LEX

MY BLOG.

this is a blog focused on tokio hotel, of course! i make moodboards; i can draw inspiration from songs, events, ideas, situations, or even simple images i happen to come across! i’m open to suggestions and requests 24/7, from requests for moodboards or if you want me to write something, you can send a request in my ask box!

i mainly write about bill, but i can also write about tom, georg, and gustav. but, i don’t write toll— i don’t feel comfortable doing it.

i focus on female povs, but i can also write male povs or any povs. i can write nsfw, sfw, fluff, angst, and i can even write within the “dead dove: do not eat!” category with certain limitations and restrictions, depending on how comfortable i feel with it.

ABOUT ME.

omg finally, i’m doing this!

my name is alex, i use he/him pronouns and i’m 21 years old. i’m from mexico, and currently i’m in college and i’m a foreign languages student! i can speak spanish, english and a little bit of french.

i’ve been a fan of tokio hotel since 2020, and i love writing stories, fanfics, imagines (i’ve been doing it since 2016); self taught artist and an active smoker (?). my favorite album and era is humanoid, and of course, i’m a bill’s boy! i love lana del rey, addison rae, crystal castles; i like also visual kei, artists from mexico like flvckka, chzter (i even like juan gabriel, jenni rivera and josé josé, lol, it felt necessary to say this...)

that’s dada. that’s it. ria was SO lucky to date this man in this era.

2014-16 tom evoke feelings in me that i can't explain. they represent the epitome of his masculinity and maturity so well; i feel like these two eras (especially the present one, don’t make me START ON PRESENT TOM—) are really underrated because everyone prefers his dreadlock era in 2007 or even the 2010 era with humanoid. and you know i’m right— most of the fandom is SLEEPING on this guy.

ugghh.

please, please, please, PLEASE choke me with your cock until i can't breathe and i start gagging. grab my head and guide me while i suck you off, and force me to swallow it all when you come in my mouth. use my tongue as an ashtray, let the ashes fall on my tongue, or put out your cigarette butt in my mouth and tell me how good i was taking you so, so well.

imagine kissing him while he exhales smoke into your mouth, his hands holding you and cradling your face as he leans in. feeling his breath slightly tinged with alcohol, a hint of his perfume, the layer of gloss that would surely stain your lips after kissing him.

when he puts the cigarette to your lips so you can take a drag too, imagine that he wants you to do the same, to pass the smoke through your mouth to him.

he’d probably laugh—so clingy after giving you a simple kiss—while the noise of the party and the bass from the music thump so hard your ribs ache and your chest vibrates. together, pressed hip-to-hip, dancing to the beat of the music, just so he can repeat the gesture every time he wants a kiss.

the ‘welcome to humanoid city tour’ was a massive success. ticket sales were skyrocketing at huge arenas across europe, shattering previous records along with the quality of the performances and the props used to create that sci-fi and post-apocalyptic vibe, were giving people and the critics plenty to talk about. the final date of the european tour was that night, in france, in paris— the city of love, romance, and an unforgettable night for the band tokio hotel, since after that they wouldn’t be back on the road in the tour bus for another two weeks. the band’s success was undeniable, with such a progressive concept and a fanbase that remained loyal despite everything, supporting the four friends from magdeburg.

however, what was a successful night and another great concert for the guys, for you… was something completely different. 

the loneliness of the bed in the apartment you shared with the younger twin in hamburg felt colder than any other nights. even though the starry sky and its nocturnal blanket covered the city, the coldness of the walls could be felt and seeped right into your skin. the white sheets were disheveled, fallen to one side of the king-size bed. loving bill kaulitz was easy, but missing him… missing him was becoming painful, since you weren’t that involved in the band’s activities, even though the two of you had been dating for a year.

it had been a pure chance that the two of you had met at that café where you served—in the most clichéd way—cups of american coffee, even lattes, always smelling of caramel, sugar, and whipped cream. well, it was a private building, a huge apartment complex where he owned a second property for hiding. and the contrast with your low-key life where you were working part-time and trying to fund your university studies, was completely different from what he did full-time and what his whole life was: a rock star. 

all it took was just that exchange of glances, the moment when you handed him his regular black americano and your fingers brushed lightly with his long, ring-adorned hand, the connection was instant, and that’s when his excuses to see you every day began.

the turning point had come late, well into the night, just minutes before your shift ended, you guessed why he was there. because he had finally found someone to share something with—something that wasn’t just screams and a request for a photo together with an autograph. it was a simple night that turned into a daily routine of coffee and deep conversations about life and the world that made him realize you didn’t see him as an unattainable celebrity, but as just another human being who needed a very deserved deep breath amidst the suffocation. the friction of that emotional intimacy inevitably turned physical, needless to say, one thing led to another, and from a quickie in the employee break room, your low-key life ended up becoming the secret girlfriend of one of the rising rock stars of the time.

and now there you were, a year after that reality, lying there wearing nothing but panties and a tank top in the solitude of his apartment, missing him with a frown and a pout on your lower lip. because his absence stood out in the silence; it was everything about him that made you miss him so much. it wasn’t just the soft things: his raspy laughter or his jokes, his deep midnight conversations or his kisses, the cuddles when you fell asleep together spooning or helping each other prepare lunch. 

no; your body missed his dark side. you missed the addictive way his slender fingers wrapped around your neck and squeezed when you reached climax; it was when you felt him stretch you open and whisper words of encouragement against your half-open mouth as you gasped and moaned for more. it was the abrupt way he ended up slamming his hips against yours as he took you and overstimulated you until you cried when he lost his temper.

you missed him so much. and the tour was the only thing keeping you away from him, and it was driving you utterly insane.

it was past midnight on a chilly thursday in april. the dim lights in the master room barely illuminated it, giving the space a more intimate feel but, at the same time, claustrophobic. you squinted at the screen of your first-generation iphone, swiping your finger across it as you looked at the only name worth anything at that moment in your contact list: bill’s number and his little private nickname glowed in bold letters, as if tempting you to call him. 

the last few weeks had been intense; the sexual tension between you both meant that the lack of action in bed was taking its toll, but especially on you making you irritable, more than you usually are. you bit your thumbnail, feeling uncertain. was it wise, selfish to call him now, after such a tiring and demanding show in front of thousands of people?

one of your manicured nails scraped against the matte black plastic and worn out of the phone case like a nervous tic. and without thinking, the tip of your thumb was already pressing the dial button, calling bill and pressing the phone against your ear. the sound of your body sliding across the sheets is the only thing echoing. the concert must have ended at least an hour ago, and he should be available, right? your left fingers play with the edge of your panties; your thumb and index finger pinch the fabric. 

it rings once, twice, three times… the moment feels like an eternity.

“yeah?” bill’s voice sounds tired, but hearing it on the other end of the line, it seems as though a crooked smile is playing on his lips; somehow, you can tell he’s smiling. “oh, my love– i wasn’t expecting your call… ah, i would have loved to see you in the crowd. the energy in paris was absolute madness for our final show.”

you bite your lower lip you could taste the metallic tang of iron, and without meaning to, a soft whimper escapes your lips– how dare he? pretending to be innocent and so casual about something that was already pretty clear? whining in explicit messages, sending him teasing and high-angle photos of your body, begging him for attention… and getting nothing back but emojis and simple 'lol's was completely infuriating.

“bill…” your voice came out high-pitched, accompanying the pronunciation of his name like a prayer. the index and middle fingers of your left hand soon slid beneath the fabric of your panties, playing among your folds and gently rubbing over the little red, swollen button between your legs.

