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Look what came to me today, completely out of the blue :) First chapter of the sequel to The Best Laid Plans! I don't know yet how long this story will be, and after the last one, I'm not making any guesses. We'll see. Updates may not be as frequent as for The Best Laid Plans, I'm rather busy at the moment, but I'm happy to be writing and I hope to push forward with it soon. I hope you'll enjoy this!
Title: The Ways of the World (1/?)
Pairings/Genre: Tom/OFC, Bill/OMC, Georg/OFC, lots of gen
Rating: NC17
Summary: Much has changed for the better in Tom's life since he fell in love, but the world keeps spinning and the show must go on. Sequel to The Best Laid Plans.
A/N: Happy happy happy *squeals* That is all!
“Can I come? Just for a minute,” Bill promised quickly when he saw his brother’s sour face. He let the car slow to a stop in front of Erika’s house and made to park. “I missed her too, you know.”
“Last time you said ‘just for a minute’ you ended up sitting in bed with us until four in the morning,” Tom reminded him. He twisted around in the passenger seat to watch the space between Bill’s car and the one behind it shrink as Bill attempted to wedge the Q7into the too-small gap.
“It’s not my fault your girlfriend makes good conversation.” The car lurched backwards as Bill let go of the brakes, Tom winced and prepared himself for impact, but just when he thought they’d slam into the hood of the other car, Bill turned off the engine to park, regardless of the fact that neither the car behind nor in front of him would ever be able to leave. Pleased, he let his seatbelt snap back into the wall. “She didn’t seem to mind that I was there.”
“She didn’t.” A small smile stole over Tom’s face at the memory. If he hadn’t loved Erika already, he would’ve fallen for her then, watching, grumpily fond, as she bonded with his twin over a shared love of design and plans for an epic shopping spree. That had been over a year ago, on one of the first nights of their relationship. Tom had whined for a week about getting cockblocked afterwards, and Bill had been on his best behavior since. Tom let out a long breath. “I love you and I’m always here for you, and so is Erika,” he told his twin, “But if you aren’t out of there within half an hour tonight, I’ll kick you out, I swear.”
Bill smiled. “Don’t worry, I just want to say hello. I won’t be in the way of you getting laid.”
Tom sincerely hoped so. It had been four weeks; four long, exhausting weeks on tour with another club set that had taken them into the remotest, most provincial corners of Germany, Austria and Switzerland. The village crowds, Tom knew from his own experience growing up in Loitsche, could be the most enthusiastic because they were so starved for entertainment, but he still hadn’t anticipated the reception they’d gotten with the new songs. The trip had been fun, but now that he was used to coming home to Erika almost every night, he’d missed the routine he’d so happily fallen into.
He grabbed the overnight bag he’d quickly packed with the few clean things that had been left over in his wardrobe after a month on the road, then flipped the sunshield down for a look in the mirror. Bill snorted with amusement, and Tom gave him the finger before he examined his reflection with a critical eye. He was pale with the lack of sunshine they’d seen, sleeping all day and spending their nights in damp basement clubs, he hadn’t taken the time to shave that morning before they’d set out for the drive home, and his outfit wasn’t exactly anything special. He made a face at himself in the mirror and flipped the sunshield back up. It was a good thing Erika didn’t mind his uniform of tracksuits and lines under his eyes; Tom didn’t think he’d worn anything fancier around her for months.
“Yes, you look like shit,” Bill told him cheerfully. “We all do. We’re rock stars, we’re supposed to look like we went on a month-long bender.”
“I wish,” Tom snorted. They’d played until their fingers bled and Bill was hoarse almost every night for four weeks; the most extravagant thing they’d done was order room service once in a while when the thought of yet another meal from McDonald’s became unbearable. The rock star life, he mused wryly, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, not anymore. On the plus side, he’d spent a whole lot of quality time with Bill, now that the band were forced to share rooms again.
Tom glanced at his twin, who was smirking faintly at him. He, too, was dressed down in jeans and a flimsy black shirt, and looked just as tired and ready to pass out as Tom felt. “Will you be okay alone at home?” Tom wondered. “I could ask Erika to come stay with us at our place tonight--“
“We’re surprising her in the middle of the night, poor girl,” Bill pointed out. “I don’t think she’ll want to go anywhere tonight, we’re lucky if we don’t have to wake her up. It’s fine. I’ll just sleep for the next two days anyway.”
“No, you won’t. Meeting tomorrow, remember?” Tom sighed. “Why did we decide to manage ourselves again?” They had kept David on in an advisory capacity, but he wasn’t responsible for the day-to-day of their business anymore and was now focussing on pushing the other acts he had under contract. The arrangement was working out well - it was certainly nice not to be ordered around like a flock of sheep anymore - but it had brought with it a lot of work that Tom was only slowly getting used to.
Bill’s eyes sparkled. “Because it’s brilliant how no one can tell us what to do anymore?”
There was that. Tom smiled. “You won’t think it’s brilliant when you have to pick me up early tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah. We really should get you a car, Tom.”
Tom spared a moment to think mournfully of his beloved R8. He hadn’t gotten to drive it nearly enough before he’d sold it, but it was paying for the production of the new album and some promo to boot, and that was what they needed right now. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t get a car until he could again afford the Audi, but maybe Bill was right. He couldn’t chauffeur Tom around indefinitely; Bill’s driving style wasn’t good for Tom’s sanity. “I’ll look into it.”
Bill made a sympathetic noise and reached out to put his arm around Tom’s shoulders briefly, hand cupping the back of Tom’s neck. “I’m sorry, I know that car was your baby,” he cooed. “We should’ve sold mine, yours meant much more to you--”
“Don’t be stupid. Your car fits the band, the dogs and most of our equipment. We need it more than we needed mine.”
“It made you happy.” Bill seemed to consider that fact more important than practicality.
“Making music our way makes me happy,” Tom said. His gaze wandered up along the tall building in front of them, to the window right under the roof where the lights were still on. “I have everything I need.”
“Aw.” As ever when Tom confessed to any sort of soft feeling, Bill looked like he wanted to burst at the seams with glee. He twitched in his seat like a defective wind-up toy. “I’m glad. But we’ll get you your car back, okay? Eventually, we’ll get there again. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Tom said truthfully. They still had a house to live in, a car, their dogs, and if they’d given up a few luxuries, they’d traded those in for freedom. Now they could build their dream anew, the way it should have been from the start; they had each other, Gustav and Georg, and Tom had Erika. It really was all he needed, everything he cared about. Even thinking of her now, his heart beat faster. “Come on,” he said, suddenly unable to sit still, like his twin. “Let’s go see her.”
He opened the door and climbed out, sneakers hitting the frozen pavement. It wasn’t raining slush anymore as it had been earlier, but the chill of the winter night crept into the folds of his white sweat suit, uncomfortable enough to dispel his tiredness. When they’d arrived home after a two days’ drive up from Switzerland, he’d contemplated falling into bed straight away and going to Erika tomorrow, which was when she expected him anyway, but the need to see her had won out. He hitched his bag up on his shoulder and stretched out his long limbs, breathing deeply. The night air was refreshing. The lamps behind the window above seemed to shine in welcome, lighting his way.
The front door of the old, patrician town house wasn’t locked yet. They let themselves in and took the elevator to the top floor, where the halls were narrow and the ceilings low. The house had been converted into an apartment building a long time ago, but some of its vintage charms remained. The elevator made a low, wheezing noise every time it was forced to move, and its slow, unsteady climb up to the top floor tested Tom’s patience. Stepping out into the hall, he knocked his head on the ceiling as always and swore. No matter how often he came here, he never failed to bruise his forehead on the fucking beam that protruded from the wall into the hallway seemingly at random.
Rubbing his head, he felt a lot like coming home.
The place Erika shared with her friend Nele was a tiny two-bedroom apartment that was crammed with the bulky, antique furniture she’d brought from her childhood home. Every available surface was covered with art supplies and girly clutter. On a regular basis, Tom would joke that her room was more like a walk-in closet, to which she’d reply that half the clothes that were hanging off the bedposts were his, and then they’d usually fall into a pile of stuff together, laughing and rolling around until Tom knocked some extremity against the furniture. He never stopped complaining about the lack of space, but it was a cozy little place that held good memories for them only.
Erika had moved in right at the same time they had gotten together; they’d spent her first night in her new home making love in her creaky old bed, and in a lot of ways, it felt like they’d both moved into this place together, even if Tom didn’t technically live there and he was away for months at a time. Whenever he returned, he found his way back here: through the heavy, wooden front door, up in the rattling old elevator, along dimly-lit corridors to the back of the house, where the girls lived behind a bright blue door. He’d come to like the place, bumps on his head notwithstanding.
Bill’s boots clomped loudly on the wooden floorboards, Tom following more quietly, but with no less excitement. “Can I ring the bell? I love this bell!” Like a small child, Bill had already pushed the antique bell button to make their presence known. A Christmas wreath hung on the blue door; behind it, they could hear a tinkling sound ringing through the quiet apartment, soft and melodious like a wind chime.
Tom nudged him none too gently. “We should’ve called Erika’s phone, what if Nele’s already sleeping?” He was reasonably certain that Erika would be happy to see him, even if she’d been in bed already after all, but he wasn’t so sure how her friend would feel about being disturbed after midnight, and especially by Tom.
“Still scared of Nele?” Bill grinned. “Honestly, Tom, some day you’ll have to…”
Tom didn’t hear the rest of what Bill thought he should or shouldn’t do. There were footfalls inside the apartment, someone fiddled with the security chain, and then the door opened a crack, through which Erika’s blue eyes peeked out into the dim hall.
He would’ve readily acknowledged that he’d missed her a lot while he was on the road. He even would’ve admitted that there’d been more than one night when he’d hung up the phone after a long, intimate conversation, and the longing for her had been a physical ache that made his whole body throb like one big raw, open wound. And yet, Tom was unprepared for the overwhelming rush of desire that shot through him like fire and made his face heat up like the glowing end of a match. Their eyes met, and he saw her face brighten with recognition. He scrabbled at the door with his fingertips, suddenly desperate to get inside, hold her in his arms again. “Hey sweetheart, it’s us.”
“Tom? Wait, wait, let me…” she laughed when he made to push down the door, or else squeeze himself through the crack in his impatience. She closed the door to take off the chain, and he actually found himself fidgeting on the doormat, wanting to growl and scratch at the door like one of their puppies until she let him in.
