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Hol mich ins Sternenreich

Summary:

The boys have an unconventional way of decompressing after the show, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

Notes:

This chapter is set basically anywhen you like as long as that is during the past five to seven years

Sometimes when your brain overloads you can go semi- or non-verbal and a lot of people use signing to deal with that. If its in both bold and italics its being signed here.

Chapter 1: Leg mir das Halsband um

Chapter Text

   After two decades they had no secrets from each other, no reasons to be embarrassed by anything at all.

   When Till slumped soundlessly onto his knees by the side of the couch, the band barely even registered their rearranging throughout the room; Schneider was standing by the window one minute and then next he knew he was on the couch, one hand softly massaging Till’s scalp. It was barely a conscious decision by now, a decade on.

   ‘Is everything okay, mein Hündchen?’

   He knitted his eyebrows before deciding to sign out his reply. Not good

   Till looked lost for a moment, unable to remember the sign and struggling to speak. He held his hands over his ears.

   ‘Loud,’ came his almost-inaudible reply.

   It wasn’t uncommon after a show, especially for Richard or Till, for a kind of depression to settle over a person; a dip, something akin to a snowdrift, sense-altering and chilling. An unbearable weight, for some. Over the years they had all attempted to mitigate it in their own ways, but in truth the only cure for this flavour of loneliness was the support of each other. This just happened to be what the majority preferred.

   At first, when one by one they learned about it, they were all just relieved he wasn’t abusing drugs like Richard once had; If anything, it explained a lot of old habits they just attributed to Till and Richard being Till and Richard. After a few teething problems, Schneider learned it was just as rewarding for him as it was for his pups. Paul has slipped into it seamlessly after that, surprising no one with his choice of role.



   Puppy play was calming: It allowed them to have a job, a purpose, beyond what the stage gave to and took from them; they weren’t themselves, but they weren’t their work personas either.

   ‘Hey Paul, can you grab the old grey one this time?’ He knew what Schneider meant without question: they were old hands at this.

   He could hear Paul rifling through their duffel bags, casting aside spare clothes and whatever else they were storing in there until he triumphantly thrust his hand, clutching a worn leather collar, into the air, ‘Got it!’

   Schneider turned to Richard, still puffing away at the window where he left him. ‘Do you want to join us, Richard?’

   Richard had to fan his hand for a few seconds to get a clear view through his smoke. He thought for a moment, ‘Shower first, I think, the make up melted right into my skin.’ Sure enough, there were still smudges of black streaking from his lips, and his eyeliner was starting to migrate. His gelled hair wasn’t faring much better.

   Paul made his way over to Schneider and Till, crouched, and gently fastened the collar around Till’s neck. It was the very first they all chose together, ten years old and by far the most comfortable: Till looked like he needed that tonight.

   ‘Remember your manners, honey.’

   An inward facing palm moving from his chin outwards. His index and middle fingers pointing outwards, the others curled into his fist, followed by a thumb-forefinger L Thank you, Herr Landers

   Paul threaded his fingers through Tills damp hair and kissed his nose, ‘You’re welcome, Liebling.’

 

   Paul and Schneider settled on the couch, Till still kneeling on the floor between them, and took a moment to breathe. It may have been much harder for some than for others, but everyone needs time to adjust. Schneider suspected Oli was off having a swim, having skipped the after-party altogether. Flake had retreated to his own room, so god only knows what he was up to.

 

   Till made a strained keening noise in the back of his throat, surprisingly whiny for a man with such a deep singing voice. It really was a bad day. Schneider bent down so he was ear-level to Till and spoke in a low voice.

   ‘You did such a good job on stage today, pet. You were such a good boy for us, keeping everyone safe and performing so well! We were keeping watch the whole time, you know,‘ he cupped his hand around Till’s jaw and stroked the stubble, ‘You must be so tired, huh? Do you want to come up on the couch or would you rather keep sitting pretty for us down here?’

   Till considered for a moment before shuffling around to lean his head on Schneider’s knee. His eyes were bruised with fatigue, his lower lip sucked in for comfort.

     Poor pup looks terrible.

   His fingers circled over clammy skin, reaching down from jaw to collarbone, and when Schneider’s fingers made contact with smooth skin Till gave a shiver.

     That might be an idea...

   ‘Be a good boy and take your shirt off for me.’

   Till nodded once into Schneider’s thigh before complying, revealing his powerful torso in a sequence of clumsy motions. How a man so big could seem so small never failed to amaze him; Paul would probably have something to add if he voiced his thought, but this wasn’t the time for his ribbing. Instead, unaware, Paul simply reached over and took the shirt from Till’s hands, lying it over the arm of the couch for safe keeping.

 

   Manhandling him until he was again facing away from him and Paul, Schneider began lightly trailing the tips of his fingers over Till’s back, pleased as they were met with more shivering and goosebumps. His hands traced over the subtle patches of scar tissue that littered the man’s back as they did the rest of his body. Only some were identifiable by him: under the right shoulder blade, marking the time Flake misjudged the strength of a neon bulb; stretching from the left shoulder into his armpit, the only one truly the fault of the Engel wings; a sparse scattering, almost like stars, from a particularly bad bout of teenage acne. Beautiful. Schneider was firm in his belief that a body should tell a story, act as a map of a person’s life, and Till’s was certainly that. Maybe one day he would finally find out what the other marks had to say. Maybe it was better that he didn’t know.

