when the gales of November come early (kishmet) wrote,
when the gales of November come early

Fic: All In His Head

All In His Head, by kishmet. R/NC-17, Tom/Bill (yes, that means more Tokio Hotel twincest) and Tom/random groupies, 5,988 words. Bill decides to play psychic voyeur, and Tom isn't inclined to stop him. Fluff, smut, and a dash of angst. For knw, who read it over for me before the last scene was finished. Thank you dahling. <3

Incidentally, I don't own any rights to the band or the boys. But the fanservice does seem like something I'd put them up to, so who knows?

Bill lets himself fall onto the bed with a sigh, pushing the duvet onto the floor. It's a warm night, and this hotel hasn't cranked the air conditioning up beyond all reason, unlike some they've encountered. He's usually grateful for small mercies; tonight, however, some temperature issues would be a welcome diversion.

Tom leans down and whispers into the girl's ear and she laughs, looking up at him through long eyelashes coated heavily in mascara. She's a redhead, curvy, pretty, and outgoing, chatting easily with Tom, Georg, Gustav, and the security detail, though she's clearly got her eyes set on Bill's twin.

"Celebrity chaser," Bill mutters under his breath, wondering uncharitably how many stars she's seduced in the same way. Tom thinks he's such a playboy, but it's the girls who reel him in and get exactly what they want from him.

Georg nudges him playfully with an elbow. "You could get one of your own, one of these days."

"One what?" Bill asks, playing dumb as he smiles at a little girl, no more than eleven, and signs a teddy bear for her. Meanwhile, Tom slips a piece of paper to the girl, down by her pocket where no one will see. Bill only notices because he's looking for it, and he looks away just as quickly.

When Tom's in his room with a girl, Bill usually distracts himself as best he can, watching romantic comedies or vampire films, or chatting on the phone with Andreas. This time he makes an unconscious decision to prolong the torment, curling up in the middle of the hotel bed, knees pulled up to his chest, dark hair spilled like ink over the white sheets. He can think of nothing but Tom, imagining what his twin and the red-haired girl are doing right now. He's blessed, or cursed, with a vivid imagination that supplies him with sights, sounds, and even the scent of sex, sweat and floral perfume, and a more masculine fragrance that Bill recognizes immediately as Tom.

No doubt that they're both the best at everything they do; no wonder the girl is writhing in ecstasy. Tom sinks into her and she cries out, closing her eyes. Bill thinks she's insane; how can she block her own view of the intense brown eyes above her, the tanned skin, the light dreadlocks that spill over Tom's shoulders? Even in his imagination, Bill sees only Tom, wants only Tom.

They start moving together, Tomi and this girl. She is jerky, uncontrolled and out of synch, while Tom is smooth and steady, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. It's like watching a trained musician match the pace of his song to that of a raw amateur.

Oh, oh yes baby, that's good, the girl starts to moan, and Bill frowns in annoyance. This is his fantasy, and he doesn't want to hear her. Still she goes on, his brain apparently running out of control, Oh baby, harder, faster, please.

Tom, in contrast, is nearly silent, though sweat glistens on his forehead, clearly visible in the light from the minibar as he complies with her demands. He rocks harder into her and she dissolves into incoherency, much to Bill's satisfaction. Bill realizes then that he's rock hard in his underwear, the fabric pulled tight around his straining cock. Some part of him knows that this is strange, especially because it's his brother he's watching, not the girl with him.

He slides a hand down anyway and fists himself, stroking slowly. "Tom," his twin's name falls from his lips, murmured in the dark.

In his mind's eye, Tom mouths his name, Bill, as he thrusts more urgently into the girl beneath him.

"Tomi," Bill moans, head falling back, eyes wide as though he can see his twin above him. Tom echoes him, this time aloud, softly, Bill. A fleeting look of surprise passes over Tom's face, but Bill barely notices this detail that might otherwise be startling, too busy chasing his own completion. It's as though he can feel what Tom's feeling and what the girl's feeling as well, almost as though she's not there and he's the one Tom's fucking, he's the one clutching Tom's back and dreads, he's the one touching Tom's hot skin.

"Tom, oh god." Bill writhes on the bed as Tom's hips snap forward again. He's close, they're close, and then Bill's coming and so is Tom, each crying out the other's name.