“… when are you coming home?” you asked softly, trying to hide the little moans stuck in your throat as you spoke on the phone, sliding a finger in and out of your soaking wet canal, pulling it out only to put it back “i’ve been waiting so long for you… weeks without you have been horrible…” you bite your lower lip, hoping the speaker won’t pick up the squelching sound.

“oh, really? and why is that, gorgeous?” he asks softly. that velvety tone, honeyed voice. you could detect a hint of mockery, a tiny spark of malice in his tone. he was teasing you, he was enjoying your suffering.

on the other end of the line, you hear the zippo lighter clicking open and closed several times, along with the inhalation of what you assume is a cigarette. he is smoking. suddenly, you craved that too: you miss the feeling of marlboro smoke escaping his lips and exhaled directly to your mouth, the pout that follows on your lips before he crashed his lips against yours. you started whimpering again, pressing the phone against your ear in a white-knuckled grip.

“you know exactly why, bill… stop playing dumb,” you muttered again, letting out another shaky sound before your index finger met your middle finger and you moved in increasingly clumsy and messy motions inside yourself.

you were searching for that spongy spot between your tight, hot walls, moving faster and faster as your eyes closed tightly and your upper teeth dug into your lower lip until the sharp pain mingled with the pleasure, pushing you to the edge. the squelch, appetizing sound of your fingers thrusting was barely audible, but filled the quiet room.

“stop doing that.”

the glacial tone of his voice snaps you out of your trance. the silence drags on, freezing you on your place. what–? had he heard you? hesitantly, the movements of your fingers slow down until they come to a complete stop, fingers completely soaked in your fluids and trembling from the recent rapid movements, your left arm almost have that feeling of cramping up.

“do what? i’m… i’m not doing anything…” you tried to speak, but your voice failed you, coming out shaky and syrupy; your eyes stung with tears of sexual frustration that hadn’t quite fallen yet. you were burning with desire, from your belly to your mind; the need was turning into an uncontrollable wildfire, the burning embers of a forest fire that was becoming difficult to quell.

“don’t you dare lie to me.” the pauses he took while speaking made you tremble, but not with pleasure. it was a slight fear caused by the authoritative and possessive tone he took. by the way those words came out like a hiss from between his lips.

he was losing his patience, and you were playing games, walking a tightrope. it was tempting fate, testing and poking the devil, seeing if he would bite or not. “you know how much i hate it when you lie on my face.”

the sound of bill taking a long and deep exhale of smoke rattled into the receiver on the other end, sending a chill down your spine. your back arched, and your thighs rubbed against each other, knowing that your poor attempt to hide your pleasure had been in vain.

“i can hear you breathing, you know, sweetheart? hell, even from here, i can hear how soaked and pathetic you are when you move your hand,” he exclaimed, like a complaint, only it didn’t seem like one. he was terrifying calm. a real sob escaped your lips; you clenched the phone so hard against your cheek that the side of your face stung with pain as you pressed the phone harder and harder. “pull your hand out. now.”

“b-bill…” you shook your head, even though you knew he couldn’t see you. it was at that moment, when those words left his mouth, that you realized your fate was sealed. bill wasn’t going to take no for an answer, much less any disobedience on your part. you never stood a chance against him. somehow or other, you used to succumb to him so easily —despite having known each other for such a short time— that it was easy for him to read you… to him, you were an open book.

you heard him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth; that simple little sound made every fiber of your skin bristle, the hairs of your arms stand up.

“get your fingers out of there,” he muttered. you could hear the sound of leather creaking as it shifted; he was probably settling into his seat. “a whole month away on tour, and the absolute best you can do is call me up to finger yourself like a needy animal while listening to my voice? you are utterly pathetic, you know that?”

you didn’t know that on the other end he had that crooked and dark twisted smile, turned up at the corners, full of mockery and malice, but you sensed it. although what you did know it was that bill loved teasing you, tempting you, provoking you to get a reaction out of you when it came to foreplay. a gasp of humiliation escapes your lips as you hear him, because he was right.

since the tour across europe began, the last time you saw each other was exactly a month ago, during a two-day break he had in march. and since then, his schedule has been nonstop—rehearsals and concerts from one country to another, from one city to another—with limited rest in a small tour bus that smelled of testosterone and energy drinks, marlboro cigarettes, and deodorant.

“i’m not… i’m not pathetic,” you tried to murmur, your words falling into nothingness. there was nothing that could save you from the obvious. “please, bill. it hurts so much. you don’t know how hard it is to be alone in bed. i– please– tell me what to do, tell me what you’ll do to me when you get back, please…”

your pleas were lost amid the occasional and broken gasp; as soon as your fingertips once again reached that overwhelming sensation of filling your dripping, desperate entrance, small, treacherous tears were already escaping and wetting your cheeks as they slowly slid down your eyes.

“tch.” he cut off your pleas with another one of those clicks of his tongue. you heard the sound of his zippo lighter as it snapped shut; you can feel, even if he isn’t physically there with you, the clash of his menthol-laced breath and his cologne. woody notes, lavender, and something powdery—like the scent of his dior homme intense that used to linger on your skin when you hugged him, when you were close.

“do you miss me that much, baby?” his voice turned surprisingly honeyed, a velvety caress that made you roll your eyes right then and there, and your stomach drop. clinging to your phone and the voice coming from it as if it were your last lifeline, you nodded. “do you miss the way i fuck you until you cry? do you miss making so much goddamn noise that the building management threatens to evict us because you can’t keep your mouth shut?”

“bill, oh god–” your lips part slightly, the tingling sliding down your crotch like an electric current that makes you spasm and your walls clench. you can picture it, in detail, and vividly. your hand presses gently against the fabric of your panties, you purse your lips and try with all your might to obey his command. “y-yes… b-bill, please…”

“too bad.” his sudden voice cut off any trace of imagination and inspiration, stopping you in your tracks with your back arched and your hips in an awkward position. “learn to wait for me like a good girl, gorgeous. i’m arriving in hamburg tomorrow, but between label meetings and post-tour press … we’ll have to see if i can even find a spare hour to deal with such a spoiled, impatient little brat.”

“n-no!” you rolled over on the bed, suddenly falling onto your side and making a crash on the floor that he surely heard. it took you a second—which felt like an eternity—to adjust to your surroundings. with one hand, you brushed the stray hair from your face, and with the other, you grabbed the iphone that had bounced off the carpeted floor, cracking the screen and the case a little more in the process. “b-bill, wait! don’t–!”

the screen went black. the call has finally ended.

you felt it deep inside you, throbbing, pulsing in desperation just like the rest of your trembling body. you stared at your phone screen in frustration. the same screen that glowed, showing it was past midnight, and the wallpaper—a photo of bill in a candid looking beautifully backstage—made you growl in frustration as you remembered the reason for your current state.

face down, you dug your nails into the apartment’s dark carpet and muffled the scream of his name against the floorboards, cursing him over and over, hoping the neighbors wouldn’t hear your breakdown filled with sexual frustration and desperation.

the night was torturous, a sweltering hell between the silk sheets and the mattress that felt more uncomfortable than any of the previous nights. you got up earlier than usual a little bit after ten in the morning, going through your daily hygiene routine— brushing your teeth while adjusting the towel wrapped around your hair. you frowned as you looked at yourself in the mirror of the room’s shared bathroom, your head a whirlwind of emotions that kept spinning round and round.