Finally, the door was flung open, and he started forward and caught her around the waist as she threw herself at his chest. Her arms wound around his neck and he kissed her deeply, breathing a long sigh of relief against her lips. Touching her, being with her again, made every cell of his body sing its happiness. His skin prickled under the touch of her fingertips, and when her tongue bumped his gently, teasingly, in welcome, he groaned and pulled back for fear of collapsing right there on the doorstep, brought to his knees by emotion that was too strong for his tired body to contain. It was bliss.
“Oh!” she gasped, beaming. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow!”
“Surprise.” Tom felt like his face would split at the seams. He couldn’t stop smiling.
“We couldn’t wait to see you.” Bill nudged Tom aside with a hard elbow so he could pull Erika into a hug, too. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not!” she cried. “I’m so happy you’re here! Perfect timing too!”
Bill drew back curiously. “Why’s that?”
Erika shot Tom a quick glance from the corner of her eye. “I just meant, uh, because I missed you guys so much!” She took Tom’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come in?”
“Just for a minute,” Bill promised. “You can keep Tom until tomorrow morning, but I really should get going--”
“Don’t be silly.” Erika grabbed his arm and pulled him inside along with Tom. “Are you hungry? You look hungry.” She glanced back and forth between them, her eyes lingering on Tom’s pale, gaunt face. “You felt like a sack of bones when I hugged you.”
“Thanks, baby,” Tom said dryly. “You feel just as good as always.”
She did, and she looked just as beautiful too, even dressed down in sweatpants and an oversized white cardigan that swallowed up her petite body. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a bun, and she wasn’t wearing make-up, but to Tom, no one had ever looked more lovely. Smiling, Erika pecked him on the lips. “Come on, I have leftovers from dinner.”
Tom set down his bag and toed his sneakers off by the door, jerking his head at Bill to do the same. The girls’ apartment was on the chaotic side, but spotless even by Tom’s standards. Taking his shoes off in a strange place had felt silly at first, but by now, this place was home just as much as their house. Tom didn’t want to bring any dirt into it, not of any kind.
“Well, look at that,” a crisp voice said, and he looked up from the doormat, where he’d lined up his sneakers along the wall, to see Erika’s friend Nele peeking out of the kitchen door. “No one else would be obnoxious enough to knock on people’s doors after midnight.”
Tom began to grin. “It’s good to see you too, Nele.”
The woman edged into the narrow hall fully and folded her arms across her chest. “What if we’d been sleeping already?”
“But you weren’t,” Tom retorted. “Or do you usually sleep in your jeans?”
Nele tossed her long, frizzy hair. She was, indeed, still fully dressed in jeans, a blouse and a ridiculous pair of pink bunny slippers that belied her severe appearance. “You’re lucky. It so happens that we have company.”
“Oh?” Tom looked at Erika, who was smiling like she was very pleased with herself and the world in general. She squeezed his hand urgently and Tom returned the pressure, searching his girlfriend’s gleeful, impish face. Something was up, but what, he couldn’t imagine. She hadn’t known they were coming; she couldn’t have prepared anything to surprise them tonight.
“It’s this term paper I still have to hand in. That last one?” Erika made a gagging noise. She had started art school now, but she’d promised her parents to wrap up her university classwork properly. “We were going to pull an all-nighter, my partner and I.” As she spoke, she’d walked backwards along the hall, and now she pulled Tom and Bill over the threshold into the kitchen, leading both of them by the hand. “This is Robert, you guys.”
Tom choked on his own saliva and burst out coughing. The dark-haired man who had risen as they entered looked at him oddly. Beside him, Tom felt more than heard his twin inhale sharply, and the stranger’s eyes flickered towards Bill and lingered. Gasping, Tom chanced a look at Erika, was met with a smirk, and quickly looked away so Bill wouldn’t notice anything was amiss.
But Bill was paying him no attention whatsoever; he was staring back at the man before them with no less curiosity than that which was levelled at him. Robert was lean, tall and very well dressed in neatly pressed pants and a matching silvery grey waistcoat over a crisp black shirt with a high collar. A suit jacket hung over the back of the chair he’d occupied, and a black top hat had been discarded on the kitchen counter together with a pair of leather gloves. On the table, next to a golden pocket watch, sat a lit pipe in an ugly pink ashtray, which Tom knew Nele had made in pottery class. The whole look was like nothing Tom had ever seen, and he liked to think he’d seen a lot, growing up with Bill.
He fought the urge to snort. Score one for Erika; they’d talked about her wanting to set Bill up with this friend of hers repeatedly, but the timing had never been right. Now it had happened by accident, but no amount of careful planning could’ve brought about more effective circumstances. Returning here after a long stretch of work, into the warmth of a loving home, meeting with friendly faces and open, welcoming arms…it felt good. Tom knew this all too well, and he also knew that his brother had been starved for meaningful company for a long time. This here, now, was the best chance either of the twins was ever going to get at normal. Tom relished it, and he hoped with all his might that Bill could let himself enjoy it, too.
“Robert,” Erika said prayerfully into the stunned silence, “This is my boyfriend, Tom, and his brother, Bill.”
The man cleared his throat. “So…so pleased to meet you.” His voice was soft; from his foppish appearance, Tom had sort of expected a low, seductive drawl, or a few smooth, polite lines to match his impeccable manner perhaps, but Robert seemed a little flustered by the meeting, too. “Erika has told me so much about you.”
“Likewise,” Tom piped up. He felt Bill’s surprised eyes burn holes into his back as he stepped forward to shake Robert’s hand. “Good to meet you. How’s the paper coming?”
“Ah, we tried,” Robert laughed ruefully. “But then Erika made Penne Alfredo--”
“You brought the wine!” Erika giggled.
Tom chuckled. “You let her drink? Big mistake.”
“So I realized,” Robert smiled.
“Seriously. You’re such a lightweight, Erika,” Bill teased, and everyone turned to look at him expectantly.
“Hello,” Robert said, the word trembling sweetly in the air for a moment like the low, rich chime of a bell. He stepped around the table in long, fluid strides and held out his hand to shake Bill’s. “Robert Sander.”
“Bill Kaulitz,” Bill said, as if introductions were even necessary. He grasped the other’s hand and held it a second longer, perhaps, than was strictly polite. The two of them sized each other up for a long moment, curious and a little wary, until Bill burst out, “I love what you’re wearing!” like he was fifteen again and had just met Nena, and the spell was broken.
“Thanks,” Robert smiled warmly. His eyes crinkled at the corners. There was a bit of grey hair in between the brown at his temples. Tom didn’t think he could be much older than they were, but his style made it impossible to guess at his age, and he had a sort of old, refined way about him that was fascinating to watch. He bowed slightly at the waist, nodding at Bill. “I was just about to say the same thing.”
Tom barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He felt Erika’s fingers curl around his again and pulled her close, burying his face in her fragrant blonde hair to hide his expression. “Witch,” he whispered, only for her to hear, then, more loudly, “Please tell me there’s some Penne Alfredo left over.”
“Pasta? At this time of night? That’s how you get fat, you know,” Nele piped up again. She’d been leaning in the door, observing the introductions disinterestedly. Now she yawned. “I’m off to bed, guys. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Depriving us of your presence already?” Tom grinned.
Nele stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m glad you’re back, Tom. Erika really missed you.” She nodded at her friend. “Night, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning. Bill, Robert.” And off she went, bunny slippers swishing against the carpet.
Bill and Robert were still standing by the door, glancing at each other and then quickly back at the floor. Erika coughed politely. “Why don’t you sit down.” She wiggled out of Tom’s embrace to put a plate of Christmas cookies on the table. “I’ll warm up the pasta.”
Tom fell readily into his customary chair. The kitchen table was tucked under the window, which reflected the inside of the room against the darkness outside. Bill and Robert moved around each other gingerly to sit in the two remaining, wobbly plastic chairs the girls owned. Tom had spent many an evening sitting here, watching the street below while Erika whipped up some amazing dinner for him. Now, though, his attention was on the two men across from him, who were eyeing each other covertly, or as covertly as Bill was ever able to do anything. One look at him through Tom’s eyes gave away all his fascination with the handsome stranger, all his curiosity and the impossible longing for that spark of something real, something true, that Tom had never believed in until it had struck him, hard, right in the heart.
He pried his eyes away from his brother’s rapt face and snatched a cookie, then looked around at his girlfriend, who had pushed the sleeves of her cardigan up to her elbows and was warming up two plates under hot water. A wonderful smell uncurled from a pot on the stove. Tom’s stomach rumbled.
“Just a minute,” Erika said apologetically. “When was the last time you ate?”
“We stopped by McDonald’s earlier,” Tom said.
She gave him a look, her pale eyebrows arching high on her forehead. “When was the last time you ate a real meal?”
“When you cooked one for me four weeks ago.” He didn’t know how he’d gone that long without her. Tom held out his hand until she set aside her plates and came to him. He put his arms around her, pulled her close and laid his cheek against her chest. Her heart thumped underneath his ear, a steady, comforting sound. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the moment.
“The pasta needs stirring,” Erika murmured.
Tom felt her fingers in his hair, rubbing gently between his dreadlocks. He blinked his eyes open and found Bill watching them fondly, biting at his lip. Robert had risen to stir the pasta on the stove.
“I got it,” he smiled. “You haven’t looked this happy in weeks, ‘Rika. You stay over there.”
Tom’s regard for the guy rose instantly by about a hundred points. He snuggled closer to Erika, glancing over at Bill, whose attention was now focussed on the dandy standing at her state-of-the-art stove, cooking Pasta Alfredo. The scene was a little surreal, Tom thought, like something out of a time travel movie.
“Where do you get your clothes?” Bill asked curiously.
Robert looked up from the pot and smiled. He really was good-looking, Tom thought with a detached sort of interest. He wasn’t attracted to men, but he was Bill’s twin and sensitive enough to Bill’s feelings on the matter that he could appreciate male beauty. Besides, they shared a type - slender, fine-boned, nice hair, a naughty glint in the eye - even if Tom enjoyed the females of the species and Bill didn’t.
Robert’s eyes were blue, and they definitely had a certain spark to them when he smiled. “I get a lot of stuff from thrift stores,” he explained. “Some of the more specific steampunk stuff, I order online. And I make some of my own accessories.”
“Really?” Bill’s interest was piqued. “Like what?”
Robert nodded at the table. His brown hair fell into his face, curly and just a little unruly, a pleasant contrast to his impeccable appearance. “That watch? I made it.”