"Morning," says Tom the next day, a short greeting that's the safest way to say hello to Bill when he's just woken up.

Bill freezes like a deer in the headlights for just a second, then replies with his usual noncommittal "Mm." He sits down at the table and rests his forehead on his folded arms.

Tom watches him for a moment longer and then sips at his soda. Georg flicks Gustav an inquiring look, what's up with them? and Gustav shrugs, I don't know.

Business as usual before a long day of signings, photo shoots, and interviews.


Tom's got himself a brunette this time, a pretty little thing with nice long legs who's off collecting her purse from the bar stool where she'd been sitting before Tom had cruised on over and picked her up.

"Two in as many days?" Georg shakes his head.

"Not exactly unusual," says Tom, flashing one of the lopsided grins that sends just about any girl tumbling into bed with him. Tonight's can't hear him, of course, and when he glances at her she's blushing and looking at him shyly, probably thinking he's saying something complimentary about her. The earnest expression on her face makes him feel guilty, because he's going to be using her as a catalyst for an experiment, not even a source of satisfaction in and of herself.

The night before, when he'd been screwing the redhead, his mind had started playing the most bizarre tricks on him when they were halfway through. He hadn't noticed it right away because whatever it was, it had sent a new surge of desire through him, maybe the biggest turn-on he'd ever felt. After the initial rush had come recognition on the most instinctive level: Bill.

And why would he think of his twin brother in the middle of fucking a girl?

"Bill," he whispers, a picture flashing through his mind of Bill curled on a hotel bed, hand between his legs in what could be an innocent enough sleeping pose but isn't. Bill is rocking into his fisted hand, writhing in pursuit of pleasure.

Tom's eyes snap wide open and he thrusts forward, barely aware of the girl moaning beneath him, moving against him. Bill is still stroking himself, and suddenly Tom's mind is flooded with another scene that overlays the reality like a photograph that's been digitally manipulated: Bill's the one under him and he's tighter, hotter, he knows exactly what Tom wants and he moves in just the right way until Tom knows he's going over the edge too soon like the eager adolescent he hasn't been for years. Sharp, polished fingernails dig into Tom's back, scratches that only send him soaring higher.

When he comes, it's Bill's name he cries out, muffled enough when he bites the girl's shoulder that she doesn't notice, or doesn't call him on the mistake.

Tom knows it's not the best of logic that compels him into another girl's arms tonight, but it's the only way he can find out for sure whether the night before had been a fluke. I'm not that sick and twisted, he thinks, escorting the girl out of the club on his arm like an old-fashioned gentleman. I won't think about Bill at all, and everything'll be fine.

Except that somewhere deep in his psyche, he's not hoping to prove to himself that he doesn't want his twin. He's hoping the Bill in his head will return for a repeat performance.


Warped as the previous fantasy had been, Bill has become addicted after just one night. There's something about the knowledge that Tom is right across the hall and one room down, that Tom is undressed, bare and raw and sensual, that drives Bill wild now, and makes him hard almost before he's begun envisioning the scenario.

This time the girl is on her hands and knees with Tom behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist as he nuzzles the nape of her neck, the top of her spine. Bill inhales sharply, brushing a hand over the erection that's already tenting his underwear. He's on his back to begin with, legs spread, but when Tom pushes the head of his cock into the brunette, Bill finds himself clambering into a new position, the same position the girl's in, hands, knees, legs far apart. He pushes his hips down to rub on the mattress a little, a low whine escaping his throat at the moan Tom gives just then, hiding his face against the girl's shoulder. His first thrust is shallow, and Bill would swear he feels it rocking through his body.

"Tomi," he hisses, fisting his cock loosely, rubbing his thumb over the tip of it. He presses back as though he can feel Tom there, easing farther into him, and he feels it from the other side too, feels tight wet heat he knows is the girl's but at the same time, is somehow Tom's as well.

"Bill," Tom mumbles, gripping the girl's hip more tightly, and Bill feels it, fingertips leaving pale bruises on his skin. Now Tom is seated all the way in him, in the girl, in someone, pulling back, sliding in again in long, careful strokes that drive Bill insane.

