Snippets - Part One
This is a collection of small scenes and snippets of stories that were just floating around in my head. They don't belong to any particular series or story, so they're pretty much orphaned blips that I have gathered together to post here.
ONE
"Stand up," she commanded from her feet."No," he set his jaw and stared up at her defiantly.
"Stand. Up," she reached down and pulled him to his feet. That surprised him. He had a good six inches on her, and another thirty pounds of muscle. She was never supposed to be able to pick him up. She was small. Elfish was the word used most often. She was not supposed to lift Bill from his seat and force him to stand on his own two feet. He showed his surprise for a split second before trying to sit back down.
Her hands held his collar firm and wouldn't let him get any further than a partial squat. "Stand the fuck up," she growled, sounding way more calm than she actually was.
His feet took support under him and he snapped his jacket into position as she let go. "What?" Before the word left his mouth, he'd assumed his cocky boy stance. The one that got him where he was. The same stance that proved that he hadn't yet grown up.
"Look me in the eye, Bill."
His eyes darted from the floor to a fleck on the wall behind her, barely missing her eyes.
She reached up and turned his face to hers. "Look. At. Me. For fuck's sake, Bill. Be a man and look me in the eye."
A soft breath escaped that may have been a sigh, if Bill were brave. He stopped it midway between his throat and lips, then looked her in the eye. "I'm leaving, Schuyler."
"Not yet, you're not."
"I need to go." He always needed to go. With Bill, it was never halfway. It was all or nothing. He needed to go.
"No. You need to tell me what this is all about."
"I'm going out by myself."
"Bill," she shook her head. He was never going to understand that through it all, she was the one in control. She gave him the illusion that he was the one making the decisions, but that was only because as a kid, he needed that. It backfired drastically. Thinking he was in control, he assumed he had the upper hand. He had a lot of learning to do.
"I'm doing it on my own, Schuyler." His eyes left hers for the space on the wall again. He was lying. "By myself. Without your help."
"Is that what you think?"
"It's what I know."
"No."
"Yes."
The final battle of their combined wills. A dangerous place to be. If anyone was just as pigheaded as her, it was Bill. She'd taught him well.
"Like that, huh?"
"Yes."
"I always gave you so much more than you deserved," she shook her head. Making eye contact him was a thing of the past. He wasn't man enough to face her, and he wasn't man enough to admit anything he'd done was wrong.
He laughed shortly. One harsh "ha" with the smirk he'd perfected on his own, when he really did have the power to say "fuck off" and mean it. That shit didn't fly when he was around her. He knew that. At the moment he'd forgotten, but he knew. Deep inside, he knew.
Her hand slapped his cheek, like a father would smack a child, was enough to remind him. "You think you're all grown up?" she asked, trying to keep her surprised expression away from his suddenly aware eyes. "You think you're a man, Bill? You're not. You're a boy. A child. A toy."
"Fuck you."
She raised her hand to slap him again and he flinched. The six foot two man in front of her, who could have pummeled her into the ground without thinking, flinched. His left eye, above the cheek she was aiming for, squinted slightly as his face turned a fraction of an inch. He flinched, but he was going to let her hit him.
He knew he deserved it. That's the only thing she could think of. Had he thought she was being unfair, he would have put his hand up to block the blow, and probably would have knocked her ass out, but he didn't.
"You're going to turn around and walk out that door," she stated it as a fact. She knew he was going to, and she wasn't going to stop him, but he needed to hear what she had to say first. To humble him, to make him know and understand everything she'd done for him.
His jaw twitched from side to side. He knew better than to respond.
"You're going to walk out and you're not coming back. No one- No one, Bill- Makes a fool out of me. Least of all you," she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. "You have a lot of nerve to think for one second that you could do that, then just walk away without repercussions."
"Schuy-"
"That's not how it works," she cut him off and narrowed her eyes at him. "You want to screw around and fuck everything that walks? Fine. Do it. I don't give a flying fuck who you screw, Bill. Believe it or not, I don't. But you do not flaunt it that way, in front of everyone that matters. You do not walk around like you own the place in my house. You do not bring your fucking teenage conquests into my house."
"I -"
"You just made a big mistake, Bill."
"Schuyler, I -"
"We're done now. End of discussion. Turn around and walk out that door. Shut it tight behind you, and don't even look back. You'll never see it again."
Bill's face fell. Realization flashed quickly. He'd gone too far. He saw that finally, when it was too late to take anything back.
"Take one last look, Bill. Take a look at what you're leaving behind. The best lover you've ever had. The only person in the world who would put up with your childish bullshit, with a boy like you."
"You think pretty highly of yourself," his realization turned to bitterness as the true words sunk in.
"You're goddamned right I do. I made you think you were a man when you're not. You're not man enough to satisfy anyone yet. Not even me. You're nothing but a toy. To me. To her. That's all you'll ever be, Bill. Until you grow up," she was using words to wound his ego. True or not, they hit home. He thought they were truth. That's all that mattered. He thought she meant them. He never thought she could lie to him, and it was obvious he still thought she couldn't.
He didn't say a word, or move to go.
"Well?" she asked after three breaths. She nodded toward the door and held her ground.
Bill pursed his lips so tightly that they became white around the edges. Lips she'd once thought she would die for. He had something to say. She knew he did, but he knew better than to say it. They were still on her turf, in her house. The moment of deception was too new. Brittany, or Bethany, or whoever she was still stood in the other room.