“You made it?” Bill gaped. “Wow.”
“Well, I modified the case. The watch itself was my grandfather’s.” Robert switched off the stove and set the pot aside. “I’ll leave the preparation to the chef, you’re much better at the details.” He made Erika an elegant, sweeping gesture with his hand.
Laughing, she detached herself from Tom to go fuss with her plates again. “Like you’re not good with details! Tell Bill about the watch.”
Robert took his seat again. He leaned forward, across the table, picked up the watch and placed it in Bill’s palm. “I fiddled with the wheels a little, and I put in some extra parts - the extra hands and the outer bezel here? I made it so the watch can run backwards, but still show the time. And I etched the patterns into the cover. Oh, and the chain is new. I like things a little more ornamental than my grandfather did.” He winked.
Bill held the watch in both hands like a raw egg. “That’s amazing.”
“You know what’s amazing?” Tom asked through a mouthful of penne. He pointed at the plate which Erika had set in front of him. “This is.”
Bill actually started. “Huh? Oh, thank you.” He gave Erika a grateful look and a pat on the arm. “I don’t even remember the last time I ate anything home-cooked.”
“Poor baby,” Erika cooed. “Now that you’re back, I’ll feed you, don’t worry.” She filled two glasses with water for them, then hovered at the table, wondering what else she could get them.
“Come here. Sit.” There were only three chairs, all that would fit in the tiny kitchen. Tom grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, which was where he wanted her anyway, even if there’d been a dozen free seats. He put one arm around her and used the other to shovel pasta into his mouth.
Bill picked at his food daintily with his fork. He gave Tom a look. “Don’t be such a pig.”
“I’m hungry!”
Bill glanced at Robert, who smiled. He picked up the pipe from Nele’s ashtray, fumbled in the pocket of his waistcoat for a matchbox and lit up. The sweet scent of pipe tobacco filled the air. Bill inhaled deeply.
“You get to smoke in here,” Tom said enviously. “You must be really good at The Symbolism of the Dutch Still Life.”
Erika kicked his shin with her foot, which dangled a few centimeters off the floor. “He is.” She smiled at her guest. “And his pipe smells better than your cigarettes.”
“So if I switched to a pipe--” Tom started hopefully.
But she shook her head. “No. Guests get to smoke. You’re not a guest.”
“What am I, then?” he grinned.
“Part of the inventory,” Erika deadpanned. Everybody laughed.
“You’re not the type for a pipe anyway,” Bill told his twin, smirking.
“And who’s the type for a pipe?” Robert asked curiously.
Bill turned to him immediately. “Classy,” he said. “Sophisticated. A little mysterious.” There was a pregnant pause. Blue smoke uncurled from Robert’s pipe. “Different,” Bill said at last. He dragged out the word like he’d forgotten the final syllable in the time it took to pronounce the first. He and Robert looked at each other, and Tom actually saw his twin’s ears turn red. Bill didn’t blush anymore - years of impertinent questions from nosy reporters had made them immune to most sorts of embarrassment - but the tips of his ears still gave him away, if one knew to look at them.
Tom knew.
He felt Erika nudge him gently and realized he was mid-bite, his fork hovering between the plate and his lips. Quickly, he popped the penne in his mouth and chewed, tearing his eyes away from his twin with some difficulty. Bill was definitely interested in Robert; of what sort his interest was, Tom couldn’t yet say, but there was something in the pair’s curious looks that made him feel intrusive when he watched too long, like he was observing something private. It felt a little strange. He and Bill had no secrets; there was no ‘private’ between them, but now, Bill’s attention was focussed somewhere Tom had no interest of going. It made him a little uncomfortable to have to stay behind, on the sidelines. Tom wasn’t yet sure if he liked it.
Close to his ear, Erika yawned, and he focussed in on her again, the warm weight of her in his arm, the strand of long blonde hair tickling his neck as she pressed up close to him, the scent of her, so familiar and yet so new again after long weeks away. It was wonderful. How could he begrudge Bill the same thing, if there was a possibility for it?
“Tired?” Tom murmured into her hair.
“A little bit.” She shifted in his lap, and he felt his groin begin to tingle pleasantly. He couldn’t wait to be alone with her. Her breath brushed his cheek as she leaned in closer still to whisper in his ear. “Ready for bed, anyway.”
Suddenly, Tom didn’t feel hungry anymore, or not for food at least. He pushed away his plate, wondering if he’d be embarrassingly obvious about his intentions if he whisked Erika away right now. “Shouldn’t have had so much wine, baby,” he said aloud. “Can’t entertain your guests if you fall asleep at the table.”
Robert glanced over at them, startled. “Maybe we should call it a night,” he said apologetically. “I should go--”
“No, no, stay. I’m not that tired,” Erika protested. She slid off Tom’s knee and began to rummage through her fridge. “We haven’t even had dessert yet.” Something clattered loudly. She swore and rose on tiptoes, all but crawling into the fridge before she brought out a large white china dish. She held it out, triumphant. “Tiramisu?”
“You truly spoil your guests,” Robert laughed.
She beamed. “Coffee too?”
“Yes, please!” Bill burst out. He turned wide puppy eyes on Erika. “With lots of sugar?”
“Coming right up.” She ruffled his hair as she set the dish on the table before them. “We’ll start weaning you two off the caffeine again tomorrow, okay?”
Bill rolled his eyes. “Until next time we go on tour, you mean?”
“It’s not healthy,” Erika said sternly.
“It’s liquid life,” Bill argued. “We couldn’t have gotten through this tour without coffee! We had to drive ourselves everywhere. At night!”
“So you’re just back from tour?” Robert asked. “Where did you go?”
“Southern Germany this time, mostly. We also played a few clubs in Austria and Switzerland,” Bill told him, smiling proudly. “We’re testing out some new songs that we’re going to put on our next record.”
“Erika said you’d been working in the studio,” the man nodded. “What’s that like?”
Tom tuned out when Bill began to describe the recording process in detail. The road to the fourth album had been long, and not without obstacles which Tom really didn’t want to worry about tonight. After splitting from Universal, they’d had to find new ways to distribute their work, and even though they’d been in the business for years now, the promotional side of things was still new to them. Halfway through the production of the record and already twenty percent over budget, they had realized they needed to tailor the new record to success, which was why they’d packed up and taken the new songs on the road. The music had tested well with their club audiences, but the album still was far from a sure bet, no matter how pleased Tom was with it. The song he’d written for Erika, which had been the first song of the new album, had charted high when they’d released it as a single in the spring, but who knew what people liked. Tom had been out of touch with popular tastes for too long to make any predictions beyond an educated guess. He just wanted to do his own thing.
He grabbed one of the glass bowls Erika had set on the table and began to shovel tiramisu into it. He’d filled the bowl with an obscene amount of dessert when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Erika set a steaming pot of coffee in front of him. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” he replied quietly. “Just tired.”
“You have a meeting tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yeah, at ten.”
“We’re auditioning PR people,” Bill told Robert. “But enough about us. What do you do?”
“Well, obviously I study art history.” Robert smiled at Erika. “Unlike some people, I actually enjoy it,” he said, and she laughed.
“It’s not like I don’t enjoy it. I just enjoy creating my own art more.”
He nodded. “I’d like to be an art expert for a museum. Acquire new exhibits. Maybe someday, I’ll be able to buy up all of Erika’s works and run a museum in her name.” His eyes twinkled merrily, and Tom felt a sting of jealousy when she laughed again, high and mirthful.
“Flatterer.”
“You are good and you know it.” He brushed aside her protests with a wave of his hand, graceful like a ballet dancer. “I saw your graffiti, by the way,” he said, turning to Tom. “Erika showed me the pictures. They are alive with feeling. I was impressed.”
Tom shifted in his seat. “Thanks.”
Bill looked at him fondly. “He’s so bashful.”
Giggling, Erika came to sit on his lap again. Her cheeks were pink with mirth and the warmth from the stove that was spreading through the kitchen. The room smelled like the gingerbread cookies Erika must’ve baked earlier, so homey and comfortable that Tom could feel the tension drain out of him just sitting there. He leaned into her, his chin on her shoulder, and spooned a bit of tiramisu into his mouth. The cream melted on his tongue, sweet with a bitter hint of coffee. It was delicious.
“Good?” she asked.
“Good,” Tom grunted.
“Excellent,” Robert said. “You’re a wonderful cook, Erika.”
“I burned Nele’s eggs this morning,” she smiled. “I was doodling.”
He laughed. “That’s a good excuse for anything.”
“It won’t be when I can’t finish that term paper,” she sighed. “But I don’t think we’ll get anywhere tonight.”
“That’s okay,” Robert said, and his eyes flickered to Bill for the fraction of a second. “I’m free this week and next. We’ll finish it, don’t worry.”
“Okay.” Erika was yawning now, too. She snuggled back into Tom's chest, fingers twisting in the fabric of his sweatsuit jacket. She wrinkled her nose when she brushed it over his cheek and felt the stubble there, making a grumbly little noise at the back of her throat that he’d rather have heard in the privacy of her bedroom, with only him for an audience.
Tom wondered how much longer they’d have to hang out here for appearances’ sake. He shovelled some more tiramisu into his mouth, which kept him quiet and allowed Bill and Robert to take up the conversation again.
“So you’ve always wanted to be an art buyer?” Bill asked. “Not an artist?”
Robert’s spoon made a tinkling sound against the glass bowl as he set it aside. “I’m not artistic in the same way Erika is,” he said. “I’m good with my hands. I like to fiddle with things. Like that watch? For the longest time, I wanted to do art restoration, but that means sitting at a desk in a dusty workspace all day long, and I like to be out in the world. Travel. Go to the big art auctions.” He flashed Bill a grin, dimpled cheeks giving him a boyish appearance. “It’s a more glamorous job.”
Bill smiled slowly. If there was anyone who could understand a need for glamour in life, it was he. “I see.”
Erika’s breathing had evened out. Tom held her close, enjoying the sleepy weight of her leaning into him. She was almost out, drowsy with wine and the lateness of the hour. She didn’t usually stay up far into the night, unless she was struck by inspiration. He stood in one fluid motion, lifting Erika up in his arms. “I’ll just go tuck her into bed.”
“Sure, sure.” Bill waved his hand distractedly as Tom shuffled towards the door. They would not be missed. Right now, that suited Tom just fine.
