Long fic: Drunken Fumble; R; Bill/Tom (6/?)
Title: Drunken Fumble
Author: littlemrstom
Pairing(s): Tom/Bill
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult Content, OOC, WIP
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I own nothing but the plot.
Summary: Under alcoholic influence, Tom Kaulitz, a second-year college student, is dared to ask out the young first-year, Bill Trumper. But, when Bill actually agrees, Tom realises he’s going to get a little more than what he originally bargained for.
Author's notes: This is already up to chapter 7 at THF. Banner by rachel1stevens on THF.
Previous chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five
Their lips were still moulded together three songs later, Tom’s hands still crushing Bill’s hips to his, only now his fingers had slipped under Bill’s shirt to crawl across the flushed skin hiding beneath. His eyes had closed long before, though Bill’s were flickering between open and shut, watching and waiting for any sudden realisation on Tom’s behalf, which he was positive wouldn’t be pleasant if it occurred.
“Fuck, Bill, you’ve got me so hard,” Tom growled, “fucking hell.”
Bill almost whimpered against Tom’s mouth as his hands slipped around to his back; Tom had him pressed so close to his body that their shirts may as well have been non-existent.
“Bill,” Tom spoke again, “come with me.” His fingers clutched at Bill’s tiny shirt and began to pull him out of the crowd. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
Bill’s mouth disconnected from Tom’s for a moment, then. He could still taste Tom on his tongue as he pulled it back into his own mouth, and tried to keep his feet planted where they were on the floor. Tom had freed one of his hands from Bill’s shirt to grip Bill’s hand and tug harder, his body still aligned with the youngest’s.
“Tom, no...” Bill said weakly, the loud music overpowering his plea, leaving Tom to appear ignorant. He attempted to stall himself, only to be shadowed by Tom’s superior strength and be led through the crowd.
Dropping his mouth to Bill’s neck and spinning them around so he could lead the way, Tom sucked harshly as they almost waddled with difficulty towards the staircase at the back of the room.
Unwanting of a scene, and of possibly tumbling down said staircase, Bill allowed himself to be manoeuvred up the steps.
“Gonna make you so hot,” Tom groaned, his hands now both linked with Bill’s, and sitting on his hips.
The music was quieter upstairs, the floors simply jumping and the paintings on the wall hopping to the beat. It was almost deserted, with only a couple of people floating about from room to room, leaving Bill and Tom pretty much alone on the landing.
“Tom, no,” Bill repeated, this time more forcefully. “No, not that.”
Tom bit down on Bill’s neck, causing Bill’s legs to buckle beneath him, nearly crashing them both the floor, only catching themselves on the wall beside them. Bill wrenched a hand out of Tom’s grip and smacked him-not maliciously-across the cheek; a sharp signal of another declination.
Despite Bill’s desperateness to stop Tom’s advances, he broke down into a fit of drunken giggles from the fall, setting Tom off too as they flopped in a pile against the floor and the wall, because if Bill was laughing, then something had to be funny.
“Tom, Tom, stop that,” Bill scolded again, still laughing breathlessly, when Tom began to nibble his way up to his earlobe leaving tiny, little bite marks up his neck. Bill shivered, his mind fogging over from all the smoke, which had risen from downstairs, and collapsed fully against Tom, only giving him more room to continue further up his jaw, until he eventually recaptured Bill’s lips.
“Such a bad idea...” Bill murmured, before giving in, wrapping his arms around Tom’s head and kissing him back drunkenly.
“Ehem.” A cough resounded throughout the landing, the bang of a door closing loudly following soon after. The noises only seemed to blur into the other surroundings, and so neither Bill nor Tom paid them any mind. Well, until the “Ehem” was repeated, this time right into their ear holes. They jumped, nearly banging heads, and turned to look at who had so rudely interrupted them. Gustav simply raised an unbelieving eyebrow and pushed Georg, who was trailing along ashen-faced behind him, carefully towards the top of the stairs. “Come on,” he said gruffly, reaching out with his free left arm to hook onto Bill and drag both him and Tom up from the floor. “Time to go. And so help you, God, if you dare puke in my new car...”
*
Bill forced his eyes open slowly, a soft light spilling into his peripheral vision from the right. He blinked sharply several times until he saw the pale green walls of Gustav’s living room seep into his mind and register. He smacked his lips, tasting a disgusting mix of left over alcohol and something he couldn’t quite place... Then, moving to shift, he curled his aching legs up towards his chest, and scooted his bottom backwards.
“Ah!”
