he bent and tilted his head and licked his way up Bill's throat with small, smooth touches with just the right amount of pressure on the vulnerable body part to make Bill throw his head back and shift against the wall as if he was giving it a subtle lap dance. Tom moved to his right to bite at his neck and suck like he really wanted to be a vampire, and Bill bit his lip desperately to keep in the noises that would surely be embarrassing. He might do something else though, like hump Tom's leg. The idea felt alarmingly inviting and Bill had to stop this before it went too far. Now Tom had all the power, and Bill didn't like being at his mercy.
"Wait," he said. Tom stopped and drew back, and for a millisecond the idea to pull him back to feel his lovely mouth again and grip his shoulders and hump against him anyway tempted Bill, tempted him terribly. "Um," Bill said and pushed at Tom so he could walk past him and put some needed distance between them. "I need a minute."
After a couple of steps Bill felt it was safe to turn back. Tom looked wary and Bill realised he might have misunderstood Bill's interruption. Bill didn't have time to explain though because Tom also looked amazing, flushed, his lips wet and swollen, and Bill's mouth opened on its own and he gaped. Maybe there were still too few steps between them.
"Bill?" Tom asked, quirking his eyebrow, but his expression had shifted into a more confident one already. Bill was losing the power again, it was unfair.
"Tom," he started to say, but he didn't really know how to continue, so he just cocked his hip in a sexy pose and gave Tom a look.
Tom gave him a blank look back, so that wasn't working, but Bill wasn't giving up. "So," he said, "you like to do things to your little brother?"
He lifted the hem of his shirt and he got Tom's attention: Tom's eyes were glued to the sliver of skin Bill had revealed. Bill intended to keep going, too. There was no way he wasn't going to come, and soon, so he might as well go all the way.
He lifted the shirt a bit more. "Do you like to watch?" he asked, and then he put his fingers on his stomach and pushed them down his trousers, his hand flat against his stomach. "Or touch?"
Tom was watching, oh yes, with a rapt look that made Bill's blood boil. Tom was watching him, he was stripping for Tom; he'd never done anything as hot. A broken sound escaped his lips.
Tom looked up. Bill didn't know what he saw in Bill's face but he nodded and said in a husky voice, "Yeah, take it off."
Bill did so, without finesse this time, but it still made him feel sexy. He was doing it because Tom told him to, after all, and Tom was in this room with him and they had the intention of doing things until they both came. It was erotic, heady.
"Do you want to-" Bill asked, gesturing at Tom's clothes, and Tom broke from his reverie.
Tom chucked off his shirts and Bill bent down to get rid of his shoes and his trousers. He still felt self-conscious about the bulge in his briefs and turned half away from Tom, but when he glanced over his shoulder Tom had stopped to stare at him again, and Bill felt a thrill that made his whole body quiver.
"Well?" he said, and Tom looked down and said "Right" and started to unfasten his belt. It made Bill smile.
When they were down on their underwear it was different, though, and Bill felt nervous again. "I don't have to injure myself, do I?" he said, knowing it was a bad joke, but it was better than saying nothing.
"Do you want to?" Tom asked and smirked.
"Definitely not," Bill said. He hoped fervently that he'd never have to injure himself on purpose again.
Tom stepped closer. "You don't have to." He looked at Bill and his eyes were soft, and he put his hands on Bill's sides, almost on his waist like they were courting and he wanted to be respectful. It was all ridiculously sappy and Bill would have mocked him if it hadn't made him feel so good. He was pretty sure he had the soft look in his eyes too.
Tom's mouth was hot and his lips slid wonderfully against Bill's. They fitted their mouths together again and again, taking their time, almost testing how it felt.
Tom's lip ring pressed against the side of Bill's mouth and Bill wanted to touch it with his tongue, but when he turned his head, Tom caught him and stopped him and sucked his lower lip gently. Bill was distracted for a moment but then he tried again, turning his head, wanting to feel the lip ring he'd watched for so long against his tongue and suck it, but Tom turned his head too, at the same moment. Bill whined, frustrated, and Tom chuckled and Bill drew back to look at him.
"I should have known you'd be infuriating at this, too," he grumbled.
Tom grinned, but then he bit his lip and whispered "I can be good too" and snaked a hand down to massage Bill through his briefs. Then Tom kissed him again, sliding his tongue into Bill's mouth and licking and sucking everything while palming his cock until Bill's legs were jelly and his cock ached. He moaned obscenely loud and Tom broke the kiss.
"Please," Bill said in a haze, without even really knowing what he was saying.
Tom latched onto the words at once though and asked "What?" looking at him like a hawk. Bill shook his head, his cheeks colouring, but Tom prompted him and told him, "Say it."
Bill swallowed. "Would you lick me... my cock?"
He knew Tom wouldn't, and it felt so cheeky, shameless to ask, but when Tom kissed him like that, it was all he could think about: Tom licking him, Tom's tongue pressing against him, Tom's hot, wet mouth.
After a pause Tom took a deep breath and croaked "Yeah," surprising and startling Bill.
"Really?" Bill said, feeling incredulous but sounding nothing but eager.
Tom gave a laugh. "Really," he said. "Get on the bed."
Bill lay down on the bed on his back, his heart pounding. Tom tugged his briefs off and settled next to him, putting his hand on Bill's cock without further ado. Bill took a breath, his hips shifting without asking him. Tom was petting his cock, his hand that Bill had seen thousands of times playing a guitar or grabbing a mug of coffee or opening the door, on Bill, and Bill couldn't stop making little noises that were barely more than stuttered breaths. Tom glanced at him, too quickly for Bill to comprehend his expression, and then he bowed down to lick it.
