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Psychological Fanfic Challenge

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[TH] Wiedergänger [Oct. 27th, 2012|04:07 pm]
Psychological Fanfic Challenge

psych_30

[unverdorben]
[Tags|, ]

Fandom: Tokio Hotel [AU]
Title: Wiedergänger
Characters: Bill, Tom
Rating: P18
Prompt: #16 Fetish
Word Count: 4103
Warnings: BDSM, PWP
A/N: Happy Halloween ;)




 

Tom hated graveyards with a passion. Not because he was afraid of them, no. He was a big boy of eighteen years, old enough to watch movies featuring a lot scarier places than the municipal cemetery without having to cover his eyes anymore. And as long as no strident violin music suddenly started playing out of nowhere, he was safe anyway.

Tom hated graveyards because they were the most depressing places he could think of. Now, in mid-autumn, all the graves were littered with leaves in various stages of decay. Some graves just had a handful of leaves on them, some were covered completely. The dull green of the box wood was the only touch of color in a sea of sepia, all others plants wilting away slowly, losing foliage and petals and life. Even the graves sealed with a massive granite plate, rendering maintenance to a bare minimum, looked like they hadn´t seen a loving touch in quite a while.

Strolling off the main path, Tom wondered how many people would come here next week and how many of those would have stayed at home if All Saints´ Day and common courtesy hadn´t forced them out in the cold to listen to a priest´s endless rambling while the dampness of the ground was creeping up their legs.

Tom also hated Leon and his crappy ideas. Just because they had outgrown the age at which spinning the bottle was the weapon of choice to get kissed by a girl, there was no reason to reinvent the concept under a new name.

“I dare you to spend a night at the cemetery, dusk till dawn,” Leon had said, obviously proud of his idea. “Or you´ll have to kiss Maria at the club next Saturday. For five minutes straight!”

Tom had had the strong suspicion that Leon had expected him to ditch the dare and choose the punishment right away, supplying Leon and the rest of their clique with quite a show. Maria had been eyeing him up for weeks now while giving him the cold shoulder whenever she thought he was about to make a move.

“She wants you,” Leon had cooed.

Maybe she did. Actually, Tom was pretty sure she did, her text messages didn´t leave much room for doubt, but that didn´t change anything about the fact that he didn´t want her. If Leon hadn´t persistently taunted him for getting no action, Tom wouldn’t have traded numbers with her in the first place.

Tom hated everything about this night, starting from the location to the reason to the weather, but at least he was alone. The faint drizzle had kept everyone else within their own walls, the ever-grieving grannies as well as the fucked up goth kids hanging out here sometimes.

With a sigh, Tom crouched down in front of an exceptionally messy grave, picking up a few wet leaves.

“Sucks, huh,” he said to the tombstone, brushing away some more foliage. The leaves felt slippery, almost slimy, but with more than ten hours ahead it was a way to keep himself occupied. Wiping his hand on the grass, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up, noticing the small box meant to protect the grave light. The rusty hinges shrieked hollowly as he pried the little door open, finding nothing but spruce needles and a dead bug inside.

“You wait here, I´ll be right back, okay,” he murmured, getting back to his feet.

He had no idea where the vending machine was located, and when he finally found it, he was done with the second fag already. The machine wouldn´t take notes, but luckily his smoking habit had earned him more loose change than one could want. He got out a candle, lit up for the third time and sauntered back, careful not to get lost. It had been nightfall upon his arrival already, but now the darkness had thickened to a point where everything more than two meters away was swallowed by pitch black nothingness.

Back at his grave, Tom wiped out the box with a leaf, lit the candle and placed it inside, closing the door with more strained shrieking. The candle didn´t shed enough light to illuminate the whole grave, but Tom went back to cleaning it of leaves and twigs anyway.

“You ever get any visitors?” he murmured after retrieving the red plastic shards of a candle container. “I´d off myself if I had to hang out here all the time. Convenient you´re dead, huh.”

There were no plants underneath the soggy leaves, not even dead ones. When Tom was done he was blinking at nothing but dark, packed earth. The graves to the left and right weren´t superb either, but at least the uncaring descendants had planted some indestructible shrubbery to cover up the neglect.