The instant Bill wants more, arching his back and keening needily, Tom slams in, biting at the place where the girl's neck meets her spine. Bill is dimly aware that she's crying out, but it's difficult to separate her cries from his deeper ones, and Tom's panting breaths that seem so close to his ear, he can feel them. He's fucking his hand, fucking Tom, being fucked and it's incredible, the best he's ever had.

Tom comes first and Bill's knees wobble, hardly able to support him anymore as he leans his head back and lets out a soundless cry. Tom keeps stroking Bill, the girl, Bill, both of them but Bill knows it's for him, murmuring encouragement as he milks everything he can from the orgasm. Bill shudders his way through it, Tom's image and touch fading from his head only at the end, when Bill eases himself onto his back and collapses onto the mattress, too exhausted to wipe away the sticky streaks of semen on his abdomen, and on the sheets beside him.


It's real.

Either it's real or Tom's losing his mind, and overall the idea of being attracted to Bill is more appealing. And the notion that Bill might be attracted to him, enough to reach out and touch him the way he's been doing, takes Tom's breath away. It's as though Tom's been staring at an abstract painting for years, trying to work out what it is, and now the picture pops out at him as though it's been obvious the entire time.

Mentioning it to Bill, of course, is another matter entirely. "Hey, Bill, have you been psychically intruding on my sex life?" Yeah. That would work so well. Tom rolls his eyes at himself.

This is why he picks up yet another girl during a signing that afternoon. She's medium height with dark hair and a top that reveals so much of her assets, as it were, that wearing a shirt at all seems pointless in her case. She's not what he usually looks for, but she's flinging herself at him with such determination, he figures he may as well indulge them both. To be honest, today he doesn't care whether she's his type or not. Bill is his type. And Bill can take him apart so thoroughly from the inside out that Tom has no reason to look for a particular kind of girl.

"Are you and Bill on the outs?" Georg asks him quietly, when he makes an excuse to leave the bar in order to meet the girl back at the hotel.

Tom gives him a blank look. "No, why?"

"You go on, well." Georg gestures with his drink and shrugs. "Rampages, sometimes, when you two are fighting."

"Bill and I are fine," Tom says absently. "See you later, all right?" He pushes his bar stool back without explaining that Bill's the whole reason he's so eager to go to the girl who's waiting for him; firstly because while they know he and Bill are close, they have no idea quite how close they've become, and secondly because they would probably nod, smile, and then get Jost to pack him off to the looney bin.


"Hey," Tom says, and holds his hand out to link his fingers briefly through Bill's as his twin walks by.

Bill gives him a smile that's rarely seen before three in the afternoon, squeezing Tom's hand and taking a seat next to him. "Hey," Bill says, a miracle that makes Georg and Gustav stare at each other, making sure they're not hearing things. Bill leans his head on Tom's shoulder and picks at his omelette with an extra fork, and Tom offers him a sip of his Coke.

"That's different," Gustav remarks quietly, when they're all heading back to their rooms to dress for the day.

"Very different," says Georg, with a thoughtful expression, not quite a frown, on his face.


The more it happens, the more Bill becomes certain that Tom's nightly liaisons aren't just in his imagination. It's the little details he'd never consider that tend to show up; one girl's mismatched earrings, another's short, sharp, panting moans at every thrust, still another's bleach-blonde hair and, to put it crudely, a carpet that doesn't exactly match the drapes. He couldn't care less about Tom's girls except that they give him this opportunity for mental eavesdropping, and it seems strange that he would think up such habits and personalities for them.

And then there's something even stranger: Bill starts to wonder whether Tom is aware of him. It's as though his twin can sense how he's feeling, and when Bill has a particularly strong reaction to a way Tom is kissing or moving or fucking, Tom makes sure to repeat the action later, or the next night. Bizarre as it is, Tom appears to be honing and refining the show he puts on for Bill's benefit, until the scenes in Bill's imagination are like an interactive porno film specifically tailored to his preferences. He likes it when Tom plays with his hair, the girl's hair, either and both, he doesn't bother making sense of it anymore. He likes it when Tom fucks long and slow, as though he wants to drag it out and make it last. He likes it when the girl is on Tom's lap, lowering herself onto Tom's cock while Tom grasps her hips, Bill's hips, holding them steady.