As soon as he’d kicked the kitchen door closed behind them, Erika came alive in his arms. “Oh my god! They were so cute!” She pumped her fist, beaming. “Yes!”
“Shh!” Tom hissed. He carried her into her bedroom, where he set her on her feet and closed the door.
She bounced up and down excitedly on the balls of her feet. “Aw, they’re so perfect for each other!”
He waved a finger in her face. “Don’t get your hopes up yet.”
“Are you kidding? Did you see the eyes they were making at each other? This is so going to work out!”
“It might,” Tom allowed. “Or it might not. It’s hard to tell with Bill.”
“Pfft,” his girlfriend made. “Why are you always saying he’s hard to figure out? I know what he wants. It’s what I want. Wanted,” she hurried on when Tom frowned. “You know, someone who’s kind and funny and interesting. Someone who’ll like him for more than his looks.” She rose on tiptoes and kissed his tight mouth. Her smile faded when he didn’t kiss back. “Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset. Just…” Tom sighed. “How’d you do it? I mean, it’s been years since there was someone he liked, and not for lack of selection. And you try just once, and bam!”
“Bam,” she echoed, pleased. “What can I say? I’m just that good.”
“Or it’s that he didn’t want to wait anymore,” Tom suggested. “What if he’s desperate, and he’s just latching on to that person because I have you and I can’t be there for him--”
“But they fit,” Erika said. “They both have a unique way about them, they enjoy a similar aesthetic, and where they’re different, they’re open-minded enough to make it work… Why shouldn’t they hit it off? They really seemed to like each other. I wouldn’t have set them up if I hadn’t thought they would be a good match. Bill’s chatty and outgoing, and Robert is attentive and kind and sensitive--”
“Should I be jealous?” he asked dryly.
She flicked his nose with her index finger. “He’s gay, Tom.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t have a crush on him.”
“He’s my friend,” she told him seriously. “And after I got to know Bill, I knew Robert was for him. Relax. You’re not going to lose either one of us.”
Tom let out a deep breath. He knew he was being silly, but the nagging feeling of worry wouldn’t go away. Robert had been nice, very nice - Tom liked him, absolutely - but to see both of the people Tom loved more than anything so smitten with the guy was a little unsettling. It made his protective instincts kick in full force.
He tried to swallow down his trepidation as best he could. “I know.”
“So you’ll give him a chance? Robert?” Erika asked.
“I already have,” Tom huffed. “If I hated him, I wouldn’t have left them alone in there.”
“Great.” Smiling, she pecked him on the lips. “Wait here. Don’t go disturbing them! I’ll just pop into the bathroom real quick.” She wiggled out of his embrace and sneaked to the door on silent feet. “Be good!”
Huffing, Tom shrugged off his hoodie and hung it on one of the bedposts. Erika had the heater running at maximum temperature all day long in winter. She liked warmth, but Tom liked to breathe. Shaking his head, he went over to the large roof window and pushed it open as wide as it would go. The night air was frosty and bitter with the scent of winter. He hopped up to sit on the windowsill and fumbled for a cigarette and lighter in the deep pockets of his jeans. He was down to three a day - one for breakfast, one for dinner, one before bed - and he savored the ritual of lighting up, inhaling, exhaling long, even breaths. He blew the smoke out the window, into the wind that carried it away, trying to keep Erika’s bedroom as smell-free as possible.
He looked around the cozy little room. She’d moved the furniture away from the wall opposite the window to paint; the floor by the wall was covered with sheets of plastic, which were sprinkled with spray paint. A few cans sat on a stained little footstool. She hadn’t done much yet, only a bit of an ornamental pattern along the baseboard. She was a better artist than he in every other medium, but Erika had never had much opportunity to practise graffiti, and it had become a project between them, Tom teaching her. A few months ago, he had sprayed one wall of her room with a reproduction of the graffiti he’d painted on her parents’ gate for her at the beginning of their relationship, the one of Erika sitting in a field of flowers. She’d been heartbroken when Tom had painted it over on her father’s orders , so he’d improved his initial design a little and put it on her bedroom wall. Now, the girl in the painting was smiling, and at the bottom, he’d put their initials, framed by a heart. It was sappy, but it had made Erika happy, and Tom didn’t really care about anything else.
“Brrr!” The girl in question had returned from the bathroom, shivering. Quickly, she shut the door against the draught that swept through the apartment with the window open. Her hair was hanging loosely down her back, golden and luxurious. She’d lost the cardigan and, to Tom’s delight, her bra; all that remained was a thin white t-shirt and her soft, threadbare sweats. “Put on your jacket, you’ll catch cold!”
“I don’t get frostbite like you,” Tom grinned, but he flicked the cigarette stub out the window, then pulled it shut. His girlfriend was standing in the middle of the room with goosebumps all over her bare arms and her nipples poking at her t-shirt, looking adorably disgruntled, and no matter how good his cigarette tasted, she was infinitely more delicious.
Over a year, Tom mused as he went to her, smiling. It had been over a year. Sometimes, he still couldn’t wrap his mind around that fact. Seventeen months with the same woman, and he was loving it. It was nothing short of amazing.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly as he began to rub his hands up and down her cold arms. “It’s like a sauna in here.”
“Then why are you still dressed?” she shot back.
He laughed. “Just waiting for you, baby.”
She dropped her sweatpants and dove under the huge, fluffy duvet that covered her entire bed like an enormous creampuff. “I’m here now.” She looked at him expectantly. “So strip.”
Tom didn’t need to be told twice - who was he to deny the lady? He pulled his t-shirts over his head and laid them tidily over the foot of her bed. His socks were next; he rolled them up into a ball, then dropped his sweatpants and put them with the t-shirts. Last, he pulled at the tie that held his dreads in a ponytail and stuffed it in the pockets of his pants so it wouldn’t get lost between Erika’s scrunchies again.
“Your neatness is so sexy,” she smiled.
He glanced at her through the hair that was now falling into his face. “Yeah?”
“No, actually, it’s pretty silly, but it’s you, so it’s a bit of both,” she teased.
“One of us has to be neat,” he flung back at her. “You’re chaotic enough.”
“You like it,” she smirked.
“Do not,” he scoffed.
“Yes, you do.” A hand appeared from under the duvet, dangling a pair of pink panties off one finger. She dropped them to the floor. “Oops. That’s not where they belong.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Do you mind?”
Tom looked at the panties, then at her impish face. “I’m not cleaning up after you. I have better things to do.”
She eyed the growing bulge in his boxer shorts with interest. “Such as?”
Tom didn’t reply. He dove under the covers with her and kissed her until her giggles became breathy little moans. Her old, creaky bed groaned when he pushed between her legs, savoring the friction, the slow burn that started at the pit of his stomach. He rubbed up against her and felt her wetness seep through the material of his shorts. The bed rocked backwards and scraped against the wall.
“Shh,” Erika laughed. “They’ll all hear us.”
“Don’t care.” She still had her t-shirt on. He peeled it off her centimeter by centimeter, which was made more difficult by her wriggling under him, putting up a show of resistance, giggly and playful. Finally, Tom pulled the shirt over her head, then took his time folding it, kneeling between her legs as she twisted under him.
Her fingers sneaked into the gap at the front of his shorts, and Tom quickly tossed the shirt at the foot of the bed, with his things. Erika’s hands were doing wonderful things to him, and he let his eyes fall shut and breathed deeply, focussing in on the pleasure that was spreading from the center of his body outwards.
It had been so long; so long, and there was nothing like this. Every memory of her that had been etched into his mind paled in comparison to the real thing. His imagination could not supply the warm scent of her, the breathy little lusty noises she made while she worked him slowly, the feel of her fingertips, hot and soft, touching him just so. In the fantasies he entertained when he wasn’t with her, alone in his bed on tour, she was a thousand different things, saint and whore at once, but nothing he could dream up was better, more fulfilling than this. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him, he knew; she was everything he needed, everything he could ever want, and on that thought, her face swimming before his eyes, his hips jerked, and he came all over her stomach in a hot rush of long-denied sensation.
Erika was blinking up at him when he came back down, her blurry face slowly regaining focus. “O-kay. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Hngh,” Tom croaked out. His voice had gone, along with all sensible thought. Sheepish, he bit his lip. “Well. It’s been a while?”
“Yeah. Four weeks, six days and two hours. I remember.” Deflated, she sighed, blowing at a dreadlock that had come loose from his ponytail and was dangling between them. “I had plans, you know.”
Tom blushed hotly. There had been a few sexual experiments gone wrong between them, a memorable incident in an airplane bathroom that had involved a broken toilet and David having to bribe more than one flight attendant, but he’d never been chided for his performance in bed. “Um. Give me ten minutes?”
She pushed him off her. He fell back bonelessly on the mattress, sinking into the soft cloud of her duvet. Erika reached for the box of tissues on her nightstand and began to clean them both up. “You were half dead already when you knocked on the door, earlier.” She pouted prettily. “Don’t tell me you’re not going to be asleep in ten minutes.”
Tom’s body felt sluggish when he tried to move, tiredness settling in bone-deep now that his arousal had ebbed off. He stifled a yawn. She was right, he wasn’t up to much more, tonight. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Erika kept up the disgruntled face for three more seconds, but then she tossed a ball of crumpled tissues at him and smiled. “Well. There’s always tomorrow?”
He smiled, relieved. “Yeah.” He’d have to set his alarm so he’d be up early enough to squeeze in some lovemaking before they had that band meeting, but being with her was definitely worth losing out on an hour of sleep. He drew her naked body close, burying his face in her soft hair. “I didn’t mean to do…that, I just… My thoughts got away from me.”
“And what were you thinking of?” Her hands fluttered over his bare stomach. He could feel her clench her legs, thighs rubbing together under the covers with a soft rustle.
Smiling, he slid down one hand over her hip, thumb rubbing at the prominent bone there before he delved deeper, sneaking a hand between her legs. She was moist and sensitive, and when he touched her gently, she shivered.
“I was thinking of you,” he whispered. “I’m always thinking of you.”
“Ooh, you’re laying it on thick.” Her breathing was labored, and he could feel how close she was from the way her body drew taut.
“It’s the truth.” He rubbed rhythmic circles into her skin, thumb pressing down on her clit as he let his fingers slip inside her. It didn’t take long; she needed this just as much as he had, and he would give it to her. Sleepy or not, he was still the best at what he did; with her, anyway. A few deep, purposeful strokes and she was coming, arching into his touch.