"You've got exactly two minutes to leave," she held his stare and counted down silently. When a full minute had passed, he turned abruptly and walked out of the room. He shut the door tight behind him and she was left listening to his feet pound the cold tile to the front door.
A brief exchange took place between Bill and Tom. She couldn't make out the words, but it was obvious that neither man was happy. The only words she heard clearly proved that neither of them wanted to deal with the other person's shit.
The front door slammed and shook the house to the foundation.
She stayed in the room. The door was shut against the voices of the three other men left in her house. None of whom would have any clue what to say when she opened the door. She prayed that they would all leave, but not the way Bill had. Bill sealed the fate of their relationship in under ten minutes, but he couldn't rock the friendship she had with the rest of the band. They would stay until things were right enough for her to leave the room. They would take her side, because they felt wronged as well. It would be weeks, months, possibly years before they were all right again. Before Bill realized that he would never be anything more than a boy toy. To anyone but her.
And when he came back, she'd be there, because she was in control. He'd be back.
TWO
As the sun set on a Saturday night, she sat in Tom's backyard sipping on a raspberry cordial with a little umbrella in it. His wind chimes played random tunes as the ocean breeze swept across the covered patio. This was something they did. Something they looked forward to during the hiatus. Just her and Tom. The other guys were out doing their things, none of which she cared much about. If she really wanted to know she could go look at the calendar Tom kept by his phone in the kitchen, but they weren't in L.A. so it didn't really concern her. They weren't there. She was. End of story.So while they were off doing whatever, she was there sitting on Tom's patio, sipping girly drinks and thinking about how much she loved this time that they had alone. When no one else knew.
"You're doing it again," he said softly as he set a basket of warm french bread in the middle of the glass topped table.
"What?" she focused her eyes on him and smiled. "Hmm?"
"Zoning out," Tom sat in the chair beside hers, took a piece of bread, then leaned back to prop his feet on the table.
"Get your stinky feet away from me," she laughed and pushed his dirty bare feet away.
"What're you thinking about?" he slid his feet back off the table and took a bite of the bread. He chewed slowly, squinted into the setting sun, and smiled at her with moving lips. He needed his braids redone. He'd said so twice that day already, though she knew he wouldn't go have them done. He loved his hair, and so did she, but he procrastinated when it came to getting his hair done.
She smirked at him and read his cocky grin as she answered his question. "Gustav in a thong," she replied, being as serious as she could as she tried not to laugh.
"Hmm," Tom nodded, swallowed, then took a sip of his beer.
"Hmm?"
Tom smiled and tilted his head to the side, "Really?"
"Uh huh," she nodded, though a small smile escaped.
"Hmm," he said again as he dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I might have a picture of that, if you wanna see."
She choked on her sip, sputtered, then looked at him. "Hmm," she replied when she could breathe again.
"What else are you thinking about?" he licked a stray bread crumb from his finger and reached for another piece. "Seriously," he was always asking what she was thinking about, and no matter what, he always knew which answers were bullshit and which were sincere.
"What if I was seriously thinking about Gustav in a thong?"
Tom shrugged and took a bite of the flaky crust.
She sighed. He'd won again. "I was thinking about how this is cool that we can do this. Hang out, I mean. Just us."
"Yeah," Tom brushed the crumbs from the table top and leaned forward to press his lips against the corner of her mouth. "I like this too."
THREE
"Strike!" Bill threw his hands in the air and danced around the narrow single lane bowling alley. Tom watched for a moment, wondering just how much candy Bill had consumed. He admitted to a small bag of Skittles, but Tom knew it had to be more than that."Spare." Tom said, shaking his head. He hated to rain on Bill's parade, but he wasn't gonna let his twin cheat either.
"Hey, no. That was a strike. All the pins down in one shot," Bill held his finger in Tom's face, then went back to dancing. "One shot! Strike!"
"That was your second ball though. You guttered it the first time," Tom marked the score as a spare and sighed.
"Oh, no way!" Bill spun around and tried to look all depressed.
"Oh, yes way," Tom made a face, then stood up to fetch his ball from the ball return against the wall. "Hey, turn the AC up."
"Do what?" Bill dropped himself on the chair by the overhead score keeper.
"The air conditioner. Turn it up," Tom picked up the purple and silver swirled ball, and spun it in his hands.
"What's the magic word?"
"Please. It's getting hot in here," Tom sighed and slid his fingers into the familiar holes. It wasn't his ball, but he didn't know where his was, so he used Gustav's which was originally Bill's, but when Bill went and got one custom made, he handed that one, the purple one, off to Gustav. Tom snickered to himself, he wasn't sure if he liked thinking of Bill's holes as 'familiar'.
"It's gettin' hot in here," Bill sang as he reached for the lower hem of his T-shirt, "So take off all your clothes." He pulled it over his head, then tugged at the long sleeved shirt he still had on.
Tom stood by the score table, assumed his position, then walked up and sent the heavy ball sailing down the alley right on target. As the ball connected with the pins at the far end, he knew he'd done well. All but one fell, and the one remaining was just to the right of center. Piece of cake.
"I'm glad Jost doesn't make us wear bowling shoes here," Bill pulled at the floppy toe of his sock. "Bowling shoes suck. I mean, how many other people wear those? Gross. Of course, I guess we could each have our own here, right?"
Bill had a tendency to be a little absent-minded, and Tom felt the need to push him back onto the train of thought he was supposed to be on. As he stood by the ball machine waiting for the purple beast to be returned, he kicked at Bill's socked foot. "Hey Nelly, you wanna turn the AC on, buddy?"