Squinting, Tom leaned towards the tombstone. It was a simple stone, cut out of dull grey cliff, with no decorations whatsoever. Since reading was impossible in the meager flickering of the candle, Tom traced the carving with his fingers, brushing some moss away in the process.  Abandonment had left its mark on the letters, too, but the last part of the inscription was still recognizable. ‘m Cantz’, it said. No date of birth, no date of death, no ‘forever in our hearts’.

“Either you were poor or your children weren´t too sorry when you died,” Tom murmured, crumbling a piece of dry moss between his fingers.

“Or this person died before they had the chance to become a parent,” a voice said right next to him.

Tom jumped inwardly, but he didn´t move. Not much, at least. He knew that it wasn´t moshers’ style to target single hip hop kids, let alone target them in groups, but who knew what they were capable of on their home ground, really.

Doing his best to act casually, Tom glanced to the side, actually flinching this time. At a mere arm´s length, a man was squatting, staring at him with fiery black eyes. In the skittish light of the candle his face, framed by sleek strands of dark hair, had a sickly pale gleam to it. Unlike the goths Tom had seen so far, this one didn´t wear any kohl or eye shadow, but had obviously gotten into the white face powder a lot more than one time too many.

“What do you want?” Tom asked, ignoring the strain in his voice.

Smirking, the man stood up, offering Tom his hand.

“It´s cold out here. I know a place where you can warm up,” he drawled.

Although Tom knew how wrong it was, although he knew he should walk away with his head held high, hoping this guy wasn´t some extra psycho edition of a deranged wanna-be vampire raiding cemeteries to add to the total of corpses, he grabbed the man’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up and away from the candle´s shine.

He had no idea where they were heading as he could barely make out the man´s form in front of him, but backing out wasn´t an option anymore.

The man´s grip was firm and where his fingers weren´t covered by ragged, cut off gloves, his skin felt cool and clammy.

Trying his best not to stumble over branches, roots or his own feet, Tom tumbled after his leader, bumping into him with a thud when he abruptly came to a halt.

“There,” the man whispered, pointing at something in front of them.

Stepping aside, Tom followed his outstretched arm with his eyes, surprised by the amount of detail he could make out. A big, pointy shape wasn´t much, but definitely a lot more than he´d been able to see before. While they were walking towards it, Tom realized that they weren´t at the cemetery anymore, but in a small clearing, allowing the moonlight to reach the ground unobstructed.

Opening a low door for him, the man ushered him inside the shape, shutting it behind both of them with a thud that dropped a bowling ball in Tom´s guts. Blinking furiously to get accustomed to the sudden bright light cast by a full rack of candles, Tom had a look around. He was in a chapel. A tiny, neat chapel with a separated sanctuary and dusty benches for a fairly big family.

“It´s dryer in here,” the man said, sitting down in the last row after wiping the seat clean with his coat.

Resisting the urge to check whether the door was as locked as it had sounded, Tom clenched his hands to fists in his pockets. He wasn´t all too familiar with churches, trying to avoid setting foot in one even on Christmas Eve, but he felt certain nonetheless that something was missing here.  The Bible on the altar maybe?

“I´m Tom,” Tom said, hoping the man would introduce himself, too, but to no avail. “And you are?”

“Wilhelm. Yet for tonight I am your master,” the man replied casually.

“My master?” Tom echoed. “Do I look like a dog or what?”

Cocking his head, Wilhelm crossed his legs, licking his bloodless lips. “Can you do ‘sit’ and ‘lie down’?” he asked.

“I can break your nose,” Tom spat, clenching his fists hard enough to cut his palms with his fingernails.

Wilhelm smiled sweetly, one corner of his mouth tucked up higher than the other. “You are very pretty when you are angry, do you know that?” he cooed, seemingly enjoying the effect of his words.

Unable to get his legs to walk out on this nutter, Tom flopped down on the single step separating the altar room from the audience. Don´t piss off the deranged, he thought, they might do even crazier shit.

As Wilhelm chose not to spike up the conversation again, Tom settled for the most comfortable position possible on the blank stone, tightening his jacket around him. Despite the light and the lack of wind he was freezing more than he had been outside. He kept shooting glances at the other man every once in a while, but Wilhelm never lifted his head, let alone looked at him. It wasn´t until Tom heard the soft rustling of a page being turned that he realized what Wilhelm was doing.