“I missed you, baby,” he whispered into her ear as she lay in his arms, trembling with the aftershocks of her release, and Erika laughed, breathless and giddy.
“Welcome home, Tom.”
It was good to be back.
Title: The Ways of the World (1/?)
Pairings/Genre: Tom/OFC, Bill/OMC, Georg/OFC, lots of gen
Rating: NC17
Summary: Much has changed for the better in Tom's life since he fell in love, but the world keeps spinning and the show must go on. Sequel to The Best Laid Plans.
A/N: Happy happy happy *squeals* That is all!
“Can I come? Just for a minute,” Bill promised quickly when he saw his brother’s sour face. He let the car slow to a stop in front of Erika’s house and made to park. “I missed her too, you know.”
“Last time you said ‘just for a minute’ you ended up sitting in bed with us until four in the morning,” Tom reminded him. He twisted around in the passenger seat to watch the space between Bill’s car and the one behind it shrink as Bill attempted to wedge the Q7into the too-small gap.
“It’s not my fault your girlfriend makes good conversation.” The car lurched backwards as Bill let go of the brakes, Tom winced and prepared himself for impact, but just when he thought they’d slam into the hood of the other car, Bill turned off the engine to park, regardless of the fact that neither the car behind nor in front of him would ever be able to leave. Pleased, he let his seatbelt snap back into the wall. “She didn’t seem to mind that I was there.”
“She didn’t.” A small smile stole over Tom’s face at the memory. If he hadn’t loved Erika already, he would’ve fallen for her then, watching, grumpily fond, as she bonded with his twin over a shared love of design and plans for an epic shopping spree. That had been over a year ago, on one of the first nights of their relationship. Tom had whined for a week about getting cockblocked afterwards, and Bill had been on his best behavior since. Tom let out a long breath. “I love you and I’m always here for you, and so is Erika,” he told his twin, “But if you aren’t out of there within half an hour tonight, I’ll kick you out, I swear.”
Bill smiled. “Don’t worry, I just want to say hello. I won’t be in the way of you getting laid.”
Tom sincerely hoped so. It had been four weeks; four long, exhausting weeks on tour with another club set that had taken them into the remotest, most provincial corners of Germany, Austria and Switzerland. The village crowds, Tom knew from his own experience growing up in Loitsche, could be the most enthusiastic because they were so starved for entertainment, but he still hadn’t anticipated the reception they’d gotten with the new songs. The trip had been fun, but now that he was used to coming home to Erika almost every night, he’d missed the routine he’d so happily fallen into.
He grabbed the overnight bag he’d quickly packed with the few clean things that had been left over in his wardrobe after a month on the road, then flipped the sunshield down for a look in the mirror. Bill snorted with amusement, and Tom gave him the finger before he examined his reflection with a critical eye. He was pale with the lack of sunshine they’d seen, sleeping all day and spending their nights in damp basement clubs, he hadn’t taken the time to shave that morning before they’d set out for the drive home, and his outfit wasn’t exactly anything special. He made a face at himself in the mirror and flipped the sunshield back up. It was a good thing Erika didn’t mind his uniform of tracksuits and lines under his eyes; Tom didn’t think he’d worn anything fancier around her for months.
“Yes, you look like shit,” Bill told him cheerfully. “We all do. We’re rock stars, we’re supposed to look like we went on a month-long bender.”
“I wish,” Tom snorted. They’d played until their fingers bled and Bill was hoarse almost every night for four weeks; the most extravagant thing they’d done was order room service once in a while when the thought of yet another meal from McDonald’s became unbearable. The rock star life, he mused wryly, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, not anymore. On the plus side, he’d spent a whole lot of quality time with Bill, now that the band were forced to share rooms again.
Tom glanced at his twin, who was smirking faintly at him. He, too, was dressed down in jeans and a flimsy black shirt, and looked just as tired and ready to pass out as Tom felt. “Will you be okay alone at home?” Tom wondered. “I could ask Erika to come stay with us at our place tonight--“
“We’re surprising her in the middle of the night, poor girl,” Bill pointed out. “I don’t think she’ll want to go anywhere tonight, we’re lucky if we don’t have to wake her up. It’s fine. I’ll just sleep for the next two days anyway.”
“No, you won’t. Meeting tomorrow, remember?” Tom sighed. “Why did we decide to manage ourselves again?” They had kept David on in an advisory capacity, but he wasn’t responsible for the day-to-day of their business anymore and was now focussing on pushing the other acts he had under contract. The arrangement was working out well - it was certainly nice not to be ordered around like a flock of sheep anymore - but it had brought with it a lot of work that Tom was only slowly getting used to.
Bill’s eyes sparkled. “Because it’s brilliant how no one can tell us what to do anymore?”
There was that. Tom smiled. “You won’t think it’s brilliant when you have to pick me up early tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah. We really should get you a car, Tom.”
Tom spared a moment to think mournfully of his beloved R8. He hadn’t gotten to drive it nearly enough before he’d sold it, but it was paying for the production of the new album and some promo to boot, and that was what they needed right now. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t get a car until he could again afford the Audi, but maybe Bill was right. He couldn’t chauffeur Tom around indefinitely; Bill’s driving style wasn’t good for Tom’s sanity. “I’ll look into it.”
Bill made a sympathetic noise and reached out to put his arm around Tom’s shoulders briefly, hand cupping the back of Tom’s neck. “I’m sorry, I know that car was your baby,” he cooed. “We should’ve sold mine, yours meant much more to you--”
“Don’t be stupid. Your car fits the band, the dogs and most of our equipment. We need it more than we needed mine.”
“It made you happy.” Bill seemed to consider that fact more important than practicality.
“Making music our way makes me happy,” Tom said. His gaze wandered up along the tall building in front of them, to the window right under the roof where the lights were still on. “I have everything I need.”
“Aw.” As ever when Tom confessed to any sort of soft feeling, Bill looked like he wanted to burst at the seams with glee. He twitched in his seat like a defective wind-up toy. “I’m glad. But we’ll get you your car back, okay? Eventually, we’ll get there again. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Tom said truthfully. They still had a house to live in, a car, their dogs, and if they’d given up a few luxuries, they’d traded those in for freedom. Now they could build their dream anew, the way it should have been from the start; they had each other, Gustav and Georg, and Tom had Erika. It really was all he needed, everything he cared about. Even thinking of her now, his heart beat faster. “Come on,” he said, suddenly unable to sit still, like his twin. “Let’s go see her.”
He opened the door and climbed out, sneakers hitting the frozen pavement. It wasn’t raining slush anymore as it had been earlier, but the chill of the winter night crept into the folds of his white sweat suit, uncomfortable enough to dispel his tiredness. When they’d arrived home after a two days’ drive up from Switzerland, he’d contemplated falling into bed straight away and going to Erika tomorrow, which was when she expected him anyway, but the need to see her had won out. He hitched his bag up on his shoulder and stretched out his long limbs, breathing deeply. The night air was refreshing. The lamps behind the window above seemed to shine in welcome, lighting his way.
The front door of the old, patrician town house wasn’t locked yet. They let themselves in and took the elevator to the top floor, where the halls were narrow and the ceilings low. The house had been converted into an apartment building a long time ago, but some of its vintage charms remained. The elevator made a low, wheezing noise every time it was forced to move, and its slow, unsteady climb up to the top floor tested Tom’s patience. Stepping out into the hall, he knocked his head on the ceiling as always and swore. No matter how often he came here, he never failed to bruise his forehead on the fucking beam that protruded from the wall into the hallway seemingly at random.
Rubbing his head, he felt a lot like coming home.
The place Erika shared with her friend Nele was a tiny two-bedroom apartment that was crammed with the bulky, antique furniture she’d brought from her childhood home. Every available surface was covered with art supplies and girly clutter. On a regular basis, Tom would joke that her room was more like a walk-in closet, to which she’d reply that half the clothes that were hanging off the bedposts were his, and then they’d usually fall into a pile of stuff together, laughing and rolling around until Tom knocked some extremity against the furniture. He never stopped complaining about the lack of space, but it was a cozy little place that held good memories for them only.
Erika had moved in right at the same time they had gotten together; they’d spent her first night in her new home making love in her creaky old bed, and in a lot of ways, it felt like they’d both moved into this place together, even if Tom didn’t technically live there and he was away for months at a time. Whenever he returned, he found his way back here: through the heavy, wooden front door, up in the rattling old elevator, along dimly-lit corridors to the back of the house, where the girls lived behind a bright blue door. He’d come to like the place, bumps on his head notwithstanding.
Bill’s boots clomped loudly on the wooden floorboards, Tom following more quietly, but with no less excitement. “Can I ring the bell? I love this bell!” Like a small child, Bill had already pushed the antique bell button to make their presence known. A Christmas wreath hung on the blue door; behind it, they could hear a tinkling sound ringing through the quiet apartment, soft and melodious like a wind chime.
Tom nudged him none too gently. “We should’ve called Erika’s phone, what if Nele’s already sleeping?” He was reasonably certain that Erika would be happy to see him, even if she’d been in bed already after all, but he wasn’t so sure how her friend would feel about being disturbed after midnight, and especially by Tom.
“Still scared of Nele?” Bill grinned. “Honestly, Tom, some day you’ll have to…”
Tom didn’t hear the rest of what Bill thought he should or shouldn’t do. There were footfalls inside the apartment, someone fiddled with the security chain, and then the door opened a crack, through which Erika’s blue eyes peeked out into the dim hall.
He would’ve readily acknowledged that he’d missed her a lot while he was on the road. He even would’ve admitted that there’d been more than one night when he’d hung up the phone after a long, intimate conversation, and the longing for her had been a physical ache that made his whole body throb like one big raw, open wound. And yet, Tom was unprepared for the overwhelming rush of desire that shot through him like fire and made his face heat up like the glowing end of a match. Their eyes met, and he saw her face brighten with recognition. He scrabbled at the door with his fingertips, suddenly desperate to get inside, hold her in his arms again. “Hey sweetheart, it’s us.”
“Tom? Wait, wait, let me…” she laughed when he made to push down the door, or else squeeze himself through the crack in his impatience. She closed the door to take off the chain, and he actually found himself fidgeting on the doormat, wanting to growl and scratch at the door like one of their puppies until she let him in.