you could see the dark circles under your eyes were a little more pronounced as you huffed, letting tiny droplets of the foam of the toothpaste fly out to the mirror glass— what did that bastard think he was playing at? you spat out the toothpaste in the sink and slammed the toothbrush down rather sharply; the plastic clattered against the ceramic holder where bill’s toothbrush was. 

leaving the damp towel from your hair after drying it with aggressive, impatient strokes, you hung the towel back onto its minimalist metal ring, next to the huge mirror. you had to admit, taking a cold shower had been a relief despite the weather conditions that april morning.

but it wasn’t easy. 

you could still feel that tingling, that sweet burning sensation between your thighs, throbbing as if it wanted you to keep stoking the fire, to pour gasoline on embers that were already waiting to blaze like the trojan horse. reluctantly, you had to find some distraction while you waited for whatever that morning had in store for you.

you threw on an old, heavily faded, and beautifully soft vintage t-shirt belonging to bill. an oversized charcoal-black piece featuring an archival, distressed logo from tokio hotel's prime days, old merch from, you assume, before you two even met— the thick cotton swallowed your frame entirely, hem resting mid-thigh. 

your bare feet padded and guided you through the empty, silent hallways of the apartment toward the kitchen, where you automatically started the machine to brew coffee so the beans would start to filter through, and made some toast with butter and jam for breakfast.

the aroma was starting to feel familiar, cozy. a small glimmer of peace on that gray morning filled with thick clouds that seemed reluctant to let the sunlight through. leaning your hips against the gray marble bar with your cup between your fingers, you gazed absently at the sky and some of the city’s massive skyscrapers.

but nothing could fully capture your attention.

you could still hear bill’s authoritative voice on the phone; you could recall every breath, every gasp and tickling that traveled through your body down to your belly, making you squirm… now it all felt so distant, even though it had happened just a couple of hours ago. the coffee maker hissed slightly and that makes your head turn in that direction. you took the jar with your free hand and pour yourself the coffee carefully, trying to balance the weight of the pot as you pour the caffeine-packed drink for the day.

the took a slow sip of your mug, closing your eyes at the burning sensation in your lips. unconsciously, you slid one of your hands under the hem of your t-shirt to feel the silk fabric of your clean panties. bill’s words before he hung up were the only thing repeating in your mind, over and over in a loop. it was impossible not to react that way to him, because with every detail of his being—between gestures and words, even a fucking glaze— caused a thin layer of moisture to dampen your panties.

“asshole…” slips from your lips as you pout your lower lip and frown for the fifth time that morning, taking one last long, slow sip of your coffee. 

then, you hear it.

beep, beep, beep… click.

the digital beep of the electronic lock echoed through the deathly silence at the front door. and there was only one other person in the entire building, besides you and the building security, who knew the combination. your heart seemed to do a 180-degree flip right then and there, and you didn’t know whether to move or say something. the only part of your body that could function was your head, which turned toward the door, your eyes wide open and your lips pressed into a thin line; your fingers trembled as they set the cup down on the bar.

“is anyone actually awake in here?” bill kaulitz’s unmistakable voice finally made its presence known, and it still felt foreign even after a month.

the sharp click of his designer heeled boots rattled on the wooden floor, accompanied by the metallic rattle of house keys and the dull thud of heavy luggage being dropped onto the limestone tiles. his voice had come out raspy, somewhat tired, and slightly baritone, carrying the weight of more than 30 shows on his shoulders.

you didn’t move, you didn’t react. you blended in with the furniture as you watched him arrive, perhaps in a state of absolute surprise to have him there, finally, in the flesh after so long.

“wow… what a warm welcome.”

his dark hair, slicked back, probably still had traces of the hairspray he used to keep it in place during hours and hours of rehearsals and performances. around his eyes, there were still traces of kohl, beneath his lashes and next to the dark circles caused by the lack of sleep he endured during those long, endless trips. he was drowning in a massively oversized black designer hoodie that slipped off his frame, exposing his razor-sharp pale clavicles and the constellation of natural moles decorating his throat. he wore spray-on skinny jeans in a heavily distressed, shredded charcoal denim that clung perfectly to his long, impossibly lean legs. the look was anchored by massive, high-top rick owens platform boots that lent him an imposing, otherworldly height. 

you felt the tremor in your lower lip, which spread almost to your jaw. you couldn’t believe it. to have him there in front of you after a whole month of an absence that still felt embedded in the walls of the apartment. you could notice the brief moment when his brow furrowed, and the corners of his lips curved into that mocking smile that wanted to appear but—it wasn’t time yet.

rage coursed through your veins, bubbling like burning lava sliding down an erupting volcano. “a warm welcome? are you out of your goddamn mind, bill?” the question slips from your lips sharp enough, perhaps more than you intended, but that tone gave away your state. pure desperation, need transformed into rage, anger at having been deprived of a biological need you were accustomed to with him.

“what? am I wrong?” he tilted his head; the feigned innocence and mockery still present in his tone made even your left eye twitch slightly; something that took you a few minutes to notice and control because it happened so unconsciously.

you watched as he freed his hands to tuck them into the pockets of his hoodie, pulling out a pack of marlboro golds along with his zippo; the cigarette was taken from the fresh pack to be held between his slender fingers. the cylindrical object rested on his lips, and he lit it with an ease that made you shake your head while the orange flames lit his sharp but androgynous features of his face.

he inhales the smoke and exhales it to the side. he shifts his weight from one leg to the other and rests a hand on his hip. then, he sweeps his gaze over you, but it’s not with disdain or any kind of intensity; it’s more like an acknowledgment. a thorough, deeply possessive that, despite everything, you’re still standing there barefoot with barely any clothes covering your body. 

“you’re wearing my shirt,” he murmured, letting the eyebrow adorned with the titanium piercing arch; its glint accentuated the expression on his face. “look at you... it completely swallows you whole.”

“it smells like you.” you shot back. your voice comes out pained, and with your fingernails dug deep into your palms so har they left white crescent marks —perhaps it was the indifference in his words that made you hurt yourself in that gesture. as if it were obvious, your hands quickly went to the hem of your shirt to pull it down, pressing the fabric against your thighs as if that would protect you from his intrusive gaze and the dangerous glint that turned his hazel eyes.

“and that’s why you threw it on? to pretend i was here holding you? that is deeply adorable, sweetheart.” gray smoke drifts in a perfect stream from his mouth, forming beautiful, small ribbons in the air that end up surrounding both of you. you swallowed hard; the scent was intensifying, supplanting the cozy, homey smell of coffee and toast now cooling nearby.

“too bad that little piece of fabric isn’t nearly enough to fill you up down there between your legs, is it?”

those words were the blade that severed the last thread of your sanity.

you took long strides, crossing the kitchen, standing so close your chests practically brushed with every ragged breath, and raised your index finger, pointing his chest accusingly. “you are an absolute, narcissistic piece of work, bill. ” your chin tilted up sharply to bridge the massive height deficit. your eyes glazed over as tears of frustration—like last night’s—threatened to spill from your eyes once more.