The first few licks on Bill's fever-hot cock felt like heaven, a perfect meeting of longing need and Tom's subservient tongue. Then the bliss gave place to frustration when Tom licked and stroked Bill's cock so lightly. Before Bill had time to complain though Tom fisted his cock and squeezed it, all the while licking and pressing his mouth against it like he'd been waiting to make its acquaintance. Bill keened at the thought, but Tom didn't even look up.
Finally Tom put Bill's cock where it belonged, in his mouth, and sucked at the head in a more satisfying manner. Bill's toes curled and he moaned appreciatively, reaching to pet Tom's shoulder in thanks. Tom was really into it, too, bobbing his head up and down, his tongue a hot, squirming ribbon all over Bill's cock. Bill wriggled and whined and groped Tom's dreads and his hot, toned arm that was keeping Bill down, and he barely had time to gasp a warning before he came into the hot, slippery ring of Tom's lips.
For a second Bill couldn't do more than pant and blink at the ceiling, amazed that anything could feel so good. As soon as he could, he looked down to check up on Tom.
Tom looked surprised, not necessarily pleasantly, but otherwise he was gorgeous: breathless, red shining lips apart, and most importantly, reclining above Bill's groin. He looked up at Bill when he moaned and pushed his hips up feebly at the sight. Tom grinned and licked his lips. "Oh god," Bill said weakly and let his head drop down against the pillow again.
Tom crawled up Bill's body, stretching next to him and rubbing against Bill's thigh in lazy circles. "How was it?" he asked, even though he very well knew.
"Your tongue should be illegal," Bill said. The way he'd just come, he didn't have the mental capacity to keep Tom's ego in check and not reveal too much.
"Huh," Tom said, kissed his shoulder and settled higher on the bed, closer to where Bill was lying; Bill put his arm around him and run his fingers down his back. Tom's hard-on poked at Bill's hip and Tom nudged it against him, careful not to touch Bill's oversensitive cock. "So did you always think that, or just now?"
Bill attempted to glare at Tom's shameless fishing for compliments, but Tom grinned at him so irresistibly that he couldn't help but smile a little too. He leaned forward and Tom gave him a kiss. "Just now," he said. His head met the bed with a thunk, as if his neck was too weak to hold it up. "But you were always very good with it." He brought his other hand up to toy with Tom's dreads. Obnoxious or not, he was feeling very affectionate with his brother at the moment. Orgasms seemed to be good for a sibling relationship.
"Well, it makes me very happy to hear that," Tom said, sounding official, as if someone had just complimented their music.
"If I had any energy I'd give you a swat," Bill said.
Tom rounded his eyes in surprise. "Now why would you do that?"
"Because," Bill informed him, "you teased me with that tongue for years. Don't try to deny it. You were trying to make me hot and you weren't going to do anything about it. That's the definition of 'tease' right there."
Tom pursed his mouth, then he smiled. "Yeah, I guess I can't deny it," he said happily. "Not years though. More like one year."
"I should hope so," Bill said dryly.
Tom shifted, pressing against him. "Talking about teasing," he said, "are you going to do anything to help me out here?" He grunted and slipped his hand between their bodies, touching himself.
"Hmm, I don't know," Bill said. "I feel like I have the strength of a wet noodle right now." He was only half-joking. He didn't think he could get up if the hotel was on fire, and he could only barely keep touching Tom, stroking lightly his back and touching his neck and shoulder with his other hand.
"Amazing, so this is how you get Bill Kaulitz to spend all of his energy," Tom commented. He was jerking himself off for real now, his knuckles brushing Bill with every stroke. Bill raised an eyebrow.
"Isn't it tacky to jerk off in bed with another person?" he said.
"Oh," Tom said, then closed his eyes and shook his head. "It's not tacky when the other person shows no sign of giving me any relief," he argued, opening his eyes again.
"Hmm," Bill said, but he had to concede a point, so he just kissed Tom. Tom's movements were distracting though, and the head of Tom's cock was sliding wetly against Bill's skin. "Are you sure it's not tacky when you're doing it against my, you know, body?" Bill said, but Tom just moaned and said it was the least Bill could do.
"And you are so not going to come first next time," Tom said, and Bill's heart jumped at the words. He felt overwhelmed by love all of a sudden, it was like a head rush, and he kissed Tom again, deeper, sucking at Tom's tongue when he responded eagerly. He wanted to make Tom feel good, so good, better than Tom made him feel. He slid his hand on Tom's skin, his face and his neck, bit lightly at Tom's lip and whispered to him, "Do you want to come on my skin?"
"Hnngg," Tom said. Bill took it as a yes, as well as the frantic movement of Tom's hand on his cock. He writhed against Tom's body, best as he could, wanting to make it better for Tom but also because he was starting to feel horny again.
"Have you thought about this before?" Bill said in a low voice. "Oh," Tom said, and Bill kissed him again. "I have," he whispered. "I jerked off thinking about it last night," and then Tom screwed his eyes shut and made a choked sound and came all over Bill's stomach.
Tom flopped against Bill, spent, and Bill gathered him closer, holding him tightly, and ran the sole of his foot up Tom's calf. "Was it good?" he inquired, and Tom snorted. "The best," he said, and Bill was surprised and touched by his openness. "Good," he said and kissed Tom's cheek. Tom shifted against him and put his arms around him, turning his head to give Bill a proper kiss. It seemed Tom had significantly more energy right after coming.
Bill turned his whole body so that he was chest to chest with Tom and pressed even closer. There was semen smearing between them but it could be taken care of later. Tom was holding him securely and kissing him like it was even better than sex, and nothing was more important than that.
"You know," Bill said, "when I was little I used to think that you really healed me when you licked me."
"You were always a weird kid," Tom said.
"Shut up," Bill said, continuing with what he wanted to say. "I used to think it was kind of like magic."
Tom kissed him again. "Felt like magic to me, all right," he whispered.