Bück Dich, a Rammstein fic (part 1)
Rating: M. This part is rated R.
Pairing: Rammstein fic, Till Lindemann/Christian Flake Lorenz. Together with OCs/Christian Flake Lorenz.
Disclaimer: The performance happens. People who know Rammstein know that. People who don't know Rammstein or what I'm talking about can watch the performance here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uxO_tWyeFWs. The video has actually an adult filter. You know where this is going. Yet, the fic is false and I absolutely hope nothing like this has happened (except in the performance, of course).
Summary: Two deranged men decide to take the Bück Dich performance into real life, with Flake. Can Till make it right for his keyboardist after such a tragedy occurs? Heed the warnings: Non-con, threesome, bondage, violence, humiliation, big angst. You have been warned. Set, with some kind of "flashbacks", after the tour which released the famous (or infamous) Live Aus Berlin. More or less 1999-2000, if you get picky. Of course, anything that does not fit the band's timeline... well, had to happen. It's fiction, dammit. Yet, in this part, you will read inappropriate language, descriptions of fake sodomy, and lots of disrespect for the authorities.
These things happen, you know?
When at first, he was offered that kind of performance, Doktor Lorenz had doubted it. SERIOUSLY doubted it. It was a matter of... well, not losing face. Do you want to go deeper? Manhood. Virility. Masculinity. What will the people I know think of me... ex-wife, ex-girlfriends. Ridicule. Shame.
"Why me?" he had asked vocalist Till Lindemann.
"Looks, perhaps," was what the muscular man had answered. "You actually fit for that kind of performance. I mean, it wouldn't look that natural if I asked Olli to do it." Well, of course, Olli looked as if he would kill whoever wanted him to do something like that. "Or... Richard."
Had Till stuttered at the mention of the guitarist?
"And, anyways," Till went on, "aren't we a band that is unafraid of taboos and expectations? We're not afraid of anything and our lyrics prove that, right? And... weren't you the punk guy who stood up against authority?"
Paul had been a punk alongside him, with Feeling B, but the moment Till said that, Christian Flake Lorenz felt a thorn on his pride. He got up, stretching his tall and almost skeletal figure, messing his blonde hair, blue eyes shining behind his thick glasses.
"Well, of course! Who cares what people say?"
"So, you're in?" Till had smiled at his keyboardist's response.
"Of course I'm fucking in. Let's see what people say about this."
That's how he had ended up acting this rape fantasy. It had been something the guys had thought up (well, Till had thought up) when writing their song about sodomy, "Bück Dich". Rammstein had always had a thing for being highly performative, and this idea was just too good to let it go.
Though, at first, Flake had set the rules, of course. He was a little crazy... he had to be, otherwise he wouldn't have accepted to... well, pretend he was being butt-fucked in front of a roaring crowd. But there were some things he had to set straight.
"OK, but don't choke me on that fuckin' leash... and Till, NO FUNNY STUFF, ok? Just the dildo, and that's it. I don't want you rubbing the Tillhammer all over my ass."
"All right, mein bück dichee."
"Scheisse".
But it was obvious. The performance was a raging hit. The crowd roared when they saw Flake running around the stage, a ball gag in his mouth and a leash around his neck... the screams became louder when Till opened up Flake's shorts, revealing his skinny ass... and then, the spectators went absolutely wild when the vocalist started rubbing against it a dildo that suddenly spurted out huge quantities of water mixed with liquor.
All in all, it was something everyone who got a chance of seeing Rammstein live would be talking about for a long time.
And, when the guys went backstage, it was also the talk of the night.
"Did you see their faces?" Even Olli, the quiet one of the band, seemed excited by the performance.
"They couldn't believe it! Many of them had their mouths wide open... I wouldn't be surprised if some of Till's special spunk fell inside their mouths!" That was Paul, the funny man of the band. The guys were used already to his enthusiastic and sometimes tasteless outbursts.