“you abandon me for an entire month, you ignore my texts, you treat my calls like a joke, you bark commands at me over the phone... and then last night you just hang up on me like I’m nothing! do you have any idea how i feel!? how bad i had it last night without you? you treat me like you don’t even care!”

his smile only widened, “i treat you the way you like to be treated.” and you felt a jolt in your chest that made you flinch, startling you slightly and causing you to lean back just a little, your eyes widening in surprise. he countered your words with a sentence so simple that you didn’t know how to respond.

his body pressed against yours; the cigarette that had been between his fingers was forgotten in a nearby ashtray in the kitchen, since bill had too many of these scattered around his apartment when he had get-togethers with friends— a very european habit of his. as he tilted his head down when he closed the distance further, he let a few dark strands of his hair brush against your face, enveloping both of you in a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

he was always right, and that was the core of your humiliation, of the rawest, most sickening feeling you had for him, buried deep within your being: bill kaulitz knew you inside and out; he knew exactly which buttons to push to twist your argument and turn everything against you, reducing you to a mess in a matter of mere seconds.

a dry laugh left his lips, “you’re so damn predictable, kleine*,” he murmured, his cold breath hitting your face, and suddenly, you felt completely overwhelmed. you tried to turn your face away, looking to the side, but his long fingers, adorned with a few silver rings on his right hand, reached for your face, squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to maintain eye contact with him.

“bill, please... stop... if you’re just going to be mean, let me go.” you managed to mumble, your cheeks and lips puffed out from the pressure on your face, your eyes looking down so you wouldn’t have to look at him directly. the force made your feet stumble against the cold kitchen floor.

“mean? sweetheart, if i wanted to be truly mean, i would’ve let you beg all night on the phone.” his fingers forced your head to move from side to side like a toy, almost mimicking the movement of a rattle. he was trying to make you look at him, one way or another. his fingers curled, and his fingertips dug into the skin of your face without hurting you completely, “are you still soaking wet from last night?”

you didn’t answer him the first time; you squirmed and shifted your body from side to side, feebly trying to wriggle free from him. even though you didn’t want to. because you liked how easily he had you under his control, the slight harshness of his baritone voice—authoritative, possessive. he shook your face gently again, his eyes narrowing and his smile fading slightly into a more serious expression.

“answer me.”

“i hate you.” those were the first words that came out after his question, and with them, more tears of pure frustration slid down the corners of your eyes, staining and wetting your skin as they fell. he gently loosened his grip on your face, allowing you to speak more easily, revealing a small smile for a few seconds at your confession. “you know exactly how desperate i get when you leave me alone here... you know what I do to myself...”

“you don’t do anything alone unless i order you to,” he interrupted brusquely. now he used both hands to cradle your face; his thumbs brushed your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your bottom teeth. “do you truly hate me because i’m mean? do you want me to stop being mean, hmm? do you want me to give you what you’ve been whining for all month? ”

“open your mouth…” he murmured slowly, dragging out the words as if he’d taken his time to do so. you felt a shiver run down your spine—another one of those delightful chills that only he could give you. your name slipped from his lips like a warning, though it didn’t feel like one. “open your mouth and show me that you still know how to obey me.”

the center of your eyebrows arched upward, and then it happened. the submission, so ingrained in your entire body, finally shone through as you wrinkled your nose and your jaw—still clamped by his long fingers—gently parted, revealing your trembling, pink tongue and the warmth of your mouth. that whole area trembles, the tip of your tongue dropping down to cover part of your chin, your own saliva glistening pearlescently.

it was enough to give him room to do what you already knew he was going to do. because it was something you loved and craved him doing so much.

the smile on bill’s lips turned into one of smugness, of cruel delight. he leaned his face closer to yours; the tug you felt in your neck as you leaned back—unable to tear your gaze away from him—caused the muscles beneath your skin to tense. the new position was uncomfortable but full of anticipation. he puckered his lips, bringing his mouth close to yours but without touching them. then you felt the abrupt spittle of saliva fall coldly onto the center of your tongue, the taste of mint and bitter tobacco flooding your taste buds.

“swallow it,” he ordered, puckering your face again. a spasm runs through your entire body as well as your lips. you closed your mouth, glaring at him and letting out a barely audible high-pitched moan, and the sound of your throat consuming the spit pushed him to the limit, to a point where the simple act of hearing you receive crumbs from him even after a month further inflated his ego. the perfect trigger.

the man with jet-black hair slowly released your face, but the slap of his hand against your cheek was swift. plaf! you were grateful that it was one of his hands, free of the silver rings you used to wear. the moment the slap landed on your cheek, his right hand had struck you so hard that even your head turned, accompanying the moment with a sharp, pained moan that mingled, it traveled from your belly to the swollen, reddish little button hidden beneath your silk panties.

it couldn’t be possible that you’d actually gotten turned on by something like that.

“up on the bar. now.” he ordered again in that authoritative tone. between the burning of your skin and the puffs escaping your lips as you breathed heavily, your chest rose and fell violently. your trembling hands rested on the bar without turning your back to him, and you leaped up and sat down, spreading your legs toward him to receive him.

without waiting any longer, you wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him close in one swift motion and whimpering, finally giving in to your most primal instincts as you rubbed your crotch against the hard bulge in his denim pants, moving back and forth because of how hot that hard bulge felt against you. your expression is one of pure pleasure. your head fell back and your lips parted, reddish and wet.

“you are a disgusting, needy little thing... i have truly spoiled you rotten.” his hands squeeze your bare thighs, and they roam, soft yet rough against your skin, kneading the flesh and caressing the area with brutal roughness, squeezing and scratching to ensure marks and scratches the next day that would be all too obvious. “you cry when I give you a simple order, you cry when i’m gone, you cry on the phone… you’re so pathetic.”

with your eyes half-closed, another whimper escapes your lips. but your eyes flew wide open in shock when bill’s fingertips tear through the fine silk of your panties, ripping them apart with a violent jerk. he bracelets on his wrists jingled against the marble, the veins in his hands and arms stood out with the simplicity of that movement, thanks to the rolled-up sleeves of his sweatshirt; freed, finally, the cold morning air seeped into your warm intimacy, and you shiver.

“but i’m finally home, my love. and i’m going to put you back in your fucking place.”

he doesn’t give you a chance to process the loss of the garment—or everything else that’s happening in general—because it’s all happening so fast. with a roughness that makes you gasp loudly and sharply, he slips his hands under your buttocks and yanks you to the end of the bar in one swift motion, forcing you to hang right on the edge, forcing your knees past his shoulders.

his long fingers go straight to the zipper of his pants. the creak of the metal as it unzips echoes through the kitchen. the air leaves your lungs and it feels as though you’ve stopped breathing as you watch his perfectly manicured fingers play with the metal buckle, undoing the belt with agility. it opens along with the button on his pants and the zipper slides down as he pulls on the denim fabric— then, you see it.

your eyes seemed to take on a gleam, a gleam that had been lost from your dull irises. thick enough, perfect length. fully erect and hard, dripping pre-cum from the tip and flushed red, with veins running along its length. you could feel saliva pooling in your mouth, making you swallow hard on the spot. bill deliberately took the crown of his head, dragging it slowly up and down across your wet folds and mimic thrusts against your clitoris. you felt your brain short-circuit, exploding in euphoria.

“look at me.” his languid fingers encircle your neck, squeezing and forming a beautiful collar with his hand, cutting off your air. you roll your eyes back, but you know it’s better to obey to receive what you’ve needed so badly after so, so long. you lock eyes with him, and nod your head in frantic compliance, increasingly mesmerized, impatient. 

he didn’t waste any time. with a sudden thrust, he slammed himself fully into you. he didn’t give you a chance to breathe, to prepare. it was so deep and so fast that you could feel your inner walls stretching and touching your cervix after a long period of abstinence. you arch your back, pulling away from the cold marble, your fingers clawing at the fabric on his shoulders, and you let out a scream that the neighbors probably weren’t missing. every part of your body contorted, stiff as your toes or the muscles in your calves. 