“You´re reading a book?” he asked confusedly.

“Sit,” Wilhelm said without looking up, patting the bench next to him.

Scrambling back to his feet, Tom walked over to him slowly. The bench creaked when he sat down, leaning in just enough to catch a glimpse of the text. Black letters, he could make out. Has to think he´s exceptionally cool for deciphering that.

“You got a heater hidden back here?” he mumbled, feeling the tingling spreading in his frozen fingertips.

Wilhelm simply smiled again, shutting the book and placing it on the back of the row in front.

“Hand,” he said.

Uneasy, but without hesitation, Tom dropped his right hand into Wilhelm´s palm, sighing unconsciously when Wilhelm started massaging the stiff joints, rubbing some warmth back into his skin.

“Other one,” Wilhelm demanded, repeating the procedure.

“You scared me quite a bit,” Tom admitted. “Do you do stuff like this regularly?”

“Stuff like what?”

“Like picking up strangers on graveyards.”

“No,” Wilhelm said with his everlasting smile. “I happened to be bored tonight, that is all.”

“Bored?” Tom cried, parting his lips to object some more, but keeping them silently agape instead. With wide eyes he watched Wilhelm suck two of his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them. His hollowed cheeks made his face look eerily skull-like, despite the vivid eyes and soft rosy shade tinting his features.

Okay, Tom thought, let´s sum this up. He´d been plucked off a cemetery by some creepy bastard who had referred to himself as his master, had locked him up in a chapel and was blowing his hand like no tomorrow, more or less. There wasn´t any other rational option than screaming bloody murder und getting the hell out of there, so he´d better leg it now. Right now.

Tom didn´t move, though. The queasy swirling in his stomach only added to the sensation of the hot wetness, as well as Wilhelm´s intense stare, keeping him glued in place.

“Good boy,” Wilhelm purred eventually, releasing his fingers with a pop. “More?”

Nodding mechanically, Tom inched closer, tilting his head before he knew what he was doing.

“Sit!” Wilhelm hissed, knocking his head and body back into place violently.

The turmoil in Tom´s guts boiled up immediately, hardening him to a point where he couldn´t ignore it anymore.

“Good boy,” Wilhelm murmured, and then, louder: “Go and stand over there.” He was pointing at the tiled aisle between the two rows of benches.

Tom did as he was told.

“Take off your clothes,” Wilhelm ordered, leaning back.

Eyes wandering back and forth between the door and the figure leisurely draped on the wooden bench, Tom didn´t budge at first. He toyed with the zipper of his jacket, feeling hot and trapped inside it.

“What do I get for stripping?” he said, raising his chin a bit higher. He certainly wasn´t supposed to become turned on by playing mind games with madmen, but fuck, he was throbbing in his jeans already.

“Take off your clothes,” Wilhelm repeated, obviously not impressed. “Then we are talking.”

Pulling down the zipper, Tom shrugged out of his jacket and dropped on the floor. He wasn´t much of a dancer and he would certainly not sashay his behind around like a girl. Instead, he undressed rather nonchalantly, shedding everything but his tented boxer shorts.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow, questioningly. “You forgot something.”

“First we´re talking,” Tom demanded, his voice a lot firmer than before. Palming his erection through the fabric he made a step in Wilhelm´s direction, straightening his shoulders.

“Is that so?” the other man said, the smile back in place. “Well, how about me sucking you off if you lose that thing?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tom grinned, only to have that grin wiped off his face mere seconds later.

In one swift motion, Wilhelm lunged at him, backing him up against the nearest wall and pinning his hands above his head.

“When I,” Wilhelm growled, stressing each syllable. “Tell you to strip or whatever you call it,” he went on, pressing a knee between Tom´s legs, bringing it dangerously close to his balls. “You strip,” he finished, nuzzling Tom´s neck before biting down in his shoulder.

Sucking in some air and holding his breath, Tom thought he could handle it at first, but Wilhelm wouldn´t let go. He slowly increased the pressure until Tom was sure he´d draw blood if he kept going, the pain making his eyes water.

“No,” he whimpered, struggling against the strong hold. “No,” he begged again, but Wilhelm wouldn´t listen. Bringing his fully clothed form flush against Tom´s naked body he sank his teeth ever deeper, turning Tom´s whining into a scream.