Bill doesn't know whether the girls notice any difference in Tom, and concludes that they probably don't. He has no idea what Tom may have been like before Bill's nightly intrusions, but now, at least, his twin is a painstakingly considerate lover, keeping everyone happy, especially Bill.

It's surreal.

Even when Bill is feeling Tom's fingers in his ass, seeing Tom sliding them into the girl up to his second knuckle, scissoring them gently, it's surreal, like a part of life completely separate from anything resembling reality. It hits him one evening when Tom is balls-deep in a girl as unlike Bill as humanly possible, a girl who's petite with hair so blonde it's nearly silver, and that's when the truth of it all strikes Bill in the face, a rude awakening that causes him to jerk back mentally, severing the connection and losing the fantasy, the camera feed in his head, whatever it is.

Tom is fucking a girl in his room across the hall, and Bill is spying on them.

Maybe it's all in his head after all, Bill tries to reason. There's one easy way to prove this; he can march across the hall and knock on Tom's door, and maybe Tom will be alone, or maybe he'll be with a tall dark-haired girl and pissed off that Bill's interrupting, but always willing to indulge his brother's whims anyway. They'll have a nice, normal fight and then Bill can discard his silly dreams.

He ignores the fact that they don't feel silly, that somehow they've brought him and his twin even closer, that even during the daytime hours Tom touches him more, watches him more, stays near him whenever he can, leaving only long enough to find a girl for them.

Bill snags a half-finished bag of sour Skittles from the bedside table to give himself a plausible excuse for a midnight visit, and then he pulls his robe tight around him and creeps out the door of the hotel room, over to Tom's door. The security detail at the end of the hall generally allows them some freedom in their own corridor, as long as they're only passing between each other's rooms. He presses his ear to the door, clutching the Skittles bag tightly, and there it is: he can hear the girl moaning, though Tom is silent. Now he is, Bill's mind informs him, wickedly reminding him of the sounds and words of praise he'd been extracting from Tom's lips not five minutes before.

Experimentally he tries imagining what's going on inside, drawing only from his own memory and ideas. He knows right away that it's a pale imitation; Bill sees the scene on the bed from a third-person, detached perspective, and Tom is the only clear figure in his mind's eye. He can't even remember whether the girl had been a blonde or a brunette.

Bill cautiously lets his thoughts wander, focusing on Tom, reaching out as though he means to take Tom's mental hand. Finding it is second nature to him and somehow Tom grasps his hand and won't let go, as Bill flooded by the sensations that hit him all at once, the sight of Tom rolling his hips steadily forward, the feel of Tom's hands as they stroke his chest, his nipples, of Tom's teeth as they graze his collarbone. The sound of Tom's even breathing and the girl's ragged panting. Blonde, Bill notes belatedly, too lost in everything to see it at first.

He nearly drops the Skittles, grabbing them before they hit the floor. Two fall out of the package, but he doesn't bother picking them up, running back to his room and letting them fall next to him as he presses his back to the inside of the door, moaning as he takes hold of his dripping cock and jerks it frantically. It doesn't matter that he's not in the same position as either Tom or the girl; everything Tom's doing now is meant only for him, every nip and kiss placed where it will set Bill's nerves afire.


Usually Tom lets go and simply enjoys himself during sex, finding it easy after so many years to please his partner at the same time. No concerns about interviews are allowed to surface; no qualms about the morality of his one night stands; no cursing the fact that they've remembered Mother's Day a week late again. This is true now more than ever, now that Bill has been playing around in his head, spurring Tom on to even more intense sexual encounters, the best he's ever had with Bill as their focus.

But when Bill abruptly breaks the connection in mid-fuck, Tom is ripped out of the moment for the first time in his life. The girl beneath him doesn't even notice, moaning and writhing and pulling him down by the front of the shirt they have yet to remove. Tom is unenthusiastic even though he's inside her, but luckily his body moves without him, set on hormonal autopilot. He's disconnected from the physical, reaching out blindly in what seems like complete darkness to make sure that his twin is all right.