“god, bill!” he begins to move from front to back letting the garment of his pants slide down his legs until he falls to the floor, the skin of his hips as well as the bone of them stamping mercilessly over and over again. the tendons of his neck tighten, an animalistic growl comes out of his lips and closes his eyes tightly with each movement that pierces you endlessly, constantly and rhythmically.

“so hot and tight…” he slides his hand down your neck, releasing it. his face is down, inches from yours. his breath hits your eyelashes and you can hear him better, admire his face better. you love how he's taking you, finally, after so long. your brain is completely liquefied made a pulp, you can't think, you can only concentrate on the deliciously dirty way he talks to you and fucks, without stopping, your insides. “do you love how easily i break your pathetic little pussy after you… spent all month crying over the phone, mhm?”

“b-bill... more, please, more…” you plead undone, swinging your pelvis to receive each of his deep lunges. you can feel the cramp in your legs that slide down his torso when you cannot hold on to him. you are increasingly weaker, more unable to keep up with him but dazed with sensations.

“sh. you’ll take exactly what i choose to give you… and you're going to shut. up.” his arms held your legs, raising them until he put them above his shoulders, changing the position to expose you more to him and go deeper. a squeal left your sore throat, looking down to see the obscene union between the two that was slightly cut by the sudden movement by his hips. “you certainly had a lot of big words over the phone last night.”

he used his free hand to forcefully press your lower belly, just above your pubic bone. every time he rammed, your body swayed like that of a rag doll being shaken, feeling it go deep with the change of the new position. the sudden pressure of his long, bony fingers on your bladder, combined with the brutal impact of his limb hitting your most sensitive, deepest g-spot from that new angle, caused a catastrophe in your body.

you had been accumulating tension for hours, accumulating your pleasure so much that the stimulus was too much. you felt a different heat wave invade your pelvis, a muscular disorder that made you open your eyes suddenly, terrified.

“b-bill, wait... n-no, stop, i-i'm going to...” you tried to warn, your voice breaking in an asthmatic moan and with your chest violently rising and falling when you tried to breathe normally, while you tried to close your legs in a useless way due to how trapped you were under his shifting weight.

“what? what are you going to do, hm?” he provoked, far from stopping. when he noticed the resistance of your muscles and the erratic tremor in your belly, his smile widened, his hazel eyes shining with a sadistic delight. it's as if he knew exactly what he was doing when he deliberately pressed on your abdomen and moved even violently inside you without allowing you to breathe. “come on, do it. let go, you dirty, filthy girl.”

the last push untied the pressure knot in your belly. a sharp, dull squeal left your sore throat at the same time you completely lost control. along with the contractions of your walls that clung around bill mercilessly, what you thought was an orgasm for a second was a hot, translucent thread of liquid that escaped your intimacy, splashing not only the gray marble of the bar, but down to the hips of the major and your own shirt soaking everything in its wake.

you stood stiff, your chest rising and falling panting, the tears of unspeakable humiliation finally overflowing down your cheeks as you watched the disaster you had just wrought under the watchful eye of your boyfriend. but bill didn't stop. his hips resumed the rhythmic and savage movement stamping against the skin of your thighs once again, causing a violent overstimulation in the slightest fiber of your body until you began to see that white static in your eyes, they roll back like your head crashing in a thud against the marble.

from your mouth could not come out one more sound, your vocal cords burning and ruined due to how abused they were due to your screaming, moaning too much for him. everything was mute for you. he sank once, twice, his lips kissed sparingly on yours, strolling his tongue and the cold moisture of his saliva on yours leaving traces on your entire face. you could hear him growl, as his teeth clenched and his jaw tightened again with the tendons and his muscles marking under his pale skin.

then, finally the orgasm hits you like a sudden wave that invades your whole body. it makes you have spasms, contractions not only of your walls that cling to its length again but the rest of your body, like the toes of your feet that contract and your arms that cramp in the same position, squeezing the shoulders of bill. your back forms a perfect arc when separating from the bar, and he sinks a couple more times until he stays completely still. 

“fuck– fuck!” he looks like a wild beast as he growls, his nails almost pierce your skin when you tighten it, he stays on top of you with his chest pushing your legs against yours and causing you exquisite pain in these. the thick white and raw strips of his semen fall endlessly into your battered interior, filling you perfectly because his seed overflowed your swollen entrance, the amount he seemed to have retained was dense due to the time you were both away.

you were suspended in a limbo of pure exhaustion, with your eyes squinting towards the ceiling and your asthmatic breathing. what you had finally wished for, after so long. despite the marks, the pain… the smile of relief that decorated your lips, no one could take it away from you, because through tantrum and whim, you had finally achieved what you had so longed for that tortuous month. 

and you were not going to let him go so easily, because he had two weeks off and, even if it cost you your whole body and your dignity, you were going to make the most of it, making sure he ruined you every single day. * kleine: in german, it means 'small' or 'little one'.

the advanced english class was always held during the last period of the school day, five days a week, and it was always, without exception, a real snooze fest. you struggled to keep your eyes open and not explode with profanities as you listened to the person next to you chewing gum loudly. you gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and slumped onto your desk, letting your arms fall in front of you and sighing as you closed your eyes.

school was nothing like those american TV shows and commercials had painted it—they didn’t waste any time bombarding you with that image. the gymnasium was a public institution that provided students with free education, scholarships, and high-status academic and career opportunities. and yet, its students, who were pushing twenty, still acted as if they were fifteen. vandalism in the school bathrooms, skipping class to go smoke in a hidden corner of the building, spiked drinks smuggled in illegally, people snorting lines and inhaling them in some corner of the basketball court in broad daylight.

for you? well, what exactly did you have in mind? it’s not like you had any other choice anyway—you hated being cooped up within those four boring walls, sitting through a class where you already had all the necessary knowledge, vast and concise. the thirteenth year was your last, and with summer vacation just around the corner and final exams for graduation threatening your mental stability, the only thought running through your head was this: no more, never again.

the bell wouldn’t ring for another hour and a half; at noon, with the sun at its highest point, it rose perfectly in the blue sky of that thursday in may 2009; not to mention the stifling heat with the windows open and the sun’s rays beating down with all their might on the poor students who were agonizing and surviving with the neglected ceiling fans that created a screech with every clumsy movement to create a breeze.

the teacher’s voice was a murmur that faded into the background, speaking with a tortuously slow, nasal tone that made your skin crawl, praying and hoping it would end sooner so your academic torture would be over as quickly as possible. as he talked about adverbs, auxiliary verbs, and conjugations, you swore you were going to pass out at any moment. a grunt escapes your lips; you shift, still leaning on the desk with your forehead pressed against it. your school skirt rides up as your legs stretch to relieve the numbness, and you feel uncomfortable from the sweat running down your chest and sticking to your uniform shirt.

ptss. not even five minutes had passed. a sound makes you frown, and you shake your head; it was like a soft hiss. was it your imagination, or—? ptssss. there it is again. it’s longer this time and makes you click your tongue subtly in the silence of the classroom, which is still filled with the teacher’s bored mumbling—now going over a list of verbs to learn. you raise an eyebrow, sigh, and don’t expect to come face to face with bill kaulitz.

sitting next to you, looking at you with those wide-open hazel eyes and an expectant expression.

seriously, where would you even begin to describe bill kaulitz? who in the entire school didn’t know bill kaulitz? he was the living, breathing definition of teenage royalty, since he was way, way above most students in terms of the school’s social hierarchy. sometimes you’d forget he was sitting next to you.