Bill’s head snapped around all too quickly for his liking, and his eyes fell on a body, which was now cursing colourfully on the floor.
Tom.
“Oh my-” Bill’s voice was harsh and croaky, so he coughed painfully and tried again. “Tom!”
“Unf.” Another groan was emitted from Tom, who had rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his feet.
“Thanks a fucking lot, Bill,” he groused, rubbing his side and beginning to stomp up the stairs.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” Bill yelled, immediately regretting it and lowering his volume. “I didn’t know you were there,” he added pathetically, even though Tom was already out of earshot. He slouched backwards, back onto the sofa he was sprawled on, and closed his eyes.
His head was pounding, though, his throat in desperate need of liquid, so he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Not that he thought he’d be able to anyway, mind.
Instead, he cringed and forced himself up and off the very invitingly warm, blanket-covered couch. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and grimaced as his stomach rolled when he stood up. His socked feet trod across the carpet, where he followed the light into the kitchen, surprised to see Gustav pottering around, fully dressed and wide awake.
“Morning,” the blonde said solemnly, not looking up from the cup he was drying with a tattered tea towel. “Coffee?” He placed the mug on the side and flicked on the kettle when Bill nodded, grabbing another cup and putting it beside the first. “Is anyone else awake?”
Bill frowned and dipped his head back into the living room, checking if anyone else was in there. “Tom went upstairs,” he said, pausing when he heard water begin to run above them, perfectly on cue. “And Georg is still out of it.” His hand found its way to his head, where he placed it on his forehead and groaned. “Fuck, what did I do last night?” he half asked, half stated, crossing the room to lean on the counter beside Gustav.
“Well...” Gustav murmured, mostly to himself, as he poured two cups of coffee out, handing one straight to Bill.
“Gustav?” Bill’s eyes widened as he wrapped his hands around his warm mug. “Did I do something? I can’t... I can’t remember much. I feel like I did something.”
“You were that out of it, huh?” An amused smirk slid onto Gustav’s face as he took a sip of his drink, and Bill grimaced.
“Seems like it. Please, Gustav, tell me what I did...”
Gustav mulled over it for a minute, watching Bill over the top of his mug through beady eyes. “You remember nothing at all?”
Bill shrugged a shoulder. “A party, dancing,” he answered. “Drinking. Lots of drinking.”
“Tom had more than you did.”
“I knew this would involve him.” Bill placed his coffee on the table and smacked himself across the face dramatically. “I knew it, knew it, knew it!”
“Well, you were both pretty trashed, but you didn’t rival Georg at all. I’ll bet he won’t wake up all day, you know.” Gustav chuckled and drunk, trying to ignore the scowl that Bill was sending him. “Okay, okay...” he finally said, and Bill gripped the counter with his fingers.
“Oh, God.”
“I don’t actually know how far you both took it,” he started, bulky arms folded across his chest. “But you ended up on the floor upstairs.” Bill’s face paled and he began cursing under his breath. “I’m sure you can guess what you were doing.”
When Bill gaped, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, Gustav burst out laughing, and Bill winced through his shock.
“Oh, Lord, not that! Just everything but it.”
Bill puffed out a breath and flopped against the counter, deflated. How could he have been so stupid? Alcohol or no alcohol, he should have known not to do that.
“Then what?” he dared to ask, gazing at Gustav, who still appeared amused.
“What, you think I’d have left you both there like that? God knows what you’d have done. No, I dragged you here, where you promptly fell asleep on each other on the sofa. So I left you.”
Bill groaned, dropping his face into his palm and closing his eyes, focusing on the continuous pounding in the back of his head. The noise of the shower jittering to a stop could be heard above the now silent kitchen, and Gustav pushed himself away from where he was leaning, wiping his hands down his jeans and heading for the door.
“I’ll just leave you to it,” he said. “Tom will be down in a minute when I kick him out of my room, so... Please, try not to kill each other. Later.”
Bill stayed put in the kitchen for the next five minutes, his coffee going cold beside him as he counted the beats of the drum that was his hangover. His mind was whirring, playing over Gustav’s, somewhat brief, account of happenings, trying and, unfortunately for him, piecing the night back together.
He remembered the dancing and the grinding and the kissing on the dance floor, the heat that had been formulating between the two of them, the raw lust that surrounded them. He remembered the fight he’d put up when Tom got bored of just kissing, eventually giving in to him and following like a stray puppy...
“Oh, God,” he repeated, the image of him and Tom, tangled on the floor together, flashing in his head.