“Good boy,” Wilhelm cooed, releasing him at last.

Tom would have greatly enjoyed spitting in his face right then and there, but not as much as he enjoyed the fact that he couldn´t do that if he didn´t want to suffer the consequences. Glancing down, he spotted a deep mark beginning to show, stark white and red and with a hint of blood pulling in the ruts.

“Now take off your clothes.” Wilhelm reminded him of his duties.

Wordlessly asking his master to make room, Tom stepped out of his shorts, trembling slightly, and kicked them aside before standing to attention, waiting for his orders.

“You are learning,” Wilhelm remarked, seemingly pleased. “Now go over there.”

Tom did as he was told, noticing now that the pain of the bite had welled down to a tolerable level and that the rough wall had left bruises on his back as well. They weren´t as bad as the other wound, but they burned with every move he made.

Meanwhile, Wilhelm sat down in the last row again. “Touch yourself,” he said.

Flickering his eyes closed carefully, unsure whether he was allowed to do that or not, Tom let his hand trail down his stomach, wrapping his fingers around himself. He could feel Wilhelm´s eyes on him, basking in their intense stare.

“Go slowly,” Wilhelm murmured when Tom´s lazy strokes turned into pumping. “Turn. Let me see your profile.”

Biting his piercing Tom did his best not to make a sound, turning as he had been asked to do. He was standing with a wide stance, the lithic tiles warming his bare soles, liquid heat boiling in his stomach.

“You may be noisy,” Wilhelm said and Tom moaned thankfully, trying to catch a glimpse of his master out of the corner of his eyes. Maybe it was the haze of his building orgasm, but Wilhelm didn´t look half as scruffy anymore as before. His blotchy complexion had vanished, making him a good ten years younger, washing away the last of Tom´s concerns. He yearned to kiss those plush lips, to touch the silky hair, but simply doing so was out of the question. Arching his back to increase the show, Tom groaned loudly before swallowing his pride.

The first ‘please’ dropped off his lips almost inaudibly, hanging in thin air until it was joined by a second and a third one. “Please,” he keened, over and over again, pulling more furiously with every syllable, his insides knotted with pleasure.

“Please, master,” he rasped when he couldn´t take it anymore, gripping his base hard to prevent the last word from pulling him over the edge.

He could see Wilhelm smile his unmoving smile, bucking his hips to make him lick his lips or cock his head at least, desperately trying to control the burning inside.

“Spill,” Wilhelm smirked eventually and Tom did. Eyes shut tight, he couldn´t see, but he could hear his spurts falling on the floor, one at a time.

When he opened his eyes again, still milking the last drops out of himself, Wilhelm was standing next to him, inspecting the white pattern on the tiles.

“We cannot leave it like that,” he said, a new, stern expression on his face. “Clean it up,” he added, when Tom didn´t do anything but look at him blankly, grabbing the back of Tom´s neck to press him down. Wilhelm didn´t need to use much force, though, as Tom dropped to his knees like a loosely jointed doll, cautiously lapping at the salty liquid.

“Good boy,” Wilhelm cooed, running his fingers down Tom´s back to his ass.

Moaning, Tom pushed back at him, earning himself a stinging slap.

“Aren´t you busy?” Wilhelm hissed, making a point of not watching his sharp fingernails when spreading Tom´s cheeks.

Flicking his tongue out again, Tom tried to hurry up. The thick texture of cooling cum mixed with dirt made it hard for him to swallow, gumming up his throat and drying out his mouth.

Wilhelm, however, didn´t pay attention to his struggle. He forced Tom´s legs apart with his knee, rubbing his clothed groin against him.

“You know this,” he stated.

It wasn´t a question, so Tom said ‘yes’ in between tiny mouthfuls. His answer was only half a lie anyway. He´d never gotten the chance to do anything with another man, but porn and filthy chat rooms had made him brave – and horny – enough to explore those very southern regions of his body, too.

“Where from?” Wilhelm inquired, seemingly displeased.

Licking the last drop off the tiles, Tom swallowed heavily. “I haven´t…” he started, unsure how to finish his sentence. Punishment wasn´t the issue, in case he had to admit to not having told the truth. Making a fool out of himself in front of the other man was what he had to avoid.