a fashion icon, his uniform could make him look like everyone else—just another student at the school—but it was his unique touch that set him apart from the rest (not to mention the trouble he’d gotten into with the school administration for breaking the dress code) because even though the uniform shirts were white, he added a distinctive touch. from studded bracelets on his arms, dark kohl around his eyes, extravagant necklaces of different styles and lengths, as well as platinum-blonde dreadlocks that shone through his dark, matte hair—as black as night—which fell to the lower part of his shoulders.

bill kaulitz wasn't just popular and kind to others; he was a ray of sunshine despite his rebellious, dark appearance. he stood out. not only was he handsome, but he was quite attractive. he had a button nose, slightly upturned with a soft, subtle curve. his lips were full, with his lower lip standing out when he spoke or smiled. his eyes were slightly almond-shaped, but they looked like a doll’s when he opened them, and his cheekbones were slightly defined—he was ethereal, almost too much so for his own good. you didn’t realize you’d been staring at him, mesmerized, until he tilted his head, causing his hair to dance against gravity with the movement.

your cheeks flushed involuntarily at something as slight as that.

he looks straight ahead, then turns his gaze back to you. for a moment, your eyes drift toward the front of the classroom, where the teacher keeps scribbling vaguely on the blackboard with a piece of chalk; until, across your desk, he slides a neatly folded piece of paper toward you; his fingers are adorned with silver rings and an impeccable dark manicure. you frown and turn your gaze away from him, toward the small object; the question was obvious and written all over your face: ‘are you talking to me? to me? a mere mortal?’ you hesitate for a second; your fingers reach for the same piece of paper, and the trembling tips of your fingers try to ensure that the rustling sound doesn’t draw anyone’s attention in that deathly silence.

his handwriting is elegant, yet hurried. the dark ink from his pen seemed to fade as it scribbled across the pale sheet of paper, his letters slanting slightly to the right:

'im bored, i need a cigarette third-floor bathrooms, 3 minutes :)'

now it was your turn to tilt your head, perplexed by the sudden confession and command contained in that simple note, because it was direct, written without further ado. you didn't know each other beyond lending each other pencils and asking what day it was; he was more focused on hanging out with people like him—attractive in appearance and with anti-establishment ideals; like his twin brother, tom kaulitz, who was nonetheless an anarchic presence amid the stuffy, strict school atmosphere, famous among some girls and known for having graffitied the brick wall next to the principal’s office—a stunt that earned him a one-week suspension, only for him to return in baggy pants, his cornows adorned with bandages and black oversized t-shirts. more rebellious, and more chaotic than before.

but that story was for another day.

when your eyes look up to see him, your gaze meets his. he wasn’t pretending to study or feigning interest in whatever the teacher was writing on the blackboard, the chalk scraping softly against the board. he was looking at you, with those magnetic eyes and a faint, crooked smile at the corner of his lips, which were slightly red from the heat and from biting them so much. as if, between the two of you, telepathically, you had reached a mutual agreement: the class was becoming as stifling as the heat. he rested his elbow on the desk and, with the palm of his hand, propped up his chin to get a better look at you, tilting his face so that his perfect profile was visible.

“they say the bathrooms in the south wing are the only ones with the windows open today,” he murmured in a barely audible whisper, meant for only you to hear. you raised your eyebrows and your lips parted slightly, thinking of a reply, but he didn’t give you the chance as he continued, “will you come with me?” why did the way he spoke to you feel so natural? perhaps it was the curiosity of the moment that got the better of you. “don’t think about it, just move.” you felt your heart pounding against your chest, not just because of his words, but because of what he did next.

he stood up with a grace that surprised you; the chair made no sound as it slid across the polished wooden floor. “herr* miller? i’m not feeling well. I think the heat is… getting to me. can I step out for a moment?” his tone had become dramatic, theatrical, to show just how badly the heat was affecting him and to escape those last 80 minutes of the final period. you bit your lip; your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest at any moment. with his usual indifference, professor miller waved his hand vaguely, giving the young man permission.

you swallowed hard, and he, tall and slender, had easily slipped out of the classroom. you couldn’t believe what your eyes had seen. would you have the same luck if you said the same thing or something similar to him? what was that impulse that had driven you to skip class and sneak off to vandalize a school bathroom? you tried to calm the trembling of your hands and your right leg, which was bobbing up and down in an anxious tic at the thought of what you were about to do: putting away your notebooks and school supplies. your body was already betraying you, and your mind was sabotaging you with catastrophic scenarios. you raised your hand, catching the teacher’s attention and a few glances. “herr* miller, could i go to the nurse’s office for some water? i don’t feel well…”

the grumpy old man muttered something unintelligible, something you couldn't make out, and you set your backpack aside to follow bill out through the creaking wooden classroom door. the hallway was empty; the rest of the grades were in class, of course. you tried to go unnoticed, letting your school shoes echo down the long hallway as you walked; the tiles created a soft clatter. as you climbed the spiral staircase from the second floor to the third, you could see it: in the distance, in the south corner, the bathrooms had a restricted area under renovation. no students or teachers allowed—administrative staff only.

you could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins; it was dangerous. you’d never done anything like this in your entire time at school— so why now? just because bill kaulitz had pressured you into it? what would have happened if you’d refused? deep down, you hoped it would be worth whatever he was planning—between smoking tobacco and having you there by his side.

it’s deserted at this hour, so there shouldn’t be any problem. you glanced over your shoulder once, twice. you tried to steady your trembling hand, pushed open the creaking door, and finally stepped inside. you’re hit by the smell of cheap disinfectant, burning tobacco in the heat of the sun, and chlorine—a very strong smell of chlorine. you wrinkle your nose at the strong scent, and bringing a hand to your face, your eyes finally catch sight of him. leaning casually against the tiles on the wall, bill stood with his arms crossed. the cigarette between his lips and his long fingers held the carcinogenic cylinder as he took a drag and then exhaled, letting the smoke dance around him; the lack of airflow caused the smoke and the smell to linger in the already filthy bathroom.

small puddles of water, the sound of an unrepaired leak, disastrous graffiti, obscenities and insults on the stalls, and the long horizontal mirror above the sinks was cracked in some corners. now you understood why no one came here; it was utterly disgusting. you looked at bill and gave him a gentle smile, the corners of your mouth lifting as you took hesitant steps toward him.

“i knew you’d come,” he said softly, smoke wafting nimbly from his nose as if he were already an expert at it. he watches you, perhaps with tenderness, perhaps with interest; perhaps surprised that you’re there, spending your last period with him. whatever it was that brought you to this little sanctuary with him was enough. you had him in the palm of your hand, just as he had you. only neither of you was fully aware of it. “this place is gross, isn’t it?” he laughed, his hand reaching out to you to show you the small, thin cigarette, already well on its way to being finished. “do you smoke?”

“s-sometimes.” you were surprised your voice didn’t tremble, though a slight stutter had slipped out. you muttered, biting your lower lip. the flesh remains between your teeth, and as soon as you release them, your fingers brush against his, which, in contrast to the heat, feel warm and almost cold to the touch. you took the cigarette, bringing it to your lips as you took a deep drag. the smoke lingered in your lungs for a moment before you exhaled it through your lips to the side, feeling the heat rise up your cheeks. It stung your nose for a moment, but you tried to hide it.

it felt too intimate, a moment like that.