"What? Nelly?"
"My god," Tom rolled his eyes and stomped passed Bill, down the single step to the carpeted play room, and across to the thermostat. He hit the buttons on the digital display until they were in the 60's, a temperature that was appropriate for a bowling alley, or a pseudo-bowling alley like they one they were in.
"Oh," Bill said when Tom walked back and retrieved his ball. "Sorry."
"Kein problem," Tom took a deep breath and rolled the ball in his hands. He took a deep breath, set up, then sent the boll rolling. It expertly sailed down and curved at the last second to hit the final standing pin.
"Check out the curve ball you've got going there. You should be a professional bowler," Bill laced his fingers behind his head as Tom came up behind him and etched his score onto the score pad. A spare wasn't bad at all. He was still smoking Bill's ass, as usual.
"Yeah, I'd have a better chance at being a neurologist," Tom rolled his eyes.
"A what?"
"A neurologist."
"A doctor?"
Tom bit his lip and sighed. He could explain it unnecessarily or let it go. "Uh huh," he answered, favoring the quick response as opposed to the lecture he could have given. Bill wouldn't care and honestly didn't really want to know what a neurologist did, so what was the point? It was an example. Tom wasn't even sure if he cared. He just liked using big words to confuse Bill, who was so easily confusable.
"Your turn," Tom nudged Bill off the bench and watched with near envy as his brother bounced up to the ball dispenser, leaped over it and landed into a somersault. "You should be a professional gymnast," Tom joked softly as he double checked the scores.
"Yeah. I'd have a better chance of being a proctologist," Bill snickered with his tongue between his teeth as he balanced his ball in his hand and turned to the alley. He puckered his lips, took two quick steps, then launched the ball down the alley. It bounced once causing Tom to flinch, then it slammed through the front pin and took all the rest with it. "Strike!" he cheered again as he started his dance routine.
"Fluke!" Tom smiled and shook his head, marking a strike next to Bill's name. It didn't matter though. Tom was still going to win. As usual.
FOUR
The night of possible seduction had started out so right, but ended up so wrong. The music, the food, the drinks, the ambiance, the attire, the company, the truth; it was all the way it was supposed to be. Perfect. Gustav could settle for nothing less, not when everything was at stake.He paced nervously in the hour before Emmalyn was supposed to arrive. His dining room looked like a New Years Eve party gone out of control. Steamers cascaded from the crystal chandelier. Confetti littered the table top and fell scattered on the Persian rug beneath it. Champagne bottles sat unopened in front of each of the place settings, balloons clung to the ceiling, and every song about New Years ever written played in the background. Prince's "1999" was the song Emmalyn always associated with New Years, so that's what Gustav wanted played when she came in. It had to be perfect.
When Gustav sent out the invitation, he stated that it was a surprise party so Emmalyn wasn't allowed to tell anyone. She was led to believe that others had even been invited, when in fact she was the sole recipient of the silver and blue invitation, but it wasn't entirely false. There would be a surprise, just one Emmalyn wasn't expecting. She'd be on the receiving end for the first time.
Gustav sipped on his bottle of water as he turned to leave the room, afraid to move anything else, or to change his mind about using the clear green square shaped plates he'd already set out. He had an hour until Emmalyn showed up, and he still needed to change. The attire was party casual, but that didn't mean that the board shorts and tank top he had on would be acceptable. It wouldn't be perfect.
He changed his clothes, grabbed another bottle of water and sat nervously on the counter in the kitchen, waiting for the telltale chime of his doorbell.
When Emmalyn arrived, Gustav's heart leaped into his throat. There was no turning back, and when he opened the front door and saw Emmalyn standing there clad entirely in brushed denim, a wide smile showing her teeth and a gift bag in her hand, Gustav's hands began to sweat.
"Hey," Emmalyn stepped into the house and looked around, completely missing the fact that Gustav's hands were shaking.
"Hey," Gustav sputtered as Emmalyn headed for the hall.
"Am I the first one here?" Emmalyn craned her neck to look around, straining to hear someone else's voice.
"Uh. Yeah." Gustav followed quickly behind her. "Um, hey, about that."
"No way. I'm never the first person to anything. Where's Georg?"
"He's -"
"Shit, the twins aren't even here? They live like, two blocks away and they're not here yet?" Emmalyn laughed as she set the bag on the kitchen counter and looked around. "Do I have the right day?"
"Y-yeah. Yeah, it's today." Gustav put his hands in his pockets and licked his lips. He could ask Emmalyn to leave. Tell her there'd been a mistake. That the fake surprise party had been cancelled and he just forgot to pass the word along. Something. Anything.
"Did I get the time wrong? Because seriously, I'm never the first one here," Emmalyn shook her head and ran her hand through her long curls.
"No, I -" Gustav stopped and took a deep breath. His mouth turned dry and he wished he had another bottle of water to help him out. "It's just you."
"I know it's just me. That's what's freaking me out," Emmalyn smiled and took two steps toward the closed off dining room.
"No, I mean, it's just you." Gustav closed his eyes instead of watching Emmalyn reach for the handle of the door. "It's just, um, you."
"I'm not following," Emmalyn laughed and pulled the door open. "Sweet! Check it out, it's like New Years! What kind of party is this anyway? It just said a surprise party on the invitation."
"No. I mean, yeah, it's a surprise."
"For who?" Emmalyn looked over her shoulder just as Gustav opened his eyes.