Finally, the door was flung open, and he started forward and caught her around the waist as she threw herself at his chest. Her arms wound around his neck and he kissed her deeply, breathing a long sigh of relief against her lips. Touching her, being with her again, made every cell of his body sing its happiness. His skin prickled under the touch of her fingertips, and when her tongue bumped his gently, teasingly, in welcome, he groaned and pulled back for fear of collapsing right there on the doorstep, brought to his knees by emotion that was too strong for his tired body to contain. It was bliss.
“Oh!” she gasped, beaming. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow!”
“Surprise.” Tom felt like his face would split at the seams. He couldn’t stop smiling.
“We couldn’t wait to see you.” Bill nudged Tom aside with a hard elbow so he could pull Erika into a hug, too. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not!” she cried. “I’m so happy you’re here! Perfect timing too!”
Bill drew back curiously. “Why’s that?”
Erika shot Tom a quick glance from the corner of her eye. “I just meant, uh, because I missed you guys so much!” She took Tom’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come in?”
“Just for a minute,” Bill promised. “You can keep Tom until tomorrow morning, but I really should get going--”
“Don’t be silly.” Erika grabbed his arm and pulled him inside along with Tom. “Are you hungry? You look hungry.” She glanced back and forth between them, her eyes lingering on Tom’s pale, gaunt face. “You felt like a sack of bones when I hugged you.”
“Thanks, baby,” Tom said dryly. “You feel just as good as always.”
She did, and she looked just as beautiful too, even dressed down in sweatpants and an oversized white cardigan that swallowed up her petite body. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a bun, and she wasn’t wearing make-up, but to Tom, no one had ever looked more lovely. Smiling, Erika pecked him on the lips. “Come on, I have leftovers from dinner.”
Tom set down his bag and toed his sneakers off by the door, jerking his head at Bill to do the same. The girls’ apartment was on the chaotic side, but spotless even by Tom’s standards. Taking his shoes off in a strange place had felt silly at first, but by now, this place was home just as much as their house. Tom didn’t want to bring any dirt into it, not of any kind.
“Well, look at that,” a crisp voice said, and he looked up from the doormat, where he’d lined up his sneakers along the wall, to see Erika’s friend Nele peeking out of the kitchen door. “No one else would be obnoxious enough to knock on people’s doors after midnight.”
Tom began to grin. “It’s good to see you too, Nele.”
The woman edged into the narrow hall fully and folded her arms across her chest. “What if we’d been sleeping already?”
“But you weren’t,” Tom retorted. “Or do you usually sleep in your jeans?”
Nele tossed her long, frizzy hair. She was, indeed, still fully dressed in jeans, a blouse and a ridiculous pair of pink bunny slippers that belied her severe appearance. “You’re lucky. It so happens that we have company.”
“Oh?” Tom looked at Erika, who was smiling like she was very pleased with herself and the world in general. She squeezed his hand urgently and Tom returned the pressure, searching his girlfriend’s gleeful, impish face. Something was up, but what, he couldn’t imagine. She hadn’t known they were coming; she couldn’t have prepared anything to surprise them tonight.
“It’s this term paper I still have to hand in. That last one?” Erika made a gagging noise. She had started art school now, but she’d promised her parents to wrap up her university classwork properly. “We were going to pull an all-nighter, my partner and I.” As she spoke, she’d walked backwards along the hall, and now she pulled Tom and Bill over the threshold into the kitchen, leading both of them by the hand. “This is Robert, you guys.”
Tom choked on his own saliva and burst out coughing. The dark-haired man who had risen as they entered looked at him oddly. Beside him, Tom felt more than heard his twin inhale sharply, and the stranger’s eyes flickered towards Bill and lingered. Gasping, Tom chanced a look at Erika, was met with a smirk, and quickly looked away so Bill wouldn’t notice anything was amiss.
But Bill was paying him no attention whatsoever; he was staring back at the man before them with no less curiosity than that which was levelled at him. Robert was lean, tall and very well dressed in neatly pressed pants and a matching silvery grey waistcoat over a crisp black shirt with a high collar. A suit jacket hung over the back of the chair he’d occupied, and a black top hat had been discarded on the kitchen counter together with a pair of leather gloves. On the table, next to a golden pocket watch, sat a lit pipe in an ugly pink ashtray, which Tom knew Nele had made in pottery class. The whole look was like nothing Tom had ever seen, and he liked to think he’d seen a lot, growing up with Bill.
He fought the urge to snort. Score one for Erika; they’d talked about her wanting to set Bill up with this friend of hers repeatedly, but the timing had never been right. Now it had happened by accident, but no amount of careful planning could’ve brought about more effective circumstances. Returning here after a long stretch of work, into the warmth of a loving home, meeting with friendly faces and open, welcoming arms…it felt good. Tom knew this all too well, and he also knew that his brother had been starved for meaningful company for a long time. This here, now, was the best chance either of the twins was ever going to get at normal. Tom relished it, and he hoped with all his might that Bill could let himself enjoy it, too.
“Robert,” Erika said prayerfully into the stunned silence, “This is my boyfriend, Tom, and his brother, Bill.”
The man cleared his throat. “So…so pleased to meet you.” His voice was soft; from his foppish appearance, Tom had sort of expected a low, seductive drawl, or a few smooth, polite lines to match his impeccable manner perhaps, but Robert seemed a little flustered by the meeting, too. “Erika has told me so much about you.”
“Likewise,” Tom piped up. He felt Bill’s surprised eyes burn holes into his back as he stepped forward to shake Robert’s hand. “Good to meet you. How’s the paper coming?”
“Ah, we tried,” Robert laughed ruefully. “But then Erika made Penne Alfredo--”
“You brought the wine!” Erika giggled.
Tom chuckled. “You let her drink? Big mistake.”
“So I realized,” Robert smiled.
“Seriously. You’re such a lightweight, Erika,” Bill teased, and everyone turned to look at him expectantly.
“Hello,” Robert said, the word trembling sweetly in the air for a moment like the low, rich chime of a bell. He stepped around the table in long, fluid strides and held out his hand to shake Bill’s. “Robert Sander.”
“Bill Kaulitz,” Bill said, as if introductions were even necessary. He grasped the other’s hand and held it a second longer, perhaps, than was strictly polite. The two of them sized each other up for a long moment, curious and a little wary, until Bill burst out, “I love what you’re wearing!” like he was fifteen again and had just met Nena, and the spell was broken.
“Thanks,” Robert smiled warmly. His eyes crinkled at the corners. There was a bit of grey hair in between the brown at his temples. Tom didn’t think he could be much older than they were, but his style made it impossible to guess at his age, and he had a sort of old, refined way about him that was fascinating to watch. He bowed slightly at the waist, nodding at Bill. “I was just about to say the same thing.”
Tom barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He felt Erika’s fingers curl around his again and pulled her close, burying his face in her fragrant blonde hair to hide his expression. “Witch,” he whispered, only for her to hear, then, more loudly, “Please tell me there’s some Penne Alfredo left over.”
“Pasta? At this time of night? That’s how you get fat, you know,” Nele piped up again. She’d been leaning in the door, observing the introductions disinterestedly. Now she yawned. “I’m off to bed, guys. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Depriving us of your presence already?” Tom grinned.
Nele stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m glad you’re back, Tom. Erika really missed you.” She nodded at her friend. “Night, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning. Bill, Robert.” And off she went, bunny slippers swishing against the carpet.
Bill and Robert were still standing by the door, glancing at each other and then quickly back at the floor. Erika coughed politely. “Why don’t you sit down.” She wiggled out of Tom’s embrace to put a plate of Christmas cookies on the table. “I’ll warm up the pasta.”
Tom fell readily into his customary chair. The kitchen table was tucked under the window, which reflected the inside of the room against the darkness outside. Bill and Robert moved around each other gingerly to sit in the two remaining, wobbly plastic chairs the girls owned. Tom had spent many an evening sitting here, watching the street below while Erika whipped up some amazing dinner for him. Now, though, his attention was on the two men across from him, who were eyeing each other covertly, or as covertly as Bill was ever able to do anything. One look at him through Tom’s eyes gave away all his fascination with the handsome stranger, all his curiosity and the impossible longing for that spark of something real, something true, that Tom had never believed in until it had struck him, hard, right in the heart.
He pried his eyes away from his brother’s rapt face and snatched a cookie, then looked around at his girlfriend, who had pushed the sleeves of her cardigan up to her elbows and was warming up two plates under hot water. A wonderful smell uncurled from a pot on the stove. Tom’s stomach rumbled.
“Just a minute,” Erika said apologetically. “When was the last time you ate?”
“We stopped by McDonald’s earlier,” Tom said.
She gave him a look, her pale eyebrows arching high on her forehead. “When was the last time you ate a real meal?”
“When you cooked one for me four weeks ago.” He didn’t know how he’d gone that long without her. Tom held out his hand until she set aside her plates and came to him. He put his arms around her, pulled her close and laid his cheek against her chest. Her heart thumped underneath his ear, a steady, comforting sound. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the moment.
“The pasta needs stirring,” Erika murmured.
Tom felt her fingers in his hair, rubbing gently between his dreadlocks. He blinked his eyes open and found Bill watching them fondly, biting at his lip. Robert had risen to stir the pasta on the stove.
“I got it,” he smiled. “You haven’t looked this happy in weeks, ‘Rika. You stay over there.”
Tom’s regard for the guy rose instantly by about a hundred points. He snuggled closer to Erika, glancing over at Bill, whose attention was now focussed on the dandy standing at her state-of-the-art stove, cooking Pasta Alfredo. The scene was a little surreal, Tom thought, like something out of a time travel movie.
“Where do you get your clothes?” Bill asked curiously.
Robert looked up from the pot and smiled. He really was good-looking, Tom thought with a detached sort of interest. He wasn’t attracted to men, but he was Bill’s twin and sensitive enough to Bill’s feelings on the matter that he could appreciate male beauty. Besides, they shared a type - slender, fine-boned, nice hair, a naughty glint in the eye - even if Tom enjoyed the females of the species and Bill didn’t.
Robert’s eyes were blue, and they definitely had a certain spark to them when he smiled. “I get a lot of stuff from thrift stores,” he explained. “Some of the more specific steampunk stuff, I order online. And I make some of my own accessories.”
“Really?” Bill’s interest was piqued. “Like what?”
Robert nodded at the table. His brown hair fell into his face, curly and just a little unruly, a pleasant contrast to his impeccable appearance. “That watch? I made it.”
“You made it?” Bill gaped. “Wow.”