“why…?” you asked, still somewhat incredulous. “why did you want me to come? we’ve never… spoken before.”

he raised an eyebrow at you, before smiling, showing his teeth. he made a subtle movement with his shoulder, lifting it in a dismissive gesture, as if it weren’t important. but to you, it was; “you stare at me a lot in class.” you swallowed hard, your heart feeling like it had flipped in your chest, a complete 180-degree turn. and it was true, because that moment in the classroom a few minutes ago wasn’t the only one; where, mesmerized, you had been admiring and appreciating every feature of his face, every fiber of his skin. how embarrassing. you gave him back the cigarette, but your face turned away from him, trying not to look at him, using your free hand to cover your face.

you heard him laugh again. was he laughing at you? it was normal to feel embarrassed, wasn’t it? he takes the cigarette from your hand, but at the same time, with his free hand, he takes your wrist and pulls you toward him. it was a smooth but decisive movement. he doesn't use much force, but enough so that your side bumps against his chest, erasing any distance between you. you open your eyes in surprise, blinking once, twice, unable to believe what's happening. he, still leaning his back against the yellowed, dirty bathroom tiles, his legs slightly apart, traps you between them, turning you to face him. the cigarette dances between his full lips, the smoke drifting between you.

his eyes pierce you, a gleam almost indescribable, making you lose yourself.

“you’re doing it again,” he says in a baritone voice, though it sounds like it’s dropped an eighth of a pitch. his face has tilted so close to yours that your noses are almost touching. doing what? watching him? “looking at me like that…” he murmurs softly, his breath cool and fresh, smelling of mint and the tobacco from the cigarette that now falls beside you, going out almost instantly. then it happens. the clash of lips is almost abrupt, yet maintains a gentle softness. there’s a moment of hesitation, a pause in the union. you freeze; what seemed like seconds feels like an eternity, but you dare to return the kiss, and the hunger becomes ravenous.

* herr: formality used for men as a sign of respect, can be translated as ‘sir’.

“bill…” you mutter as you feel the cold of the wall and its dirty tiles seep into your skin, your arms warm. his name escapes your chapped lips like a prayer, a need that echoes throughout the bathroom. he holds you close, pushing his hips against your ass, his chest against your back, and he thrusts gently, the friction between your bodies electric. you can feel it, growing, hard. it’s a tingling sensation that, when you realize what’s happening, you can’t help but release as a soft moan.

“if you want us to get caught…” his words come out restrained, as if he’s holding back; a few long, dark strands of his hair brush against your face. but you both know that these simple touches won’t stop there. you gently part your lips, nodding, but close them again, your upper teeth biting and trapping your lower lip. he runs his long, cold fingers under your shirt, feeling the scent of your perfume and the barely perceptible sweat of your uniform beneath his fingertips, and the shiver that runs down your skin when his rings brush against your abdomen.

he's not slow, but he tries to be delicate and gentle as he touches you, savoring you. then his fingers move up to the curve of your breasts, where he cups them through the fabric of your bra, pulling the hardness of the cups down to free them. “so pretty…” he murmurs against your neck, kissing your skin and gently marking the area with soft kisses, sucking sounds, and playful bites that leave no marks. with both hands, his index finger and thumb knead the tips of your nipples until they harden. you feel as if your legs are giving way; the touch becomes an explosion of sensations at how sensitive you feel, especially coming from a stranger like him.

in a brazen move, those hands that had been teasing your nipples now slipped under your skirt, lifting the back to pull down your panties in one swift motion, exposing your hot entrance, fluids already spreading, and a heat that contrasted sharply with the air rushing against it. "b-bill!" his name escaped your lips in surprise, and he chuckled softly at this, not before placing a tender kiss on your cheek. your trembling hands went to your uniform shirt, pulling it over your head and off, pressing it against you as you bit the fabric; you were going to need it. and badly.

he wastes no time; his index finger slips inside and begins its work, slowly sliding in and out. your teeth clench a little tighter, eagerly welcoming the intrusion as you gently and slowly move your hips in sync with his wrist. your panties fall to your ankles, and you turn to watch him work, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. his brow is furrowed, his gaze a dull, gleaming, soft brown, expression of pure concentration. hot, he looked so hot.

a soft whimper is muffled against the fabric as you sway your hips from side to side, and he finally meets your eyes, panting through his mouth before inserting another finger—his middle finger. his fingers curve, quickly touching a spongy spot that elicits a spasm and another sound from your lips. oh no. bill thrusts rapidly with his fingers; he'd already enjoyed the warmth of your walls, and now he had to make sure you felt good. he deepened his movements until his knuckles touched your skin, seeking a point of constant stimulation; even his thumb slipped in to manipulate your clitoris in circular motions that were also in sync.

and you? with saliva dripping down your chin and your teeth tugging at the fabric of your shirt, your toes had to stand on tiptoe on the bathroom floor and your back arched, trying to receive him in a better position. you kept letting out small sounds, betraying how good it felt as he fingered you, how he was preparing you for what was to come. your eyes met his, and you thought he was looking at your body, but he was already looking at you, devouring you with desire in his eyes and analyzing your every little expression while continuing to thrust into you. your eyebrows curled upwards and you nodded, mesmerized, inviting him to continue.

bill clicks his tongue, has to lean forward and push with the hand that isn't caressing your folds down your lower back, tearing at the bare skin as it hits the elastic of your skirt. “shit…” you hear him grunt softly, you don't know how or when his fingers leave a void in your core. the foreplay is over. you try to turn to look at him and with a sudden jerk, he's unzipping his pants along with the button and the silver studded belt that held them up. he pulls them down enough, the hidden bulge in his boxers glistening and standing out, and that makes you swallow hard.

“ah…” your gaze travels up to him, but when it returns, he's already freed his throbbing, reddish erection. the tip glistens with precum and some veins are prominent, as are pubic hairs peeking out from under the fabric of his underwear. “do you like what you see?” his hips shift forward as he takes hold of your sides again, pulling you closer to rub against the line of your buttocks, having to remove the fabric of your skirt that was in the way. you hadn't realized you were staring at him. again.

“mhm…” was a vague response from you, muffled by the fabric of your shirt, but affirmative. you tried to move backward, showing him your desperation. your hips seek friction, they seek him, and as if he were reading your mind (which he seemed to have been doing for a long time), he laughs again, stopping you for a moment. “wait—ah, I don’t want to get you pregnant right here, sweetheart…” it was a lighthearted joke, but one that carried some weight. you hadn’t realized he wasn’t wearing a condom. his fingers go to his uniform shirt, undoing the top buttons, and from there he slides them desperately toward the small pocket where he pulls out a condom packet, which he quickly opens with his teeth, caring little if the foil wrapper ends up on the floor, sliding the latex over his erection all the way to the base.

“let me know if I hurt you or…” he leaves the sentence hanging. he grips your hips again and lifts them up by your waist. and with a perfect alignment of your folds, the first thrust comes as you feel the tip enter, the entire length sliding in until his pelvis slams against your butt. this draws a loud, guttural sound from both of you; the echo reverberates through the small bathroom space. you feel it raw all the way to your cervix. “… shit— so damn tight, are you a virgin?” you tried to shake your head no, because no, you weren’t… if using your fingers was any use in disproving it. but you couldn’t say anything else when he started moving faster and deeper.

with every thrust, your body rocked back and forth. you stifled a moan, pursing your lips as you barely released the fabric of your shirt from between your teeth; it fell to the floor with a slightly soft thud. your nails dug into bill’s hands as they reached for them. the skin on your body burned every time his nails scratched and squeezed you, pulling you against him while he kept thrusting his pelvis against your butt. the sound is wet, clothes in disarray that were beginning to be forgotten, like his jacket or his pants, which now hung from his ankles. you can’t help but let out small, muffled whimpers—you were trying with all your might to stay quiet! but how could that be possible? you felt it deep inside you.

you turned your face just enough, your neck tense and your eyes misted over by tears of pleasure threatening to fall. bill had his head thrown back, the veins in his neck standing out, and his platinum dreadlocks swaying with every brutal thrust that drove you deeper against the wall. a snack, so tempting; he released one of your hips just to bring his hand up to your neck. he didn’t squeeze to cut off your air; it was a possessive gesture that surprised you because of the way his long fingers encircled your throat while his thumb pressed just below your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact without pausing for a second.