Gustav sighed. Emmalyn hadn't noticed the two lonely place settings, or heard the music yet. She hadn't remembered the conversation they'd had months ago about how Emmalyn's favorite holiday was New Years, and how she'd always wanted a New Years party just for her, where she was the guest of honor.
"And check it out! You have Prince playing. This is awesome. Small, but awesome."
"It's, um," Gustav's face burned bright pink. "It's for you," he said quickly.
"Hmm?" Emmalyn held onto her smile, but just barely. "For?"
"You," Gustav nodded. He forced a smile as his heart threatened to pound out of his chest. "Surprise!" he raised his hands and shrugged.
"For me? What- What for?"
"Because New Years is your favorite holiday, and- And because it makes you happy, and because when I think of New Years, I think of you. I- I wanted you to be happy when I said this."
"When you- What?" Emmalyn looked completely confused as she placed her hands on the edge of the table, running her fingers over the expensive linen table cloth.
"I love you."
The words rushed from Gustav's lips with a speed that astounded even him. He hoped that it was fast enough that the words blurred and Emmalyn missed it, but from the look on her face, he could tell that she hadn't. Emmalyn had heard each of the three words. In order, even.
Emmalyn's breath caught in her throat and she held it for a minute. When she finally released it, her breaths came in short spurts. From behind, Gustav could see Emmalyn's neck tense up with every inhalation. "Emmalyn, I just-"
"No," Emmalyn shook her head. "It's okay."
"I should-"
"It's okay," Emmalyn said again, not wanting to hear any more of Gustav's words.
Gustav's hands wanted to reach out and rest on Emmalyn' shoulders, to massage the tension away, not caring that his words were what put it there in the first place. He wanted to feel the warmth of Emmalyn's body under his fingers, against her chest. If not romantically, then friendly. The way they'd always touched before, but a new rigidness in Emmalyn's back kept Gustav from approaching.
"You have- There's-" Emmalyn stopped and took a deep breath. "There's a stain here on your tablecloth."
"Emmalyn?"
"You'll need to wash it in Woolite," Emmalyn said softly as she traced her finger around the barely noticeable stain. "But it- It won't be the same after you wash it."
"Emmalyn, I -"
"It's okay, Gustav." She shook her head, but wouldn't turn to look at the man who'd put it all together for her. "I should, uh, I should go."
"You don't have to," Gustav said quickly, moving forward before he could stop himself. "We can just pretend I didn't say anything. I've fixed dinner and everything."
"No, I don't want to do that," Emmalyn pursed her lips and turned around. "I appreciate this. I mean, I do," she nodded but kept his eyes downcast. "It's just-"
"You don't have to say anything."
"You're my best friend, Gustav."
"I know."
"But-"
"I know."
"I should go," Emmalyn sighed and stepped around Gustav, careful to keep her arm from brushing his. Gustav didn't move as Emmalyn made her way back to the front door and let herself out.
It wasn't perfect.
Like the tablecloth sitting beneath all the decorations and disguises, their relationship was now flawed, and no amount of Woolite or washing would ever take the stain away.
FIVE
"No," Tom laughed. "No. Uh uh," he shook his head and held up his hands to ward off Cate's approach. "You're crazy if you think for a second that I'm going to let you put that anywhere near me.""Tom," Cate whined.
"Wrong. No," he shook his head again and laughed out loud. "Not for a million dollars."
"I don't even have a million dollars."
"Yes, you do, but it doesn't matter. I'm not letting you use that," he nodded to the bottle in Cate's hand.
"I don't have a million dollars like, in my pocket. It'd take a few days at least to get the cash."
"Cate," Tom backed up until the back of his knees hit the bed. "Just- No."
"It'll be fun."
"It won't be fun. It'll suck. Take that shit to Bill's. He'll be all over it."
"Who do you think gave it to me?" Cate laughed and took another step forward, knowing Tom had nowhere else to go but the bed. Tom stepped back again and sat down. "We can wash the sheets as soon as we're finished."
"You think that shit washes out? You've seen Bill's place right? He used that once, and now it's all over the place. It's even in his washer. Everything he washes gets covered in that shit. Take it out of here," Tom pointed toward the door as Cate stepped even closer, positioning herself so that she was standing between Tom's knees.
"I'll buy you a new house."
"No."
"I'll make you brownies," Cate tried the sweet approach. Tom had a hard time saying no to sweets.
"With nuts?"
"Yes," Cate nodded as she shook the bottle.
"And chocolate icing?"
Cate shrugged one shoulder, "If you want."
"No!" Tom put his hands up and placed them on Cate's shoulders. He meant to push the young woman away, but Cate reached up and covered Tom's hand with her own. "Cate. Seriously. Stop."
"Why are you being such a baby about this?"
"Because it's my house that will look like a fairy had the shits after this. Not yours."
"You're the one who-"
"Forget it. You want to use that, use it at your own house."
"But-"
"Cate," Tom used his warning tone again as Cate guided Tom's hand slightly lower and pressed his fingers over her nipple.
"Yes?" Cate lowered her voice, knowing that Tom could never resist that sexy bedroom voice.
"What do I have to do to get you to throw that stuff out?"
"What do I have to do to get you to let me use it?" Cate retorted with a soft voice and gentle pressure against Tom's thighs.
"I'll buy you a monkey." The bribing switched sides as Tom became desperate. Knowing that in the end, Cate would get her way, as always.
Cate just laughed and shook her head, her finger playing on the trigger of the bottle in her hand.
"I'll buy you an Audi," Tom tried again. "I'll even let you customize it with whatever package you want. C'mon."