“Morning to you, too,” Tom grunted, slinking into the kitchen in last night’s jeans and nothing else. His dreads were tied low by his neck, falling over his glistening shoulders and ending just above his uncovered hips. Bill’s heart skipped a beat.
“What? -Oh, I didn’t mean that.” Bill looked down at his sock-covered toes, feeling his face flush simply at Tom’s presence. He couldn’t tell if the fluttering in his stomach was because of Tom, or because of the hangover. “Sleep well?” he asked, simply as a means of conversation, to try guide his mind away from the unplaced feeling.
Tom made a face. “What, with you all over me? Not exactly, no.” He sat down on a chair, his stomach rippling, and stared over at Bill, not helping the situation.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Bill snapped. “Maybe we shouldn’t have got so drunk, then, should we?”
“Probably not,” Tom answered, and Bill looked up to meet his glassy eyes.
“Maybe then you’d have realised what the hell you were doing, too,” Bill added, huffing for emphasis.
Tom furrowed his brows, confused. “What?”
Bill scoffed. “Oh, please, don’t act like you don’t remember. Dancing, making out, taking me upstairs? Does any of that ring a bell?”
Tom’s expression was blank, unreadable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, dropping his hands to his lap and leaning back on the chair, rocking back and forth on its legs.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Bill deadpanned. “But actually, I’m really fucking sure you do.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I’m so sick of you, did you know that?” he continued, taking a step towards Tom. “I really wish you’d fucking make up your mind. You randomly come up to me and ask me out, take me to dinner and act like a complete asshole. Avoid me, ignore me, act weirdly towards me, then invite me to a party, where you get completely pissed and try to fuck me?”
Bill paused for a second time, gulping in air and stepping back away from Tom, who stayed on the chair, looking confusedly back at Bill.
“What do you actually want from me?”
Tom gawped, his mouth open but unable to form the words he wanted to get out. His chest felt tight, and his head felt light, the pain on Bill’s face affecting him in ways he hadn’t known existed.
“You know what?” Bill added, stomping into the living room, where Georg was still snoozing away, and sliding his shoes on. “I don’t even want to know. Just... just go back to being the pig you are. I’m done.”
When the door slammed after Bill’s departure, Tom felt something shift in his stomach. It was like something had evaporated and... he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.
End Notes: *whistles* Maaaan, it's been a while.
Author: littlemrstom
Pairing(s): Tom/Bill
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult Content, OOC, WIP
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I own nothing but the plot.
Summary: Under alcoholic influence, Tom Kaulitz, a second-year college student, is dared to ask out the young first-year, Bill Trumper. But, when Bill actually agrees, Tom realises he’s going to get a little more than what he originally bargained for.
Author's notes: This is already up to chapter 7 at THF. Banner by rachel1stevens on THF.
Previous chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five
Their lips were still moulded together three songs later, Tom’s hands still crushing Bill’s hips to his, only now his fingers had slipped under Bill’s shirt to crawl across the flushed skin hiding beneath. His eyes had closed long before, though Bill’s were flickering between open and shut, watching and waiting for any sudden realisation on Tom’s behalf, which he was positive wouldn’t be pleasant if it occurred.
“Fuck, Bill, you’ve got me so hard,” Tom growled, “fucking hell.”
Bill almost whimpered against Tom’s mouth as his hands slipped around to his back; Tom had him pressed so close to his body that their shirts may as well have been non-existent.
“Bill,” Tom spoke again, “come with me.” His fingers clutched at Bill’s tiny shirt and began to pull him out of the crowd. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
Bill’s mouth disconnected from Tom’s for a moment, then. He could still taste Tom on his tongue as he pulled it back into his own mouth, and tried to keep his feet planted where they were on the floor. Tom had freed one of his hands from Bill’s shirt to grip Bill’s hand and tug harder, his body still aligned with the youngest’s.
“Tom, no...” Bill said weakly, the loud music overpowering his plea, leaving Tom to appear ignorant. He attempted to stall himself, only to be shadowed by Tom’s superior strength and be led through the crowd.
Dropping his mouth to Bill’s neck and spinning them around so he could lead the way, Tom sucked harshly as they almost waddled with difficulty towards the staircase at the back of the room.
Unwanting of a scene, and of possibly tumbling down said staircase, Bill allowed himself to be manoeuvred up the steps.
“Gonna make you so hot,” Tom groaned, his hands now both linked with Bill’s, and sitting on his hips.
The music was quieter upstairs, the floors simply jumping and the paintings on the wall hopping to the beat. It was almost deserted, with only a couple of people floating about from room to room, leaving Bill and Tom pretty much alone on the landing.