“so fucking loud…” he whispered, his nimble fingers moving to your cheeks to pinch them, forcing you to open your mouth. and before you could process it, a precise spittle of his own saliva fell from his lips onto yours. a spasm ran through you, and you didn’t know if it was because of the delicious way it fell onto your tongue and brushed against your lips; the taste of tobacco and mint flooded your taste buds again as he picked up the pace. your eyes fluttered at the sight of him, and you closed your mouth, swallowing the spit with ease.

his thrusts were no longer rhythmic; now they were desperate and chaotic, seeking his climax. you could feel every vein of his erection brushing against your inner walls, stretching you and desecrating your insides as he continuously kissed your cervix to the point of making you see stars. you feel your body fall forward; your weakened torso finally gives its last gasp as your fingertips slide down the tiled wall to the floor in a compromising position.

“bill... please... just...” your voice was a whisper, barely more than a desperate plea that he completely ignored. he didn’t stop, not for a moment, because your voice was barely audible in the new position; your back completely arched forward and your butt sticking out behind you, as he thrust into you. he shifted the angle slightly, lifting your hips a little higher so that every thrust hit that spongy spot his fingers had discovered minutes earlier. the world began to spin; the smells and sensations suddenly became overwhelming—a mix of the scent of chlorine and the tobacco from cigarette butts.

a spank lands on your skin, then another and another. the pain intensifies like the moans escaping your lips, and there comes a point where your weak body can’t take it anymore. you fall, pressing the bare skin of your breasts against the coldness of the wall. it all happens so fast you don’t have time to process it; his hands left your hips for a second to brace themselves firmly against the wall, right next to your head, completely surrounding you. you felt the weight of his body on top of yours, crushing you against the cold tile as his pelvis continued to pound against you mercilessly. each thrust was dry, deep. reminding you who was making you moan like that, melting under that rough touch.

“don’t ask me to stop if you’re squeezing me like that, you lying bitch,” bill growled close to your ear, his voice now a low, strained roar. and it was true—with every thrust and every hard drive, your walls wrapped around him and squeezed him tighter and tighter. he forced you to straighten your slightly arched back, only to grab your neck again, this time with his left hand, pulling you back so your nape hit his chest. the contrast between your hot skin and the cold metal of his collars brushing against your back made you let out a gasp of surprise, muffled like the rest of the sounds already tearing at your throat.

his eyes locked onto yours as his movements grew short, increasingly erratic. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the exact moment when control slipped from his grasp. his fingers tightened a little more around your throat—not to choke you, but to grab your attention with just enough pressure that pain mingled with pleasure. “you’re driving me crazy…” he whispered against your lips before biting your lower lip with a force that made you let out a sharp scream, muffled by his own kiss.

the side of your hip, sore and marked by the length of his fingers, was released from his grip. he brought that same hand to your crotch, sliding his fingertips over your clitoris to begin stimulating it—swollen, sore, and desperate. this completely overwhelmed you, making you writhe from side to side, seeking with increasing urgency friction and speed, intensity. electric shocks shooting toward your abdomen, its contraction, and the spasms in your legs warn you that you’re already close. your vision blurs, and you repeat his name over and over. and bill wasn’t giving you any respite.

“please, bill!” you wanted to come, to extinguish that electric, desperate spark that wouldn’t stop fluttering like the frantic wings of a caged butterfly. his jaw tensed, revealing under the dim bathroom light how his tendons and muscles stood out. you were going to come one way or another, and it was a final declaration when your mind exploded and a white static swept you away completely. it was a violent orgasm full of contractions and sounds lost in the air due to the intensity.

it took just two or three more irregular thrusts before bill finally reached his climax shortly after you did, separated by the protective barrier of latex. the weight of his body falls onto your back, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. and the two of you stay there for a few minutes that seem endless, drawn out, and punctuated by the sound of your erratic gasps. slowly, he’s the first to pull away, holding your hips for a few seconds to pull down your skirt and cover your reddened buttocks, bruised from the slaps. “... are you okay, precious?”

those were his first words. you slowly turned your head without letting go of the wall and nodded hesitantly, trying to recover physically and… mentally from what had happened. you didn’t have time to think about it much; he was already tossing the knotted condom into the nearby trash and grabbing a few strips of paper to help wipe away the fluids. you furrowed your brow, but said nothing. it felt good to be taken care of after something as intense as that. he had his hands on your ankles, helping you slowly pull up your panties.

you felt as if… you were floating. the moment you stood up straight, it was as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you. reality hit you: you’d had sex in a dirty bathroom—like the kind at a gas station—where other students had probably done the same. you cleared your throat, straightened your skirt, and picked up your shirt from the floor—which was clean and free of any stains from bodily fluids—to put it on. your trembling fingers tried to smooth out the ugly wrinkles, and you tried to look as if nothing had happened. your gaze returned to bill’s, who was, likewise, fixing himself in front of the bathroom’s horizontal mirror.

“you have a mark here,” he said, vaguely pointing to the area of your jugular with one of his fingers in the mirror’s reflection. and you, instinctively, brought your hands to your own neck, quickly feeling the warm area and the blood flow there. oh. he laughed, a graceful chuckle that echoed through the bathroom. he already has a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, and his fingers have finished adjusting his belt around his hips on his low-rise pants. the black-haired young man took a few strides toward you, closing the distance, and brought his black-manicured hands to the curve of your neck to caress it and smooth it out, gently covering the hickies with your school uniform t-shirt. “there. just like nothing happened,” he laughed, giving you a tender, playful tap with his index finger on your nose.

he lit his cigarette with his zippo; the flame flickered across his face, and he took his first drag, blowing the smoke to the side of your face so it wouldn’t hit you. “why don’t you go first? hmm?” he murmured tenderly, now caressing the sides of your head with both hands, gently stroking your temples with his thumbs in a slow, deliberate motion that made you close your eyes, melting at the touch. however, he was right—if you left there with him, you were signing your own social death warrant. you were more low-key, and he was problematically controversial in every aspect.

“give me… two minutes,” you laughed softly, feeling the air drain from you. bill let out one last little laugh, the kind that gave you butterflies in your stomach. he leaned in, holding the cigarette in his left hand to plant a chaste, gentle kiss on your forehead—an almost chivalrous gesture that felt strangely out of place, not only in the grime of a dilapidated bathroom, but also after he had nearly rearranged your organs with ferocity just a few minutes ago.

“see you tomorrow in class.” he brought his face close to yours, planting another gentle kiss in your hair and breathing in your scent. “and don’t stop looking at me—i like the way you do it.” his voice dropped an octave and turned baritone as he murmured those words against your face. pulling away, he winked at you before leaning back against the wall, giving you room to leave. you held his gaze, studying his expression and the curve of his crooked smile. and with a final nod and trembling legs, you finally stepped away to walk toward the bathroom exit.