The second Bill returns Tom grabs him without even thinking it through first, holds him close mentally and proceeds to show him just how much he appreciates having Bill there. He's dimly aware that instead of Bill playing along this time, Tom's dragging him along for the ride, but judging by Bill's loud whimpers and occasional "please," "more," and Tom's name repeated over and over, Bill doesn't exactly mind. Bill's on the floor, legs spread wide with his fingers wrapped around his cock, rubbing and stroking just as Tom wants to do, would do if Bill were only within his reach. "Come on," Tom whispers, voice husky and strangled. "Bill."

"Tomi!" Bill howls, as the girl bucks and shudders underneath Tom, reaching her own climax as though she can feel what's passing between the twins right now. Maybe she can, Tom has no idea and no time to contemplate it, because he's thrusting forward and coming hard, hips jerking with every wave of the orgasm.

Bill doesn't fade away as he usually does afterward. He lingers, a warm presence more at the front of Tom's mind than the girl who lies beside him. When Tom links his fingers through hers, it's Bill's hand he feels, and Bill's tired smile he sees.

"Guess I don't have to ask whether it was good for you," she murmurs, and laughs breathlessly.

"Yeah. It was great," Tom replies absently, flicking at his lip ring with the tip of his tongue. He's disappointed when Bill draws away from him, but he's too exhausted to give chase. Tomorrow, he promises silently, whether Bill can hear him or not.


"Bill's not down here?" Tom asks, looking around as though he's going to find his brother randomly eating with a pack of tourists.

"It's only two o'clock," Georg points out.

"Oh, that's right. Save some food for us, okay?" Tom pads back out of the dining room in his bare feet, a distracted expression on his face.

Georg raises an eyebrow, and Gustav watches after Tom, then shrugs. It's impossible to explain the Kaulitz twins, and usually it's best not to try.


Tomorrow. Bill hears it in his mind, an echo of the promise Tom may or may not have given him the night before.

Bill is awake, having drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep all night long. His dreams had been full of Tom, and girls, except that Tom had somehow shut him out, and Bill had only been able to watch what was going on through what seemed like a hazy curtain of fog. No matter how much he cried, or screamed, or sang, Tom had never turned to look at him. With his eyes open, he knows it's ridiculous. Tom will love him, always, even if Tom screws a thousand more women.

But it's not enough anymore. Good, but not enough. Bill draws in a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's going to have to do. You're my twin, but I want you to fuck me, and I don't care who thinks it's wrong sounds like an awkward conversation opener, however true it may be.

He buries his face in the pillow. Right now he could use two versions of Tom: one for awkward conversations, and one to hold him and comfort him as always. But only the first version is standing outside of the room and knocking on the door.

"Bill?" Tom taps on the door, calling to him, and Bill groans as a confusing mixture of emotions rushes through him. "Bill, I know you're in there."

"Just a second." Bill pulls on a t-shirt that he'd tossed carelessly onto the floor at some point, a faded classic rock tee acquired during their Devilish days. He runs a hand through his already-mussed hair and pads over to the door in his bare feet.

He opens the door and Tom smiles hesitantly at him. "Hey."

"Hey," Bill replies, unable to muster a smile of his own even though that expression on Tom's face rarely fails to melt his heart, and in this case, makes it flutter as well. He lets Tom inside, closing the door behind him, then he turns around. Tom is standing near the bed, flicking at his lip ring the way he does when he's anxious about something.

When Bill approaches him, staying a few feet back as though he's not sure what the boundaries are anymore, Tom raises a hand and opens it to display three Skittles, one green, one orange, and one red. "You dropped these in the hall, I think."

"Oh." Bill remembers now; he'd fumbled the Skittles package when he'd gone to listen at Tom's door. He feels his cheeks flush. What had come afterward had been slightly more memorable, and the rest had therefore been pushed to the back of his conscious mind. Absently he reaches out and picks up the green Skittle, but Tom moves closer and catches his wrist before he can pop it in his mouth. Bill glances up, startled.

"That was on the floor," Tom points out, raising an eyebrow at him in poor imitation of Bill's habitual gesture.

Bill can't help laughing briefly at that, arching his own eyebrow up in a much more dramatic fashion. "I'd eat it anyway."

"I know you would, but don't." Tom makes a face.