"Tom-"
"Cate," Tom sighed.
"It's just fabric spray."
"No, it's glitter fabric spray," Tom clarified as he squirmed against Cate's knees between his own.
"It'll wash out."
"No."
"It'll be amazing," Cate sing-songed her voice as she lowered his lips to Tom's and kissed the smile already covering his mouth. Tom melted into the hotness of Cate's kiss. His hands went up to Cate's shoulder-length, soft, blonde hair and held her closer.
The small swish he heard a second later was lost in the soft moans coming from deep in Cate's throat. The glitter covered the burgundy sheets, leaving a spray of fairy dust that would never go away. Tom didn't care. He'd pay a million dollars, make brownies, buy a monkey and donate a car all for the chance to keep Cate where she was right then, forever.
SIX
Midnight, the hour that Bill saw quite often. He loved it more and more each time. Midnight was a time when everything was new. It was when the moonlight gave new life to shadows, and when the still silence of the studio sent shivers up his spine. It was when he was an artist, a true artist. He was his own.Bill licked his lips and adjusted himself on the hard chair beneath him. Comfort was nothing he required at that hour. He worked better when he was uncomfortable, it forced him to fully concentrate on the matter at hand. That night, the matter at hand was Rumer.
Rumer had fallen asleep more than an hour ago, propped against the plaster sculpture Bill created months before. Rumer said it looked like a cock. He had tried to explain to Rumer that it wasn't a cock, but was in fact a melodic movement of life and living. Rumer didn't get it. She wasn't an artist. Not like Bill, at least. She insisted on its phallic representation. Bill didn't see reason to argue.
The light of the moon shined in through the opened window that faced Bill's backyard. It made Rumer look more angelic that Bill ever thought was possible. He knew Rumer. He knew that angelic was not a word usually associated with her. Devilish, crude, loud, and funny, but not angelic.
There was something in the way the light fell across the bridge of her nose and the curve of her shoulders. Something that made it easy for Bill to see the innocence in the woman, to visualize actual wings tucked carefully behind her, to see a vulnerability that he knew was there somewhere, but Rumer tried so hard to hide. So hard, in fact, that she succeeded. No one ever saw that part of her, not without the moonlight guiding the way.
His lips slid over each other as Bill moistened them with his tongue. Rumer was beautiful. Though she wasn't an artist, she was definitely art. The line of her jaw, the fall of her hair, the slight curve to her lips and the fullness of her body; she was an artist's imagination. She was Bill's imagination.
Bill's fingers slid over the paper, smudging the gray strokes he'd left behind representing Rumer's neck. The graphite pencil seemed to have a life of its own as it read Bill's mind and created the perfect image of Rumer sleeping on the paper before him. With a quick smile, Bill studied the drawing he'd somehow created. It was perfect.
Rumer with wings. The Rumer no one but Bill knew existed.
SEVEN
When Georg bought his house by the ocean, he knew that he would attract a lot more friends Anyone with direct access to a private beach is always in with the cool crowd. Every night after putting in twelve hours in the studio or in meetings, he'd come home, wolf down whatever leftovers he could find, then grab a tennis ball and head down the worn wooden steps to the beach.He didn't have a dog just yet, but he wanted one. He wasn't home enough to give it the attention he knew it would need, so in the meantime, he played with his neighbors' dogs, whenever they happened to be on the beach. As he hopped down the steps, he could see that he would be alone. Again.
Georg tossed the tennis ball from hand to hand as he walked to the water's edge. He let the waves cover his feet up to his ankles. It soaked the cuffs of his jeans, but he didn't care. He had over a dozen more pairs upstairs with the tags still on them. The sun had already set, but the horizon was still an exquisite combination of blues, pinks, purples, and oranges. That was his favorite time of day. The time when sun was setting, and the cool air rushed in to replace the sweltering heat of the California summer.
As the ocean breeze sailed gently over his skin, goosebumps appeared. He turned to head back inside. It didn't look like his neighbors would be down with their dogs. He had to admit, he really was more tired than he let on. Georg took the steps two at a time as he squeezed the green ball in his hand, enjoying the tug on his muscles with each application of pressure.
With the first step into his house, his mind went to work. The producer they'd worked with that afternoon had given him a headache, and he was ready to get rid of it. Georg crossed his kitchen and stared into his liquor cabinet. He figured he could drink himself into a deep sleep. It would be easy. He'd pay for it in the morning, but he'd get some sleep.
Georg reached for a bottle of vodka as the phone rang on the counter beside him. He sighed heavily and picked it up, praying that it wouldn't be something work related. Part of him hoped it'd be a telemarketer, just so he could feel normal for a minute. "Hello?"
"Tell me you're not just now getting home." Tom's voice laughed down the phone line.
"No, I've been home for an hour."
"I've been calling you."
"I was at the beach."
"Ahh, playing with the dogs?" Tom laughed. He knew the routine.
"No, they weren't down there."
"Was Koti down there with her guitar? You need to talk to someone about her. She has amazing talent, for real."
"I know she does. I talked to her about it, but I don't think she's there yet, in her head, you know?" Georg smiled, Tom was a great judge of raw talent, and the girl that lived three houses from Georg had it. "But no, she wasn't there either. Just me and my ball."
"Just you and your balls? What?" Tom laughed again.
"My ball. Singular. Tennis ball. For the dogs."
"Oh. I was gonna say," Tom sighed and shook his head. "What are you doing?"