“Tom, no,” Bill repeated, this time more forcefully. “No, not that.”
Tom bit down on Bill’s neck, causing Bill’s legs to buckle beneath him, nearly crashing them both the floor, only catching themselves on the wall beside them. Bill wrenched a hand out of Tom’s grip and smacked him-not maliciously-across the cheek; a sharp signal of another declination.
Despite Bill’s desperateness to stop Tom’s advances, he broke down into a fit of drunken giggles from the fall, setting Tom off too as they flopped in a pile against the floor and the wall, because if Bill was laughing, then something had to be funny.
“Tom, Tom, stop that,” Bill scolded again, still laughing breathlessly, when Tom began to nibble his way up to his earlobe leaving tiny, little bite marks up his neck. Bill shivered, his mind fogging over from all the smoke, which had risen from downstairs, and collapsed fully against Tom, only giving him more room to continue further up his jaw, until he eventually recaptured Bill’s lips.
“Such a bad idea...” Bill murmured, before giving in, wrapping his arms around Tom’s head and kissing him back drunkenly.
“Ehem.” A cough resounded throughout the landing, the bang of a door closing loudly following soon after. The noises only seemed to blur into the other surroundings, and so neither Bill nor Tom paid them any mind. Well, until the “Ehem” was repeated, this time right into their ear holes. They jumped, nearly banging heads, and turned to look at who had so rudely interrupted them. Gustav simply raised an unbelieving eyebrow and pushed Georg, who was trailing along ashen-faced behind him, carefully towards the top of the stairs. “Come on,” he said gruffly, reaching out with his free left arm to hook onto Bill and drag both him and Tom up from the floor. “Time to go. And so help you, God, if you dare puke in my new car...”
*
Bill forced his eyes open slowly, a soft light spilling into his peripheral vision from the right. He blinked sharply several times until he saw the pale green walls of Gustav’s living room seep into his mind and register. He smacked his lips, tasting a disgusting mix of left over alcohol and something he couldn’t quite place... Then, moving to shift, he curled his aching legs up towards his chest, and scooted his bottom backwards.
“Ah!”
Bill’s head snapped around all too quickly for his liking, and his eyes fell on a body, which was now cursing colourfully on the floor.
Tom.
“Oh my-” Bill’s voice was harsh and croaky, so he coughed painfully and tried again. “Tom!”
“Unf.” Another groan was emitted from Tom, who had rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his feet.
“Thanks a fucking lot, Bill,” he groused, rubbing his side and beginning to stomp up the stairs.
“I-I didn’t mean to,” Bill yelled, immediately regretting it and lowering his volume. “I didn’t know you were there,” he added pathetically, even though Tom was already out of earshot. He slouched backwards, back onto the sofa he was sprawled on, and closed his eyes.
His head was pounding, though, his throat in desperate need of liquid, so he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Not that he thought he’d be able to anyway, mind.
Instead, he cringed and forced himself up and off the very invitingly warm, blanket-covered couch. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and grimaced as his stomach rolled when he stood up. His socked feet trod across the carpet, where he followed the light into the kitchen, surprised to see Gustav pottering around, fully dressed and wide awake.
“Morning,” the blonde said solemnly, not looking up from the cup he was drying with a tattered tea towel. “Coffee?” He placed the mug on the side and flicked on the kettle when Bill nodded, grabbing another cup and putting it beside the first. “Is anyone else awake?”
Bill frowned and dipped his head back into the living room, checking if anyone else was in there. “Tom went upstairs,” he said, pausing when he heard water begin to run above them, perfectly on cue. “And Georg is still out of it.” His hand found its way to his head, where he placed it on his forehead and groaned. “Fuck, what did I do last night?” he half asked, half stated, crossing the room to lean on the counter beside Gustav.
“Well...” Gustav murmured, mostly to himself, as he poured two cups of coffee out, handing one straight to Bill.
“Gustav?” Bill’s eyes widened as he wrapped his hands around his warm mug. “Did I do something? I can’t... I can’t remember much. I feel like I did something.”
“You were that out of it, huh?” An amused smirk slid onto Gustav’s face as he took a sip of his drink, and Bill grimaced.
“Seems like it. Please, Gustav, tell me what I did...”
Gustav mulled over it for a minute, watching Bill over the top of his mug through beady eyes. “You remember nothing at all?”
Bill shrugged a shoulder. “A party, dancing,” he answered. “Drinking. Lots of drinking.”