"So why did you bring them over here, then?" Bill asks. They both know it's a convenient excuse; it's getting Tom to admit it that's the trick.

"Well." Tom looks down at the candy. "I just thought you might want it back."

"Not to eat?"

"I guess not," Tom confesses, closing his hand around the orange and red ones. He drops them into the garbage can behind him, after glancing back to locate it. Bill flicks his green one into the air without a word of warning, and Tom catches it easily, dropping it into the can with the rest. They smile at each other, their timing together impeccable as it's always been.

Bill takes another deep breath. Tom's not going to say it, and Bill's responsible for bringing it up anyway, since he'd been the one to initiate the psychic voyeurism. "I don't want to keep going the way we have been," Bill bursts out, and Tom looks surprised. "I mean, I do, but with you and me, not-" Words are making everything more difficult here, when they usually come so smoothly to him. He bites his lip and pauses for a second. "Tomi. I either want you to tell me you don't want me, ever, and we'll never do anything again. Or I want you to fuck me, and not those girls, not ever."

Well, that had been more direct, for sure. Bill can feel his cheeks burning, but he keeps his chin up, his eyes fixed on Tom's.

"Bill," Tom starts to say, and then shakes his head. Bill's heart begins to break, but then Tom puts a hand on each of his shoulders, guiding him gently back toward the bed. When his legs hit the mattress, Bill falls backwards with a startled 'oof,' and Tom ends up on top of him. Bill's heart is hammering now instead of fluttering as they breathe together for a few long seconds, falling into a rhythm that comes naturally.

"What," Bill manages to say when those few seconds are done, both hands fisted in the front of Tom's shirt. And then Tom leans down and gives him a scorching kiss, sliding his tongue through Bill's lips and virtually devouring his mouth, his piercing cool against Bill's skin. Bill lets out a startled sound and he lets go of Tom's shirt with one hand to clench his fingers in the dreadlocks that have been gathered into a ponytail at the back of Tom's head. When he tugs his twin's hair, Tom moans and slides a hand under Bill's long shirt, pushing it up, fingertips skimming the bare skin. The sound vibrates all through Bill as though he's the one making it, and maybe he's moaning too, because he certainly doesn't recognize the demanding, desperate little sounds coming from his own throat.

"What," Bill whispers again when Tom finally pulls back, and his voice rasps with a mixture of lust and confusion.

Tom leans down and whispers against Bill's ear, "You gave me two options. I'm taking one of them." Then he dips his head, Bill's hand tightening in his hair as Tom latches onto his neck and sucks hard, making Bill cry out in surprise.

That makes Tom glance up at him. "Hey. You all right?" he murmurs, reaching up to stroke Bill's cheek with the fingertips of one hand, calloused from the steel strings of his guitar.

Bill is trembling, unsure what to make of this abrupt change in Tom's behavior. "I don't know," he says, without letting go of Tom's dreads.

"Bill," says Tom, leaning down to give him a light kiss that lingers, brushing back and forth over his lips, from the middle to the edge and back again. Bill has never seen him kiss a girl quite like this, never so sweet and almost hesitant. "I'm not going to fuck you," he says softly.

"Why?" Bill asks, dismay creeping into his tone.

"Because you're mine, forever," Tom replies, the last word fading into a possessive growl. "And that's not fucking anymore." He rocks his hips slowly against Bill's, and Bill can feel his twin's erection alongside his own. He lets out a shaky sigh, clinging to Tom's dreadlocks and back as though he's afraid if he lets go, Tom's going to disappear.

"Yours," Bill breathes, and then he runs a lone fingernail down the length of Tom's spine. Tom shivers, and Bill says "Mine," his growl matching Tom's in its intensity, two halves of the same whole the way they are underneath the dreadlocks and the lion's mane and the leather and the rapper clothes and the makeup.

"Yours," Tom agrees, without a single moment's pause. "Come here." He sits up, letting his legs hang over the edge of the bed, and Bill, knowing what he means, willingly climbs over to straddles his lap.

Bill pushes his hips against Tom's, their hard cocks pressed between them. "I want you in me," Bill sighs, kissing Tom's shoulder. "Please?"