Georg stared at the bottle resting on the counter at his fingertips. "Trying to destress myself."
"With?" Tom could pull the truth out of Georg without even trying.
"Smirnoff."
"Wrong answer."
"I know."
"Where's your fish? Go look at your goldfish."
"What?"
"Georg, we've talked about the meditation thing, focusing on something serene, centering yourself."
"Yeah."
"Go turn out the lights and turn the fishtank on," Tom lowered his voice. "You want me to come over?"
"No, it's cool," Georg shook his head.
"I can be there in twenty minutes."
Georg licked his lips, "No, I'm fine. Meditation."
"Yeah. Go turn on the fishtank and take some deep breaths."
"I know how to do it."
"I know you do," Tom smiled. "Trust me, you'll feel much better tomorrow if you do the fish thing instead of the vodka thing."
"I know," Georg smiled and nodded. "I hate when you're right."
"Yeah, well," Tom laughed. It all came so easy for him.
"What'd you need? I mean, you called."
"Oh. I was just calling to check in."
"Oh, okay."
"Consider yourself checked."
"Yeah," Georg nodded and shut the liquor cabinet. Tom was right.
"Okay, I'll call you tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Same time."
"I'll be here," Georg nodded.
Same time. Tom saved him every day.
EIGHT
Pink. Fuzzy."Handcuffs?!" Kenleigh looked at Gustav as though he'd lost his mind. "What?"
"Oh, come on. They're practical," Gustav reached across the newly unwrapped box and took the fuzzy cuffs from her.
"They look like puppets," Kenleigh frowned and touched the soft fuzz.
"Sort of, but this way, they don't rub and give you red marks. Like last time," he waggled his eyebrow and laughed softly.
"Gustav. C'mon," Georg made a sour face and turned his head. "You two can be as kinky as you want, but not in front of the kid," he extended his hands to cover Bill's wide eyes.
"He's seen worse," Gustav dropped the cuffs back in the box as Kenleigh carefully replaced the lid. "Remember that two headed dild-"
"Shut up!" Georg's hands went to Bill's ears. "I swear. If Bill turns out more warped than he already is, I'm blaming you."
Bill laughed and shook their hands free. "I'm not nine, people."
"I know you're not, but still-"
"I think they're cute," Tom commented as he chewed loudly on a pretzel.
"You would," Georg rolled his eyes.
"I think they're charming," Tom licked his lips and put the bowl of pretzels on the table.
"Yeah. Fucking delightful," Georg sighed. "Like I said, we all know you guys are kinky weirdos, but really? Pink fuzzy handcuffs?"
"Only because the leather ones-" Gustav began to explain again, but it was too late. Georg was already on his feet and headed for the kitchen.
"I don't even want to hear it," Georg's voice echoed down the hall.
Everyone erupted in laughter as Kenleigh chose another gift from the pile in front of her.
"He's a prude," Gustav shook his head with a smile.
"You'd think he's never sucked a cock before," Bill rolled his eyes as Tom snorted softly. "Stop it. We know your little 'secret'," He kicked one of Tom's shins.
"I didn't say a word," Tom kept his smirk in place.
"You didn't have to."
"But I do have to state again, for the record, best damn blow job ever," Tom stood up and walked toward the kitchen. "Speaking of which-"
Kenleigh smiled and looked at Gustav, "It's my birthday, how come he's gonna be getting all the action?"
Gustav's hand traveled up Kenleigh's thigh. "Not all the action."
Bill cleared his throat from three feet away, but neither Gustav or Kenleigh acknowledged him. "I really like the fuzzy cuffs," Kenleigh said shyly. "You're right, the other ones-"
"I know," Gustav winked. "We'll test these to see if they're any better."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight," Gustav smiled knowingly and raised his eyebrow as he set another gift on Kenleigh's lap. "Now, let's see what Georg got you."
NINE
"Where are we?" Tom asked softly as he stared out the window of their hotel room."Um," Georg put his pen down and thought for a moment. "Hannover, I think."
"Hmm," Tom hummed and kept his eyes on the parking lot.
"Why?"
Tom shrugged and sighed, "I don't know. I just- It feels so far from home. Even when we were in the US, I felt closer, but this? I don't know. I feel so far away."
"We're not that far from Magdeburg," Georg chuckled and set his notepad aside. The letter to his parents could wait. "We'll be home in just a few weeks."
"Home to Hamburg," Tom rolled his eyes.
Georg shrugged, "We're not too far from there either."
"Hmm."
They sat in silence for a few moments. Touring was new to them. They'd toured the US, but that was a different playing field. This was home, their home country, and no one seemed to know who they were, and the ones who did, weren't very kind. Over the previous weeks they'd been booed off stage and mistaken for autograph seekers backstage.
"Wanna go outside?" Tom asked, turning his head suddenly.
"Outside?" Georg choked on the word. "Are we allowed to?"
"Who cares?" Tom's small voice was heavy with defiance, though Georg new better. Inside, he was still a worried child just trying to rebel.
"Sure, we can go outside. Do you wanna go to the bus?"
"No, there," Tom said as he pointed out the window.
"The parking lot?" Georg's brow furrowed in confusion.
Tom sighed and rolled his eyes. "Across the street."
"What is it?"
"It's just a park thing," Tom stood up and went to his tattered suitcase. "C'mon."
"Should we call-" Georg struggled for their security guards name. "Saki?"
"What do we need him for? We're just crossing the street."
"Yeah, but-"
"C'mon," Tom tucked a red and white quilt under his arm, and dropped their room key in his pocket.
