Alcohol and Suchlike, Part 1
Title: Alcohol and Suchlike (Part one)
Beta: Ashy
Pairing: Belafarin
Rating: NC-17 overall, mild R for this I think
Summary: We all have dreams. NO matter how much those might differ, they're all dreams of perfection. And sometimes, you have to make mistakes to make your dreams come true.
I wake up in a distinctly familiar room, with a head that feels like someone’s hitting it with white-hot iron staffs, and a tongue that tastes like crap. With every smallest movement, my vision begins to swim and my head begins to swirl, so I just keep lying there, stiff as a board, hoping the room will stop rotating. That’s when I feel a warm, obviously naked body stir next to me in the king-sized bed that isn’t mine, in a room that is the opposite of my own bedroom, in dark tones, with dark red and black drapings, and many burnt-down candles on antique-looking metal holders. Not my simple, clean white walls and floor. I snap my eyes shut, the rotation making me feel sick. The person next to me cuddles closer, until an arm is flung possessively across my chest. Cautiouosly, I open one eye to peer down, hoping to catch a hint with whom I’ve spent the previous night.
A skull leers at me from the tattooed skin, another monster sits on the shoulder, while a dark, ruffled head is nestled into my armpit.
Oh shit. Bela.
Of course, Bela. It has to be my best friend for me to wake up with a hangover and only vague ideas of what I did last night It has to be Bela who senses I’m awake and leers up to me like the skull on his shoulder, the eyes twinkling with mirth and something else I can’t nail down. “Fuck”, I groan, my voice hollow in my ears “What did I do?” His leer deepens when he says the worst thing imaginable: “Fucked the brains out of me.” Everything fades to black.
*~oOo~*
“Man, Farin, you look like shit!” are my rather cheerful first words to a rather vampire-like looking Mr Urlaub when I open the door. It’s December 31st, 1999, the last day of a millennium, and together we’re going to throw a big Sylvester-and-Bela’s-37th-birthday party at my house, which is why we agreed to meet up at 10 a.m. already, to prepare everything. Oh yeah, and it’s fucking freezing.
Wordlessly, he shuffles past me, into the warmth of the hall.
“Didn’t sleep well last night?” I inquire, softer this time, because apparently, he’s really not in the condition for fooling around. I catch a low “Yeah” as he turns to hang his coat on the hook. His hands still up, he hesitates for a moment, then kind of spins on his heel, to suddenly hug me tight, burying his face in my neck. He’s cold against my house-warm skin, too cold, and I want to make him feel warm, so I wrap my arms around him, too.
For a few minutes we just stand there in the hall, almost curled into each other, so snugly fitting you couldn’t pass a sheet of paper between us. Until I feel something wet slowly running down my neck.
I free myself a little, just enough to lift his head from my shoulders and see the tears rolling. I try to recall the last time I’ve seen Farin Urlaub cry. Have I ever? Nah. Jan? Yeah, he did cry in my presence, but that’s been a while. Maybe the first time he visited me after the crash, and saw what had happened.
Tentatively, I raise my hand to wipe away the wet stripes marking his skin. He leans into my touch, yet as I try to catch his eye, I helplessly watch him retreat into himself, out of my grasp again.
“What’s up with you, Jan?”, I whisper in an attempt to save the situation, but he just shakes his head. “Nothing you’d want to know.” He mumbles, his voice rough from lack of sleep and an overdosis of tears.
“Wanna talk, though?”
“No, Bela, maybe … maybe later. We should start to get the work done.” Well, ok, if he insists.
Two hours later, I’m standing on a shaky ladder, trying to fix some deco to the ceiling. It’s a mystery to me why he doesn’t do this job, after all, he’s the taller one, as he loves to point out at every more or less appropriate occasion. But somehow, I always end up doing things I don’t understand why me. Well, there may be a reason today for me to climb around in airy heights. And the answer to this may be the eyes I can feel boring into my back, or rather, resting on my butt.
“Oi, Farin, since you currently seem to be staring at my ass and not doing anything useful for a change, would you be so kind and pass me some more of those nice “Happy New Millennium” thingies?” though I put as much sarkasm into my voice as possible, I spot a rather prominent flush my bandmate has been sporting. Uh-uh, I do think I tapped I something I maybe shouldn’t have. Maybe it’s even connected to his breakdown earlier. But better not inquire further, I know the limited extents of my communicating skills.
Another few hours, and we’re finally done. Though my house remains kind of tomb-like in certain areas, most of the space is decorated with glittering stuff I would under normal circumstances not even bother to look at. Walls are lined with either tables for the buffet later, or with sitting facilities, and I have the distinct feeling there’s not a single piece of furniture in the living area that’s not been moved. My poor house.
Due to the present arrangement, there are armchairs in the kichen eating area, which is slightly, only slightly, irritating. Nonetheless, it’s cool, maybe I’ll leave it this way. Farin sits in one of the leather armchairs, while I try to produce something similar to mulled wine. Yeah, alcohol actually, I managed to convince Farin one cup of it wouldn’t hurt him, besides, he looks as if he definitely needs something stronger than Earl Grey.
It’s completely silent in the house, except for our two different breath rhythms and the sounds of the kettle. As I pour the blood red, steaming liquid into mugs, I for the first time realize that it’s getting dark outside, so I get out my lighter to ignite some of the various candelabras around. I feel his gaze transfixed to my hand as I fumble with the lighter and the candles, which now illuminate the room with soft, yellow light, throw flickering shadows on the blank surface of the table between us, and on our faces.