“Well, I modified the case. The watch itself was my grandfather’s.” Robert switched off the stove and set the pot aside. “I’ll leave the preparation to the chef, you’re much better at the details.” He made Erika an elegant, sweeping gesture with his hand.
Laughing, she detached herself from Tom to go fuss with her plates again. “Like you’re not good with details! Tell Bill about the watch.”
Robert took his seat again. He leaned forward, across the table, picked up the watch and placed it in Bill’s palm. “I fiddled with the wheels a little, and I put in some extra parts - the extra hands and the outer bezel here? I made it so the watch can run backwards, but still show the time. And I etched the patterns into the cover. Oh, and the chain is new. I like things a little more ornamental than my grandfather did.” He winked.
Bill held the watch in both hands like a raw egg. “That’s amazing.”
“You know what’s amazing?” Tom asked through a mouthful of penne. He pointed at the plate which Erika had set in front of him. “This is.”
Bill actually started. “Huh? Oh, thank you.” He gave Erika a grateful look and a pat on the arm. “I don’t even remember the last time I ate anything home-cooked.”
“Poor baby,” Erika cooed. “Now that you’re back, I’ll feed you, don’t worry.” She filled two glasses with water for them, then hovered at the table, wondering what else she could get them.
“Come here. Sit.” There were only three chairs, all that would fit in the tiny kitchen. Tom grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, which was where he wanted her anyway, even if there’d been a dozen free seats. He put one arm around her and used the other to shovel pasta into his mouth.
Bill picked at his food daintily with his fork. He gave Tom a look. “Don’t be such a pig.”
“I’m hungry!”
Bill glanced at Robert, who smiled. He picked up the pipe from Nele’s ashtray, fumbled in the pocket of his waistcoat for a matchbox and lit up. The sweet scent of pipe tobacco filled the air. Bill inhaled deeply.
“You get to smoke in here,” Tom said enviously. “You must be really good at The Symbolism of the Dutch Still Life.”
Erika kicked his shin with her foot, which dangled a few centimeters off the floor. “He is.” She smiled at her guest. “And his pipe smells better than your cigarettes.”
“So if I switched to a pipe--” Tom started hopefully.
But she shook her head. “No. Guests get to smoke. You’re not a guest.”
“What am I, then?” he grinned.
“Part of the inventory,” Erika deadpanned. Everybody laughed.
“You’re not the type for a pipe anyway,” Bill told his twin, smirking.
“And who’s the type for a pipe?” Robert asked curiously.
Bill turned to him immediately. “Classy,” he said. “Sophisticated. A little mysterious.” There was a pregnant pause. Blue smoke uncurled from Robert’s pipe. “Different,” Bill said at last. He dragged out the word like he’d forgotten the final syllable in the time it took to pronounce the first. He and Robert looked at each other, and Tom actually saw his twin’s ears turn red. Bill didn’t blush anymore - years of impertinent questions from nosy reporters had made them immune to most sorts of embarrassment - but the tips of his ears still gave him away, if one knew to look at them.
Tom knew.
He felt Erika nudge him gently and realized he was mid-bite, his fork hovering between the plate and his lips. Quickly, he popped the penne in his mouth and chewed, tearing his eyes away from his twin with some difficulty. Bill was definitely interested in Robert; of what sort his interest was, Tom couldn’t yet say, but there was something in the pair’s curious looks that made him feel intrusive when he watched too long, like he was observing something private. It felt a little strange. He and Bill had no secrets; there was no ‘private’ between them, but now, Bill’s attention was focussed somewhere Tom had no interest of going. It made him a little uncomfortable to have to stay behind, on the sidelines. Tom wasn’t yet sure if he liked it.
Close to his ear, Erika yawned, and he focussed in on her again, the warm weight of her in his arm, the strand of long blonde hair tickling his neck as she pressed up close to him, the scent of her, so familiar and yet so new again after long weeks away. It was wonderful. How could he begrudge Bill the same thing, if there was a possibility for it?
“Tired?” Tom murmured into her hair.
“A little bit.” She shifted in his lap, and he felt his groin begin to tingle pleasantly. He couldn’t wait to be alone with her. Her breath brushed his cheek as she leaned in closer still to whisper in his ear. “Ready for bed, anyway.”
Suddenly, Tom didn’t feel hungry anymore, or not for food at least. He pushed away his plate, wondering if he’d be embarrassingly obvious about his intentions if he whisked Erika away right now. “Shouldn’t have had so much wine, baby,” he said aloud. “Can’t entertain your guests if you fall asleep at the table.”
Robert glanced over at them, startled. “Maybe we should call it a night,” he said apologetically. “I should go--”
“No, no, stay. I’m not that tired,” Erika protested. She slid off Tom’s knee and began to rummage through her fridge. “We haven’t even had dessert yet.” Something clattered loudly. She swore and rose on tiptoes, all but crawling into the fridge before she brought out a large white china dish. She held it out, triumphant. “Tiramisu?”
“You truly spoil your guests,” Robert laughed.
She beamed. “Coffee too?”
“Yes, please!” Bill burst out. He turned wide puppy eyes on Erika. “With lots of sugar?”
“Coming right up.” She ruffled his hair as she set the dish on the table before them. “We’ll start weaning you two off the caffeine again tomorrow, okay?”
Bill rolled his eyes. “Until next time we go on tour, you mean?”
“It’s not healthy,” Erika said sternly.
“It’s liquid life,” Bill argued. “We couldn’t have gotten through this tour without coffee! We had to drive ourselves everywhere. At night!”
“So you’re just back from tour?” Robert asked. “Where did you go?”
“Southern Germany this time, mostly. We also played a few clubs in Austria and Switzerland,” Bill told him, smiling proudly. “We’re testing out some new songs that we’re going to put on our next record.”
“Erika said you’d been working in the studio,” the man nodded. “What’s that like?”
Tom tuned out when Bill began to describe the recording process in detail. The road to the fourth album had been long, and not without obstacles which Tom really didn’t want to worry about tonight. After splitting from Universal, they’d had to find new ways to distribute their work, and even though they’d been in the business for years now, the promotional side of things was still new to them. Halfway through the production of the record and already twenty percent over budget, they had realized they needed to tailor the new record to success, which was why they’d packed up and taken the new songs on the road. The music had tested well with their club audiences, but the album still was far from a sure bet, no matter how pleased Tom was with it. The song he’d written for Erika, which had been the first song of the new album, had charted high when they’d released it as a single in the spring, but who knew what people liked. Tom had been out of touch with popular tastes for too long to make any predictions beyond an educated guess. He just wanted to do his own thing.
He grabbed one of the glass bowls Erika had set on the table and began to shovel tiramisu into it. He’d filled the bowl with an obscene amount of dessert when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Erika set a steaming pot of coffee in front of him. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” he replied quietly. “Just tired.”
“You have a meeting tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yeah, at ten.”
“We’re auditioning PR people,” Bill told Robert. “But enough about us. What do you do?”
“Well, obviously I study art history.” Robert smiled at Erika. “Unlike some people, I actually enjoy it,” he said, and she laughed.
“It’s not like I don’t enjoy it. I just enjoy creating my own art more.”
He nodded. “I’d like to be an art expert for a museum. Acquire new exhibits. Maybe someday, I’ll be able to buy up all of Erika’s works and run a museum in her name.” His eyes twinkled merrily, and Tom felt a sting of jealousy when she laughed again, high and mirthful.
“Flatterer.”
“You are good and you know it.” He brushed aside her protests with a wave of his hand, graceful like a ballet dancer. “I saw your graffiti, by the way,” he said, turning to Tom. “Erika showed me the pictures. They are alive with feeling. I was impressed.”
Tom shifted in his seat. “Thanks.”
Bill looked at him fondly. “He’s so bashful.”
Giggling, Erika came to sit on his lap again. Her cheeks were pink with mirth and the warmth from the stove that was spreading through the kitchen. The room smelled like the gingerbread cookies Erika must’ve baked earlier, so homey and comfortable that Tom could feel the tension drain out of him just sitting there. He leaned into her, his chin on her shoulder, and spooned a bit of tiramisu into his mouth. The cream melted on his tongue, sweet with a bitter hint of coffee. It was delicious.
“Good?” she asked.
“Good,” Tom grunted.
“Excellent,” Robert said. “You’re a wonderful cook, Erika.”
“I burned Nele’s eggs this morning,” she smiled. “I was doodling.”
He laughed. “That’s a good excuse for anything.”
“It won’t be when I can’t finish that term paper,” she sighed. “But I don’t think we’ll get anywhere tonight.”
“That’s okay,” Robert said, and his eyes flickered to Bill for the fraction of a second. “I’m free this week and next. We’ll finish it, don’t worry.”
“Okay.” Erika was yawning now, too. She snuggled back into Tom's chest, fingers twisting in the fabric of his sweatsuit jacket. She wrinkled her nose when she brushed it over his cheek and felt the stubble there, making a grumbly little noise at the back of her throat that he’d rather have heard in the privacy of her bedroom, with only him for an audience.
Tom wondered how much longer they’d have to hang out here for appearances’ sake. He shovelled some more tiramisu into his mouth, which kept him quiet and allowed Bill and Robert to take up the conversation again.
“So you’ve always wanted to be an art buyer?” Bill asked. “Not an artist?”
Robert’s spoon made a tinkling sound against the glass bowl as he set it aside. “I’m not artistic in the same way Erika is,” he said. “I’m good with my hands. I like to fiddle with things. Like that watch? For the longest time, I wanted to do art restoration, but that means sitting at a desk in a dusty workspace all day long, and I like to be out in the world. Travel. Go to the big art auctions.” He flashed Bill a grin, dimpled cheeks giving him a boyish appearance. “It’s a more glamorous job.”
Bill smiled slowly. If there was anyone who could understand a need for glamour in life, it was he. “I see.”
Erika’s breathing had evened out. Tom held her close, enjoying the sleepy weight of her leaning into him. She was almost out, drowsy with wine and the lateness of the hour. She didn’t usually stay up far into the night, unless she was struck by inspiration. He stood in one fluid motion, lifting Erika up in his arms. “I’ll just go tuck her into bed.”
“Sure, sure.” Bill waved his hand distractedly as Tom shuffled towards the door. They would not be missed. Right now, that suited Tom just fine.
As soon as he’d kicked the kitchen door closed behind them, Erika came alive in his arms. “Oh my god! They were so cute!” She pumped her fist, beaming. “Yes!”