Georg bit his bottom lip and thought for a moment before standing up to follow Tom. They left the room silently, and walked the length of the small parking lot to the street in the darkness of shadows. For as far as they could see in either direction, there were no cars or lights.
"This place is spooky," Tom smiled over his shoulder.
Georg grew up in a small town so dark and narrow roads were nothing new to him. "Where are we going?"
"Right there. I just want to get away from the lights of the hotel."
"We shouldn't go far."
"We won't," Tom sighed, though he loved coming across as the fearless one when it came to Georg.
They walked over the spongy grass before Tom stopped and shook his blanket out. There were small holes near the edges and more than one patched area in the center.
"What's this?" Georg tried not to laugh.
"It's my quilt."
"Where'd you get it?"
"My grandma made it for me when I was a kid."
Georg paused and smiled, "You still are a kid."
Tom sighed, but didn't respond. "You can really see the stars out here." He flopped down on his back. "See? That's Orion," he pointed to the massive sky, as if Georg would know just where to look.
"Where?" Georg sunk to his knees, then looked in the same direction Tom was.
"There. Those three in a row," Tom smiled and kept his eyes on the constellation. "Isn't that cool? You know, it takes thousands of years for the stars light to reach Earth. The light we're seeing now was put out like, a kazillion years ago."
"That's pretty cool." Georg rearranged himself so that he was laying on his back beside Tom. "There's the big dipper," he pointed, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about.
"That's the little dipper. The big one is over here," he moved his hand to the side. "See?"
"Oh," Georg nodded, then bit his lip.
They sat in silence for a minute. Tom named off the star formations under his breath. "Do you think- I mean, we're stars, kind of. Right?" Tom asked a short while later.
Georg jumped at the sound of his voice. "I guess," he answered softly.
"I think we are. I think we're bright ones. Our light just hasn't reached Earth yet. You know?"
"Yeah."
"But when it does-" Tom laughed.
"Watch out!" Georg finished for him, then they laughed in unison. "I think you're right."
"I am," Tom nodded and placed his arms behind his head. He'd wait a lifetime to see their starlight in the night sky. He just hoped it wouldn't take that long.
TEN
A smile couldn't be stopped as Soren lay in her bed, surrounded by the warmth of her goose down comforter, and Gustav. Gustav, who even at his worst moments, would always be a comforter. Whether Bill scuffed his new shoes, or Georg's dog died, Gustav was there to do what he could, to make everything better.When Soren came home after a rough day at work at her graphic design office, defending herself to everyone who walked in demanding she make changes upon changes, Gustav was there.
The moment Soren walked in, she knew that Gustav had already made everything right, without even knowing what exactly was wrong. Tokio Hotel's first single off their new album played softly in the background; it was the demo, not the one that made it to the airwaves. It was rough, but Gustav liked it better. The scent of garlic wafted down the hall and met Soren at the front door.
As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she saw Gustav dancing in front of the stove with a little apron on over his board shorts and band T-shirt. "Hey," Soren dropped her bag on the floor and leaned against the wall.
"Hey," Gustav didn't stop stirring as he looked up and smiled. "Tough day at the office?"
"Ugh. You don't even want to know."
"C'mere, let me fix it." He set his spoon down and waved Soren over for a hug. He wrapped his arms around Soren and kissed her temple. "There you go. My mother always said a kiss and some Italian bread can make everything better."
"She was right."
"I think a little action between the sheets helps too, but that's something my mother wasn't gonna tell me."
Soren laughed and leaned back to let Gustav finish cooking whatever was on the stove top. "No, I can't see your mom telling you that."
"I can't see me listening to her tell me that," Gustav laughed and sampled the red sauce bubbling in the sauce pan. "Ooh, taste this," he held the spoon out and Soren tested the almost tangy sauce.
"It's wonderful. Your grandma's recipe?" Soren asked as she smacked her lips.
"Ragu, garlic mushroom," Gustav laughed and went back to stirring. "Take a seat. It's almost done."
"That'll make everything better?" Soren sighed and ran her hands through her hair, knowing that whatever Gustav said, it already was better.
"This and a little action between the sheets," Gustav laughed and kissed Soren again. That was one thing Soren would always cherish about Gustav, he always remembered the important ingredients to make everything better.
ELEVEN
"It's raining. It's pouring. The old man is snoring. He went to bed and bumped his head, and he couldn't get up in the morning," Moira sang under her breath as she rested her forehead against the window. "I hate the rain," she grumbled."Then stop looking at it," Gustav rolled his eyes and noisily flipped the pages of the book in his lap.
"There's nothing else to look at," Moira could find something to complain about in any situation.
"Look at the TV."
"There's nothing good on."
"Look at a book," Gustav held up the book in his hands.
"Reading sucks."
"Look at the floor."
Moira sighed, "It needs to be swept."
"Moira," Gustav sighed.
"What?" Moira shifted her gaze from the window to the blonde sitting on his couch. "What?" she asked again after meeting Gustav's eyes.
"Do you want some cheese with that?"
"With what?"
"Your whine," Gustav chuckled.
"Do I have wine here? Do I even have cheese?" Moira stood up and left her perch to open the refrigerator.
"It's a figure of speech, Moira."
"Well, it made me hungry," she stood in front of the fridge and frowned. "All I have is American slices, will that work?"
"Work with what? If you're hungry, eat whatever you want."
"But will it work with wine?"
Gustav gave up and set his book down, "Do you have wine?"