"Not now," says Tom firmly, hand slipping under Bill's shirt to stroke up and down at the base of Bill's spine with two fingertips, sending little shivers all through Bill's nervous system. "Maybe next time."

"Want to take it slow with me, you romantic?" Bill teases, letting one of Tom's dreads slide through his fingers. It's especially funny that Tom wants them to slow things down after Bill's already seen and, in a way, experienced everything already.

But Tom cradles Bill's chin in his free hand and fixes Bill with a serious look. "Yeah, I do," he says, and that's when he opens his mind to show Bill just what he's thinking and feeling.

Bill gasps, and if he'd ever had any doubt that Tom found him as sexy as any girl and more so, it would have been dispelled right then and there. Tom wants to touch Bill, and be able to savor it; he wants to see Bill's face when he comes, and to have his hands all over Bill at that moment; he wants to be deep inside his twin, rocking together until both of them are shattered and pieced back together again, made whole by the link between them. And Tom wants it the other way around, too, for Bill to be inside him.

At that last, Bill blinks and stares wonderingly at Tom, his heart beating rapidly after everything he's been shown. Tom nods. "I... felt it from the other side, too," he says haltingly. "When you were there, when, you know."

"I think it'll be good," Bill agrees softly. "It'll be amazing, both ways." Only after he speaks does he realize that he hasn't framed it as a hypothetical, but stated it as a certainty.

Tom smiles in a way that warms Bill from head to toe. "Of course it will. It's you and me."

And then Bill leans in for another kiss, melting against Tom. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and they laugh as they strip off their clothing, one piece at a time. They quiet down then, as Tom kisses Bill slowly and deeply, hands settling at Bill's waist, one thumb stroking gently at the star tattoo slung low on Bill's hip. Bill makes a soft, pleading sound against his mouth, and then makes it again when Tom leans in to nibble down his neck.

Bill is the one who opens the link again, and for a second Tom glances up at him, puzzled. "But we-"

"Shh." Bill presses a finger to Tom's lips and rolls his hips forward, grinding them into Tom's. Tom gasps, his grip on Bill's waist tightening as Bill moans, letting his head fall forward onto Tom's shoulder. It's no longer the two of them superimposed over someone else's reality. Now it's just the two of them, and their connection echoes back what the other is feeling.

It had been Bill's idea, but it overwhelms him, makes him unable to control the whimpers and cries that spill from his throat when Tom wraps a shaky hand around both of them and begins to stroke. Tom isn't much better off, his encouraging whispers turning into a desperate mixture of needy sounds and gibberish when Bill wraps his own hand around Tom's, running his thumb over the heads of both their erections. Pleasure lances through both of them, Bill's head falling back and mouthing Tom's name, Tom answering him silently, kissing every inch of Bill he can reach.

"This," Bill says sleepily, movements languorous as they clean each other off. "This was missing, before."

"Never again," Tom promises, and folds Bill in his arms, his chin resting on Bill's head. They doze, looking for all the world like a creature with two heads, one dark and one light, and a multitude of limbs tangled carelessly together.


When the Kaulitz twins walk into the dining area, they're not touching, but they might as well be. They're both smiling, and Bill's grin widens when Tom leans over to whisper something in his ear.

"We saved some for you," Gustav says, pushing a plate of assorted breakfast foods over. Georg slides it the rest of the way, and the twins fall on it as though they've been starving to death for the last week or so.

"You guys have been eating this whole time?" Tom asks, grinning at them and then glancing at Bill, who meets his eyes and flashes an identical grin of his own.

"What gratitude," Georg says, eying them with an amused smile. "We stayed to make sure there'd be some breakfast left for you."

"You thought we were going to fight and tear up a room again," Bill observes, probably more accurately. "Duck and cover?" He laughs and holds up a pastry for Tom to take a bite. Tom snorts, but fondly, and bites into it, letting Bill wipe off the tiny bit of whipped cream that ends up on his nose.

Gustav, meanwhile, is gazing speculatively at Bill's hat, or rather, Tom's hat that's on Bill's head. He's also noticed the t-shirt Tom is wearing under his hoodie, undeniably an old favorite of Bill's. But he says nothing, although he and Georg exchange a look.

It's business as usual for the band.
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