Wilhelm didn´t wait for a proper explanation, though. “Very good then,” he drawled, making a sound as if smacking his lips.

Of course, Tom sighed inwardly, lunatics always had a thing for virgins. And obviously, half virgins like him did count as well. His giddiness subsided quickly, however, when Wilhelm withdrew his hands, the rustling of fabric echoing within in the chapel.

He wouldn´t have dreamt in a million years that it would happen like this, the sheer reality of it sending shivers down his spine. Tensing every muscle, he braced himself for what had to come next.

“Are you afraid?” Wilhelm cooed, thumbing Tom´s hips. “You should be.”

Cursing under his breath, Tom dropped his head, not caring whether his dreads hit the sticky floor. The knots were back, hotter and tighter and many more than before, making him leak, he could feel it. If he had eaten anything in the past few hours, he would have thrown up now.

Wilhelm ignored his retching but cared enough to reach beneath him and stroke him languidly until the need to be touched had grown strong enough to overshadow Tom´s fear.

Holding his breath, Tom waited for the preparation he had read about so many times, but nothing happened. Instead something hard and wet suddenly pushed into him, making him cry out and clamp down at the same time.

Biting down on his lip ring, Tom got ready for the slap he deserved for having made a sound, but that didn´t happen either. Gently massaging Tom´s buttocks, Wilhelm worked him slowly, rocking back and forth ever so lightly, even bowing down to plant a scorching kiss between his shoulder blades.

It hurt, despite the caressing touches. It was just the tip and it hurt, but when the softest of all moans left his master´s lips, Tom knew he would get through this. Concentrating on the fondling, he started thrusting back, timidly at first, but more forcefully with every jolt of pleasure cursing though his body. His knees buckled, revolting against the onslaught with which they were slammed against the tiles, but Wilhelm held him in place firmly, clawing at his sweaty skin whenever he  was about to slip.

Tom groaned loudly when Wilhelm pulled him back by his dreads, pulling further until he was swaying in an upright position, dropping him against his chest. Tom could feel the buttons of Wilhelm´s coat in his back, the rough fabric, the hot breath ghosting down his neck. He felt Wilhelm´s hips rotate against his own, felt Wilhelm´s hands sneaking to his front, long fingers tightening around his cock and throat.

Gasping for air, Tom writhed in Wilhelm´s arms, the lack of oxygen sending his head spinning delightfully. He was helpless, completely and utterly helpless, and it tore him up inside, the knots untying one by one, letting loose a white fire burning higher and higher.

“Please,” he choked with all his effort, bucking his hips. Then everything went black.

 

***

 

“Aren´t you ashamed?” an unfamiliar voice shrieked, making Tom sit up straight, still half asleep.

“If you aren´t gone in five minutes I´ll call the police,” the voice went on, reaching an even more piercing level.

Blinking furiously, Tom looked around, not knowing where he was at first. When he spotted a row of stones and crosses in front of him, however, he scrambled onto his feet in a hurry, stepping off the grave he had been lying on. His grave. The candle was burning still.

“I wonder what your parents would have to say about this,” the old lady next to him said, pointing at Tom with an empty watering can. She wore a clay brown goose down jacket to protect herself from the foggy dampness of early autumn mornings, and although Tom highly doubted that she had a cell phone with her, she looked very much determined to walk to the nearest police station if she had to.

“Sorry,” Tom mumbled, gesturing towards the grave. “Relative of mine.”

“I see,“ the woman keened, obviously not believing a word. “Five minutes,” she said, before turning on her heel and waddling towards the water basins.

“What the hell,” Tom sighed, shaking his head. He bowed down to brush earth and dirt of his jeans when a dull pain made him freeze. Unbelieving, Tom straightened up, unzipped his jacket and reached beneath his shirt, feeling up the throbbing mark on his shoulder.

“God”, he half laughed, half cursed. “Can you believe I got it on with a fucking goth?” he whispered, turning towards the tombstone, his breath hitching in his throat.

The inscription was frayed and shallow, but now, in the cold sunlight, he could even read the dates clearly, which he had missed last night.

Wilhelm Cantz, the simple letters said, January 19th 1809October 7th 1832.



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