"Yeah. I got a dozen bottles for my house warming party last year."
"And you didn't finish them?"
"All of them? No. They're right up here," she pointed to a wooden wine rack on top of the fridge.
"That's a horrible place to keep wine," Gustav reached over Moira's head and pulled a bottle down. "Good wine though. Do you have a corkscrew?"
"If I do, it'll be in the drawer there." Moira pulled the sliced cheese out and tossed it on the table.
"Wine glasses?" Gustav asked as he held the corkscrew in one hand and the bottle in the other.
"Don't go getting fancy on me," Moira rolled her eyes and opened the cupboard with the multi-colored glasses. "These will work just fine," she took two down, then returned to the table.
Gustav bit his tongue as classless words threatened to insult Moira's attempt. "Sure they will," he said as he sat down opposite Moira and uncorked the bottle. After pouring a generous amount of the dark red wine in each glass, he sat back and took a piece of the sliced cheese.
"This is classy," Gustav unwrapped the cheese and folded it into quarters.
"Moira Bentley, heretofore known as an unclassy bitch, has crossed the Martha Stewart painted line into the high class society that Gustav Schäfer knows oh so well."
"I wouldn't go that far," Gustav laughed and licked his lips. He'd meant that Moira was now high class, but Moira, of course, took it the wrong way.
"Compared to me, you're high class."
"Uh huh," Gustav sipped at the wine and took a bite of the over-processed cheese.
"This is good though, eh?" Moira smiled and drank the wine like it was water.
"Better than hating the rain," Gustav smiled over the rim of his cup and took another delicate sip.
TWELVE
He didn't want to look, but he couldn't help himself. There was something entrancing about the way Georg stretched before a show. Tom couldn't take his eyes off of him, and it was obvious."Take a picture. It'll last longer," Gustav said softly with a maniacal laugh.
"Huh?" Tom's eyes snapped to Gustav's. "What?"
"You're staring at him like he has three tits or something."
"What?"
Gustav put his fingers under Tom's chin and turned him toward Georg. "You are. Staring at. Him. Like he has. Three. Tits," Gustav spoke slowly, then laughed again.
"I am not," Tom jerked his chin out of Gustav's hold and scowled. "He just- I was thinking."
"You're gonna wanna pull that train on over and get off because the last thing you need to be thinking about is that."
"I was thinking about Joslyn."
"You were not."
"Everyone thinks I should fuck her," Tom sighed and refused to acknowledge Gustav's jab.
"Yeah, that's only because she's perfect."
"Yeah," Tom agreed softly. "Perfect."
"Flawless."
"Uh huh."
"Gorgeous."
"I know," he couldn't deny that. She was centerfold material for sure, and in another month or two, she would probably get that honor.
"So?" Gustav sighed and draped his arm over Tom's shoulder. "What are you doing making googly eyes at Georg?"
"I'm not," Tom ducked out from under Gustav's arm and left the room as Georg bent at the waist to stretch his hamstrings.
When the show was over, Tom crawled onto the bus he shared with his brother Bill. "It's so cool to have the bus to ourselves," Bill yawned as he made a second attempt to crawl into his bunk. He had the hardest time getting comfortable because of his height.
"Me too," Tom nodded as he stopped and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. "I like having the bus all to ourselves too."
"Especially when I'm asleep," Bill yawned loudly and pulled the drape closed.
"Exactly," Tom smiled and peeled his shirt over his head. It was clean ten minutes ago when he pulled it on backstage, but until he had a hot shower, nothing felt clean enough. He took another random T-shirt from the pile in the small closet.
The bus door opened quickly, then slammed shut, but no one shouted a greeting. "Hello?" Tom asked with a frown as he tugged the shirt into place.
"Hey," Georg's voice was soft and muffled as Tom heard the flimsy couch sink under his added weight.
"Hey," Tom tried to keep the surprise out of his voice as he stepped out of the sleeping area. "What are-" The bus lurched forward and he had to grab the kitchen counter for support. "What are you doing here?"
"Because Gustav is crazy," Georg yawned and tucked a stuffed penguin under his cheek. "I'm gonna crash here."
"You're gonna- Georg," Tom sighed and blinked to clear his head of the image of Georg laying face down on the couch wearing nothing but gray sweats and flip flops, or rather one flip flop. The other had fallen off and was upside down on the carpet.
"Yeah?"
"You can't sleep here."
"Why not?"
"Because," Tom offered a feeble excuse, but it was all he had. "Because," he said again softly.
Georg turned his head to face Tom but kept his eyes closed. "Because why?"
"Just because."
"Are you gonna sleep?"
"Yeah, but I don't see-"
"Bill is already asleep?"
"Yes, but-"
"Gustav will be awake for another three hours," Georg rolled back over and yawned into the stuffed animal. "Okay then."
"But Georg-"
"Go away, Tom."
Tom let the argument die on his lips as he turned and went back to the bunks. He climbed into his lower bunk across from Bill's and frowned at the ceiling. An unclaimed hate for Joslyn forced it's way into Tom's mind, and without warning he struck out and punched the top of his bunk. "Damn it," he grumbled as he held his hand to his stomach. "Fuck."
"What are you doing?" Tom heard Bill roll over and pull his curtain aside.
"Nothing."
"Did you hit your head?" Bill whispered, unaware that there was a half naked man on their couch.
"My hand."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Okay," he yawned and was asleep again almost immediately.
"I'm confused as all hell, but I'm fine," Tom mused silently to himself.
Part Two