"Now the press will shift from wondering if we are a bunch of Nazis to if we are a bunch of fags," drummer Christoph, aka Doom, pointed out, smiling.
"Oh, poor 'Stoph," Richard deliberately munched on the drummer's name. "He's not pleased with the performance because now every groupie will think he's in a threesome with you guys and he won't get any ever again."
"Are you kidding, Reesh? I'm so fucking hot I will still be getting some! In fact, girls will want me to perform this 'Bück Dich' on them!"
A little apart from all the sonorous laughter, Till moved near Flake's ear.
"Did you like it, mein bück dichee?"
All right, There's Till, still kidding. Well, he's not going to get away with the last laugh, the keyboardist thought.
"I liked it as much as you did... mein bück dicher."
That had been it. They all had had their laugh, it had become a performance to be repeated over and over again, but, hey, get over it, it's already an old joke. What's it with you?
And yet, yet...
Flake had had so much trouble sleeping, wondering about something he couldn't explain. He knew that something had changed, something had gone astray since that night.
He could not explain why. At first, the performances had been more or less the same. Please, no funny stuff, Till. Then, well, he had become used to them.
One could say, in fact, he had become comfortable with them.
It was as if a secret bond of trust had established between him and Till. All of a sudden, the keyboardist just felt so nice, so... so safe when the vocalist was around. It was as if, since they could perform fake sodomy onstage and nothing happened, his defenses were relaxed around Till. Like nothing bad could happen if Till was around.
So, when some other onstage antics began happening, Flake just didn't pay much attention to them.
Rammstein had always liked to play with notions of sexuality. So, it was usual for Till to cling to Richard's waist and ask him to marry him (while singing "Heirate Mich", of course), to spank Paul, to sometimes kiss anybody while singing. But it was all for pleasing the crowd, for raising hell in rumours. Nothing else. It's all for the show business.
And yet, that night, Till had walked on to him and kissed him fiercely. The vocalist had given him a big, sloppy kiss. He had grabbed the lanky vocalist by the neck and forced their mouths together, even sliding his tongue in. Flake had been so surprised, he had almost let go of the keyboard. He finally pushed the larger man away and rearranged his hat on his head.
And yet, when the concert was over, the part of him that was supposed to go and slap Till in the head for taking him off balance simply didn't click. In fact, the only thing that was left was this warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, like the afterglow of a good drink, and the remnants of a smile, which started pulling at the corners of his mouth when Till passed him by, heading to the showers.
Then had come that concert in Worcester.
After the gig, Till and Flake were arrested. The accusation: indecent and lascivious behavior in a public place.
The keyboardist had always had a special contempt for America. He was skeptical of that country's morals and culture; yet, he was secretly hoping a visit would prove him wrong. On the contrary, it had proved him right. A country filled with pornography and violence available to everybody with just a flick of the TV's remote, and they were scared to death of two men with a dildo in a rock concert.
And the cop in charge, Sgt. Radula, wasn't being too helpful in restoring Flake's faith in the Star Spangled Banner.
"Very well... so, who is Mr. Lindemann?"
"I am," Till, who was sitting next to the keyboardist in that office, answered.
"Then you must be Mr. Lorenz," the sergeant concluded, looking at the taller man.
Really? A sarcastic smile fought its way to Flake's face, but he kept it at ease and just muttered a respectful "Yes".
"The report says here, you're accused of lascivious behavior. May I ask, gentlemen, what kind of behavior?"
What kind of behavior. I thought, Sergeant, you'd be more familiar with pornography.
"Fake sodomy," Till finally answered, trying hard to repress a giggle.
"Sodomy, huh. In front of a crowd, the report says."
"Yes," Till looked as if he was about to burst into laughter.
"So... sodomy..." God, the sergeant seemed to like that word. "As if, you, gentleman..." he turned to Till, "molesting this other gentleman here?" He signaled towards Flake.