“Shh!” Tom hissed. He carried her into her bedroom, where he set her on her feet and closed the door.
She bounced up and down excitedly on the balls of her feet. “Aw, they’re so perfect for each other!”
He waved a finger in her face. “Don’t get your hopes up yet.”
“Are you kidding? Did you see the eyes they were making at each other? This is so going to work out!”
“It might,” Tom allowed. “Or it might not. It’s hard to tell with Bill.”
“Pfft,” his girlfriend made. “Why are you always saying he’s hard to figure out? I know what he wants. It’s what I want. Wanted,” she hurried on when Tom frowned. “You know, someone who’s kind and funny and interesting. Someone who’ll like him for more than his looks.” She rose on tiptoes and kissed his tight mouth. Her smile faded when he didn’t kiss back. “Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset. Just…” Tom sighed. “How’d you do it? I mean, it’s been years since there was someone he liked, and not for lack of selection. And you try just once, and bam!”
“Bam,” she echoed, pleased. “What can I say? I’m just that good.”
“Or it’s that he didn’t want to wait anymore,” Tom suggested. “What if he’s desperate, and he’s just latching on to that person because I have you and I can’t be there for him--”
“But they fit,” Erika said. “They both have a unique way about them, they enjoy a similar aesthetic, and where they’re different, they’re open-minded enough to make it work… Why shouldn’t they hit it off? They really seemed to like each other. I wouldn’t have set them up if I hadn’t thought they would be a good match. Bill’s chatty and outgoing, and Robert is attentive and kind and sensitive--”
“Should I be jealous?” he asked dryly.
She flicked his nose with her index finger. “He’s gay, Tom.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t have a crush on him.”
“He’s my friend,” she told him seriously. “And after I got to know Bill, I knew Robert was for him. Relax. You’re not going to lose either one of us.”
Tom let out a deep breath. He knew he was being silly, but the nagging feeling of worry wouldn’t go away. Robert had been nice, very nice - Tom liked him, absolutely - but to see both of the people Tom loved more than anything so smitten with the guy was a little unsettling. It made his protective instincts kick in full force.
He tried to swallow down his trepidation as best he could. “I know.”
“So you’ll give him a chance? Robert?” Erika asked.
“I already have,” Tom huffed. “If I hated him, I wouldn’t have left them alone in there.”
“Great.” Smiling, she pecked him on the lips. “Wait here. Don’t go disturbing them! I’ll just pop into the bathroom real quick.” She wiggled out of his embrace and sneaked to the door on silent feet. “Be good!”
Huffing, Tom shrugged off his hoodie and hung it on one of the bedposts. Erika had the heater running at maximum temperature all day long in winter. She liked warmth, but Tom liked to breathe. Shaking his head, he went over to the large roof window and pushed it open as wide as it would go. The night air was frosty and bitter with the scent of winter. He hopped up to sit on the windowsill and fumbled for a cigarette and lighter in the deep pockets of his jeans. He was down to three a day - one for breakfast, one for dinner, one before bed - and he savored the ritual of lighting up, inhaling, exhaling long, even breaths. He blew the smoke out the window, into the wind that carried it away, trying to keep Erika’s bedroom as smell-free as possible.
He looked around the cozy little room. She’d moved the furniture away from the wall opposite the window to paint; the floor by the wall was covered with sheets of plastic, which were sprinkled with spray paint. A few cans sat on a stained little footstool. She hadn’t done much yet, only a bit of an ornamental pattern along the baseboard. She was a better artist than he in every other medium, but Erika had never had much opportunity to practise graffiti, and it had become a project between them, Tom teaching her. A few months ago, he had sprayed one wall of her room with a reproduction of the graffiti he’d painted on her parents’ gate for her at the beginning of their relationship, the one of Erika sitting in a field of flowers. She’d been heartbroken when Tom had painted it over on her father’s orders , so he’d improved his initial design a little and put it on her bedroom wall. Now, the girl in the painting was smiling, and at the bottom, he’d put their initials, framed by a heart. It was sappy, but it had made Erika happy, and Tom didn’t really care about anything else.
“Brrr!” The girl in question had returned from the bathroom, shivering. Quickly, she shut the door against the draught that swept through the apartment with the window open. Her hair was hanging loosely down her back, golden and luxurious. She’d lost the cardigan and, to Tom’s delight, her bra; all that remained was a thin white t-shirt and her soft, threadbare sweats. “Put on your jacket, you’ll catch cold!”
“I don’t get frostbite like you,” Tom grinned, but he flicked the cigarette stub out the window, then pulled it shut. His girlfriend was standing in the middle of the room with goosebumps all over her bare arms and her nipples poking at her t-shirt, looking adorably disgruntled, and no matter how good his cigarette tasted, she was infinitely more delicious.
Over a year, Tom mused as he went to her, smiling. It had been over a year. Sometimes, he still couldn’t wrap his mind around that fact. Seventeen months with the same woman, and he was loving it. It was nothing short of amazing.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly as he began to rub his hands up and down her cold arms. “It’s like a sauna in here.”
“Then why are you still dressed?” she shot back.
He laughed. “Just waiting for you, baby.”
She dropped her sweatpants and dove under the huge, fluffy duvet that covered her entire bed like an enormous creampuff. “I’m here now.” She looked at him expectantly. “So strip.”
Tom didn’t need to be told twice - who was he to deny the lady? He pulled his t-shirts over his head and laid them tidily over the foot of her bed. His socks were next; he rolled them up into a ball, then dropped his sweatpants and put them with the t-shirts. Last, he pulled at the tie that held his dreads in a ponytail and stuffed it in the pockets of his pants so it wouldn’t get lost between Erika’s scrunchies again.
“Your neatness is so sexy,” she smiled.
He glanced at her through the hair that was now falling into his face. “Yeah?”
“No, actually, it’s pretty silly, but it’s you, so it’s a bit of both,” she teased.
“One of us has to be neat,” he flung back at her. “You’re chaotic enough.”
“You like it,” she smirked.
“Do not,” he scoffed.
“Yes, you do.” A hand appeared from under the duvet, dangling a pair of pink panties off one finger. She dropped them to the floor. “Oops. That’s not where they belong.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Do you mind?”
Tom looked at the panties, then at her impish face. “I’m not cleaning up after you. I have better things to do.”
She eyed the growing bulge in his boxer shorts with interest. “Such as?”
Tom didn’t reply. He dove under the covers with her and kissed her until her giggles became breathy little moans. Her old, creaky bed groaned when he pushed between her legs, savoring the friction, the slow burn that started at the pit of his stomach. He rubbed up against her and felt her wetness seep through the material of his shorts. The bed rocked backwards and scraped against the wall.
“Shh,” Erika laughed. “They’ll all hear us.”
“Don’t care.” She still had her t-shirt on. He peeled it off her centimeter by centimeter, which was made more difficult by her wriggling under him, putting up a show of resistance, giggly and playful. Finally, Tom pulled the shirt over her head, then took his time folding it, kneeling between her legs as she twisted under him.
Her fingers sneaked into the gap at the front of his shorts, and Tom quickly tossed the shirt at the foot of the bed, with his things. Erika’s hands were doing wonderful things to him, and he let his eyes fall shut and breathed deeply, focussing in on the pleasure that was spreading from the center of his body outwards.
It had been so long; so long, and there was nothing like this. Every memory of her that had been etched into his mind paled in comparison to the real thing. His imagination could not supply the warm scent of her, the breathy little lusty noises she made while she worked him slowly, the feel of her fingertips, hot and soft, touching him just so. In the fantasies he entertained when he wasn’t with her, alone in his bed on tour, she was a thousand different things, saint and whore at once, but nothing he could dream up was better, more fulfilling than this. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him, he knew; she was everything he needed, everything he could ever want, and on that thought, her face swimming before his eyes, his hips jerked, and he came all over her stomach in a hot rush of long-denied sensation.
Erika was blinking up at him when he came back down, her blurry face slowly regaining focus. “O-kay. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Hngh,” Tom croaked out. His voice had gone, along with all sensible thought. Sheepish, he bit his lip. “Well. It’s been a while?”
“Yeah. Four weeks, six days and two hours. I remember.” Deflated, she sighed, blowing at a dreadlock that had come loose from his ponytail and was dangling between them. “I had plans, you know.”
Tom blushed hotly. There had been a few sexual experiments gone wrong between them, a memorable incident in an airplane bathroom that had involved a broken toilet and David having to bribe more than one flight attendant, but he’d never been chided for his performance in bed. “Um. Give me ten minutes?”
She pushed him off her. He fell back bonelessly on the mattress, sinking into the soft cloud of her duvet. Erika reached for the box of tissues on her nightstand and began to clean them both up. “You were half dead already when you knocked on the door, earlier.” She pouted prettily. “Don’t tell me you’re not going to be asleep in ten minutes.”
Tom’s body felt sluggish when he tried to move, tiredness settling in bone-deep now that his arousal had ebbed off. He stifled a yawn. She was right, he wasn’t up to much more, tonight. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Erika kept up the disgruntled face for three more seconds, but then she tossed a ball of crumpled tissues at him and smiled. “Well. There’s always tomorrow?”
He smiled, relieved. “Yeah.” He’d have to set his alarm so he’d be up early enough to squeeze in some lovemaking before they had that band meeting, but being with her was definitely worth losing out on an hour of sleep. He drew her naked body close, burying his face in her soft hair. “I didn’t mean to do…that, I just… My thoughts got away from me.”
“And what were you thinking of?” Her hands fluttered over his bare stomach. He could feel her clench her legs, thighs rubbing together under the covers with a soft rustle.
Smiling, he slid down one hand over her hip, thumb rubbing at the prominent bone there before he delved deeper, sneaking a hand between her legs. She was moist and sensitive, and when he touched her gently, she shivered.
“I was thinking of you,” he whispered. “I’m always thinking of you.”
“Ooh, you’re laying it on thick.” Her breathing was labored, and he could feel how close she was from the way her body drew taut.
“It’s the truth.” He rubbed rhythmic circles into her skin, thumb pressing down on her clit as he let his fingers slip inside her. It didn’t take long; she needed this just as much as he had, and he would give it to her. Sleepy or not, he was still the best at what he did; with her, anyway. A few deep, purposeful strokes and she was coming, arching into his touch.
“I missed you, baby,” he whispered into her ear as she lay in his arms, trembling with the aftershocks of her release, and Erika laughed, breathless and giddy.
“Welcome home, Tom.”
It was good to be back.