“Tom had more than you did.”
“I knew this would involve him.” Bill placed his coffee on the table and smacked himself across the face dramatically. “I knew it, knew it, knew it!”
“Well, you were both pretty trashed, but you didn’t rival Georg at all. I’ll bet he won’t wake up all day, you know.” Gustav chuckled and drunk, trying to ignore the scowl that Bill was sending him. “Okay, okay...” he finally said, and Bill gripped the counter with his fingers.
“Oh, God.”
“I don’t actually know how far you both took it,” he started, bulky arms folded across his chest. “But you ended up on the floor upstairs.” Bill’s face paled and he began cursing under his breath. “I’m sure you can guess what you were doing.”
When Bill gaped, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, Gustav burst out laughing, and Bill winced through his shock.
“Oh, Lord, not that! Just everything but it.”
Bill puffed out a breath and flopped against the counter, deflated. How could he have been so stupid? Alcohol or no alcohol, he should have known not to do that.
“Then what?” he dared to ask, gazing at Gustav, who still appeared amused.
“What, you think I’d have left you both there like that? God knows what you’d have done. No, I dragged you here, where you promptly fell asleep on each other on the sofa. So I left you.”
Bill groaned, dropping his face into his palm and closing his eyes, focusing on the continuous pounding in the back of his head. The noise of the shower jittering to a stop could be heard above the now silent kitchen, and Gustav pushed himself away from where he was leaning, wiping his hands down his jeans and heading for the door.
“I’ll just leave you to it,” he said. “Tom will be down in a minute when I kick him out of my room, so... Please, try not to kill each other. Later.”
Bill stayed put in the kitchen for the next five minutes, his coffee going cold beside him as he counted the beats of the drum that was his hangover. His mind was whirring, playing over Gustav’s, somewhat brief, account of happenings, trying and, unfortunately for him, piecing the night back together.
He remembered the dancing and the grinding and the kissing on the dance floor, the heat that had been formulating between the two of them, the raw lust that surrounded them. He remembered the fight he’d put up when Tom got bored of just kissing, eventually giving in to him and following like a stray puppy...
“Oh, God,” he repeated, the image of him and Tom, tangled on the floor together, flashing in his head.
“Morning to you, too,” Tom grunted, slinking into the kitchen in last night’s jeans and nothing else. His dreads were tied low by his neck, falling over his glistening shoulders and ending just above his uncovered hips. Bill’s heart skipped a beat.
“What? -Oh, I didn’t mean that.” Bill looked down at his sock-covered toes, feeling his face flush simply at Tom’s presence. He couldn’t tell if the fluttering in his stomach was because of Tom, or because of the hangover. “Sleep well?” he asked, simply as a means of conversation, to try guide his mind away from the unplaced feeling.
Tom made a face. “What, with you all over me? Not exactly, no.” He sat down on a chair, his stomach rippling, and stared over at Bill, not helping the situation.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Bill snapped. “Maybe we shouldn’t have got so drunk, then, should we?”
“Probably not,” Tom answered, and Bill looked up to meet his glassy eyes.
“Maybe then you’d have realised what the hell you were doing, too,” Bill added, huffing for emphasis.
Tom furrowed his brows, confused. “What?”
Bill scoffed. “Oh, please, don’t act like you don’t remember. Dancing, making out, taking me upstairs? Does any of that ring a bell?”
Tom’s expression was blank, unreadable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, dropping his hands to his lap and leaning back on the chair, rocking back and forth on its legs.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Bill deadpanned. “But actually, I’m really fucking sure you do.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I’m so sick of you, did you know that?” he continued, taking a step towards Tom. “I really wish you’d fucking make up your mind. You randomly come up to me and ask me out, take me to dinner and act like a complete asshole. Avoid me, ignore me, act weirdly towards me, then invite me to a party, where you get completely pissed and try to fuck me?”
Bill paused for a second time, gulping in air and stepping back away from Tom, who stayed on the chair, looking confusedly back at Bill.
“What do you actually want from me?”
Tom gawped, his mouth open but unable to form the words he wanted to get out. His chest felt tight, and his head felt light, the pain on Bill’s face affecting him in ways he hadn’t known existed.
“You know what?” Bill added, stomping into the living room, where Georg was still snoozing away, and sliding his shoes on. “I don’t even want to know. Just... just go back to being the pig you are. I’m done.”
When the door slammed after Bill’s departure, Tom felt something shift in his stomach. It was like something had evaporated and... he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.
End Notes: *whistles* Maaaan, it's been a while.