"That's correct," the vocalist was almost biting his tongue to refrain from laughing. Yet, his smile faded away when he noticed the one who repressed a chuckle when faced with that affirmation was Sgt. Radula.
"Is something funny, Sergeant?" Till suddenly blurted out, sounding strangely menacing.
"No, nothing," the cop answered, but a half-smile clearly appeared in the corners of his mouth.
"But you're laughing."
"Well, yes," was all Sgt. Radula said.
"Is there something funny in me molesting my friend Christian?"
"No," the cop insisted, but, once again, the smile appeared in his face.
"Yes, there is. In fact, it seems you find the act of molesting Mr. Lorenz here real funny. What is it, Sergeant?"
Perhaps another cop would have thrown Till into a cell right away, but Radula just let go.
"Well, you know... other men are definitely not my type, but, let's just say, that if I was actually into them... well, Mr. Lindemann, I'd pick something better!"
Radula let out a hearty laugh. Great, thought Flake. I'm never coming back to America. I'm arrested and reminded of my ugliness... scheisse.
The keyboardist was so lost in his thoughts he did not notice, until several seconds later, that the cop had stopped laughing... and that Till was looking at him menacingly.
"Excuse me. Sergeant, but did you just imply that my friend was ugly?"
Radula's giggles were now nervous. He knew he had screwed up. Bad.
"Well, I..."
"Did you just imply my friend was so ugly nobody would feel attracted to him?"
The cop was silent now. He didn't know if this man was serious, but hey... crazy Germans.
"For your information, Sgt. Radula," Till went on, "you're wrong. Very wrong. Because I do find this man attractive. Very. He's sexier and better looking than all the others at the band. That's why I chose him for the performance."
Silence.
Flake couldn't believe it. All through his friend's speech he had been more and more surprised, until he was just sitting there, his mouth open, not caring if he looked stupid or not. Well, Sgt. Radula had the same face. Till was the only one who looked absolutely calm, as if he had just stated an undeniable truth.
"Well, then..." the cop finally broke the silence, clearing his throat. "To each his own... hey, Mr. Lindemann? Yet, I'm afraid you will have to stay here for the night..."
"Whatever," Till answered.
Flake couldn't. His mouth was still dry. He just wiped his glasses on his t-shirt and followed Radula.
They hadn't even bothered to place them in separate cells. Guess the Sergeant was actually in shock.
Till had entered the cell and laid down in one of the beds that were in the cell. Guess they had given them a comfortable cell, considering their rockstar status.
Flake had laid down on the other one. Yet, he couldn't sleep. He couldn't get Till's words out of his mind...
"Till," he finally spoke. "You awake?"
"Yeah," came the reply.
"Till... I..." Was he really that shocked? "I... well.. thanks."
"For what?"
"For what you said out there. It was nice from you. Telling all that about me. You didn't have to do that."
He heard Till rolling around on the bed.
"I didn't do it because I had to."
Flake blinked. He was with his back turned to the vocalist.
"I did it because I meant it."
Now Flake had sat up on the bed.
"What... Till..."
Why did he seem to be at a loss for breath?
Flake saw the muscular body of his friend advance towards him. He felt his hands cup his chin. Then, he felt his lips on his, but this time the kiss was soft, loving. Eventually Till's tongue slid into his mouth, and the keyboardist answered. All that passion he had repressed just came out in the war between mouths.
Two pairs of eyes opened. They had actually kissed with their eyes closed, as if, as if...
"You wanted this," Till whispered.
"Ja," Flake whispered back.
"You wanted this as badly as I did."
The keyboardist couldn't answer. He just swallowed audibly, and out came a throaty laugh from the shorter man.
"And you still do. You kept your feelings to yourself... But, not anymore..."
Once again, their lips found each other. A long, deep kiss.
"Ich liebe dich, Fl---. No. Let me say your real name. Christian."
"Ich liebe dich, Till," the keyboardist answered, placing his long arms around the vocalist's broad shoulders.
And things had become slightly more complicated for them since then.
To be continued