   The muscles visibly started to loosen across Till’s back and shoulders as Schneider stroked his fingertips over the fine hairs covering his skin. His breathing slowed and deepened, and Schneider suspected he would start drifting off to sleep if they kept going for a few more minutes: It was a good reset for his senses, but it was also just plain relaxing. A soft, contented whine escaped his throat, and Schneider couldn’t help but turn to Paul with a pleading look of how can a person be so fucking cute? It was met with a similar look, but one touched with a hint of laughter directed at Schneider himself.

 

   A click, the bathroom lock: Richard was back in the room, dripping puddles onto the carpet. His eyes drifted over the three other men a moment, and then he ducked into his room. Schneider heard rummaging and drawers opening and closing, and then Richard returned, this time wearing a loose white tank top and charcoal grey shorts, arms laden with pillows and blankets. One look from Paul and he dropped hard onto his knees. He threw his bundle over to rest at Paul’s feet and crawled after it. Richard nuzzled Till’s neck until he gave a little huff, and then knelt, back straight and hands in his lap, gazing up at Paul. He sat forward to ruffle Richard’s hair, earning some mixture of indignant whine and purr.

   ‘All clean, Zven?’ Richard yipped with a soft smile. ‘Good. Go choose a collar,’ Paul nodded towards the duffel bag. He crawled off with no hesitance at all.

 

   As Richard laid out the collars, as always adamant he would make the correct decision and reverent in his handling, Till began pushing around the blankets and pillows still balled up by Paul’s socked feet. He got… clumsy when he was like this. Probably one of the reasons he prefers to crawl, Schneider mused. After another moment or two of admiring the adorable pup at their feet, Paul scooted forward in his seat to, at very, least unroll the parcel. Till nuzzled his hand appreciatively, earning him a kiss to the crown of his head and a few murmured words Schneider didn't catch.

   Together they spread the blankets and cushions out into something you could technically refer to as a nest, though the feather pillows were smothered by a quilt so they didn’t have to risk a stabbing. Schneider had to admit, it looked cosier than their beds. Paul shook out the final blanket to cover over the whole thing and stepped back, clearly pleased with their work.

   Till signed his thank you with a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Schneider would never get tired of seeing that.

***

   Across the room, Richard was still deliberating over two collars, one blue and one black, when the front door opened, revealing Oliver’s flip-flopped feet: presumably the rest of him was there too, but at 6’7 everything above-knee was basically invisible to a kneeling man. He spoke, confirming Richard’s suspicions, ‘Just pick the black one, would you ever actually wear anything else?’ He chuckled, bending down to pat Richard on the shoulder before turning to Schneider, ‘Tea? Coffee?’

   ‘Green for me, hot chocolate for this one,’ He nudges Till’s side with his shin.

   ‘Coffee would be great thanks, Oli. You know how I like it, you will be graded.’ Added Paul with a grin and a raise of the eyebrow.

   Oli levelled a weary look at him before peering down at Richard, who was tucking the blue collar away, ‘Zven?’

   Richard shook his head: as usual, he’d probably share with Till.

 

   Oli made his way over to the kitchen area and Richard made his back over to Paul. He made an inquisitive sound at Till, who let out a sigh that told him everything he needed to know. He sat back on his heels as tidily as he could and handed Paul his collar. Paul held it for a moment, thumbnail rubbing and clicking the lining, until Richard got impatient and started pawing at his ankle, as if somehow Paul had forgotten him.

   He gave in quickly, tapping Richard’s side with his foot to indicate he should turn around so he wouldn‘ t have to irritate his sensitive skin dragging the buckle to the back. Richard jumped, just a little, when the fastening clinked by his ear, but Schneider saw Till rest his hand on Richards knee to ground him again. He knew he was safe.

 

   There was a rummaging coming from the kitchen, almost like a rat had gotten in and started building it's own nest in the pantry, and then Flake peeked around the corner. His eyebrows flattened in disapproval when his eyes landed on the kneeling men.

   ‘Paul, what are you doing?’

   ‘Huh?’

   ‘It’s cold in here, his hair is still wet!’ Paul pulled a face

   ‘Oops?’

   Flake huffed, turning into the bathroom for a moment. He stalked over to the couch, towel in hand, only pausing to groan as a small puddle of water soaked through his sock. He dropped the towel over Richard’s head, which gave an indignant and muffled huff in response.

   Flake ruffled Tills hair before retreating back to the kitchen. Faint laughter, Oli’s for sure, made its way through the door as it closed.

 

   ‘You’ll be fine, you’re made of strong stuff, huh Zven?’ Paul tugged off the towel to reveal a massive grin, mouth open and eyes crinkling, and Richard lunged to half-rest in Paul’s lap for some love, licking a stripe up the side of his face. Paul attacked his drippy hair with the towel, making Richard giggle with glee, and then ended with a wet smooch on the forehead.

 

   Schneider wondered how they had managed before this.