Still no conversation, we both clutch to the warmth of our mugs without taking a single sip. If I don’t do anything, we’ll be sitting here till everyone arrives ins few hours’ time.
“Drink up, me, hearty, yo ho.” I advise him. “before it’s all cold and tastes like crap.”
He shrugs, then lifts the mug to his mouth, mirroring my motions. I look at him from beneath lowered lashes, not particulary surprised when he blushes again. “Farin, what the hell is up with you?”
“What should be?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me.”
“Why? There’s nothing.”
“Ah, nothing… and what abuout your kind of breakdown this morning?! The fact that you blush every single time I look at you, while I’ve almost never before seen you blush?! Not to mention that you keep staring at my ass, but on the other hand do not look me in the face! What the fuck, Jan? You act like a twelve-year-old girl around her first crush!”
It comes out harsher than intended. But, hell, this behaviour is nothing short of ridiculous, and yet…
“Jan … you know you can tell me everything. We’re not best friends for nothing you know.”, I continue, softer this time. Was it a flicker of one of the candles or did something slip deep in his eyes at my last sentence?
He stares down into his cup, is quiet for a moment. When he looks at me for the first time today, or at least so it seems to me, he manages a small, sad smile. “Not this one, trust me, Bela. If I told you, you’d certainly not want to be ‘best friends’ with me anymore, and then…” Startled, I interrupt him. “And what could be so bad that I’d want to throw 19 years of friendship into the trash? That I’d just kick you out of my life? You above all should know how I am! Especially now, after the car crash, when I’m happy to simply be alive!”
He’s back to examining the bottom of his cup. The cup he’s somehow managed to drain twice in the past 10 minutes. “I’m terribly sorry, Bela, but I just… can’t. it’s something I have to manage myself, and besides, you couldn’t help me out of it a bit. And now, please excuse me…” He stands up, swaying a little. “I’ll seek myself a nice uncomfortably short couch and try to get a few hours’ sleep before the party, a thing I would recommend to you, too.”
He slouches out of the kitchen, his gait unsteady. I have one more cup of the wine, taking my time to savour the rich taste, before deciding it would be best to do as Farin said.
A pleasant surprise greets me when I enter my `master bedroom’, or ‘tomb’ as I sometimes tend to refer to it: apparently, Farin Urlaub has chosen not to torture himself on a couch, but instedad has reclined on my king-sized bed. He looks really sweet like this, like an angel with this peace almost radiating from his face. A side of him I’d like to see more often… about every morning, to be exact. I slightly ruffle his hair, but yawning hits me. I should really go to sleep, and without bothering to undress, I fall onto my bed right next to Farin, and am gone shortly after my head touches the pillow.
Roughly two hours later I wake with a warm wrapped around me and a rather impressive hard-on nuzzled against my ass. Another feeling that has been lacking in my life for the past years, waking up next to each other. Even if it’s ‘only’ your best friend, I missed it, and thus am thankful for every second I dare to prolong it. My only problem is that I’m also sporting a nice erection, which Farin would certainly not be very keen on noticing. Besides, I have to get under the shower anyway. So I gently wrestle myself out of his grip, toy with his hair for one last time and make my way to the bathroom.
There, I let the water run hot while I shuck off my clothes, just dropping them to the floor. What Farin would say, obsessed with order as he is, I smile for myself. He would probably take the stuff to fold it neatly onto the toilet, and doing this, he would plan the appropriate punishment for me. Wonder what he’d come up with…
Thoughts like this accompany me under the hot stream of the shower, while I jerk myself off with routined movements. Pale skin on my mind, flawless, not tattooed and scarred like my own. Perfect. The dream of perfection I’ve had since the crash, since I woke up and saw what had become of my right arm.
I let my mind wander over his body, let my hand mirror my mind’s way on my own flesh, until I reach the peak, my stifled scream drowned by the noise of running water. The tiles are cool against my forehead when I fall against them. What I allow in my fantasies is going to stay there, I argue with myself as usual, in reality I’ll have to find other ways to reach perfection. You’re not supposed to fuck your best friend.
As usual, I get out of the shower, towel myself dry and go back to my bedroom naked. As usual, I make a beeline to my wardrobe and bend down to retrieve shorts from one of the lower drawers. Not at all as usual, I hear a strange coughing from over the bed. I spin around with the shorts still in hand, and suddenly face a seemingly very embarassed Farin who apparently reaches new dimensions of crimson.
Oops. Over all the wanking I completely forgot about him. His eyes shortly flicker up and down my naked form, regard my damaged arm and the middle area rather closely, then settle somewhere over my head.
“I’ll, erm, I’ll maybe, well, just… get out to the bathroom and let you, um, finish in here, yes?”, he stammers.
“If you want to, you can stay while I dress. Won’t take me that long, I swear.” As I say that so casually, he blushes even deeper. “No, no, it’s… it’s ok, I have to take a piss anyway.”
He hurriedly gets up and practically runs out of the room. I’m alone again, and again wondering what the hell is going on here. As if we hadn’t been naked around each other before. He’s acting like a teenage girl who accidently sees her crush na…
Realization dawns on me. Shit! I’m so stupid sometimes, really. But he couldn’t, possibly… ok he can. He’d not be the first one. But after all, he is my best friend and… stop thinking, Bela, get dressed before Jan comes back. But he just can’t…
TBC...