28 January 2009 @ 05:43 pm
Fic: Prove It, BillxTom, Nc-17, Part 1  
Title: Prove It
Author: [livejournal.com profile] emseviltwin, [livejournal.com profile] paraboobizarre
Pairing(s): BillxTom
Rating: Nc-17
Disclaimer: not ours, never happened.
Warnings: excessive violence
Summary: To prove their devotion to each other, the twins invite a fan on a very special night out...
Author's notes: Oh look it's our first born *proud parents*
The work was partitioned as follows: Em = The Smut Meister, Eva = The Queen of Gore

When Tom sees the familiar look in Bill’s eyes he almost wants to say no.

Clean up had been a bitch last time and had left Tom scrubbing at the underside of his nails for nearly twenty minutes. He’d had to throw out one of his best shirt too because it was clear that not even industrial soaking was going to get it back to white again.

Bill’s eyes are dark and inviting, his mouth set; one eyebrow dragging up his forehead as he tilts his head to one side, waiting for Tom’s answer and heat is curling in Tom’s stomach at the sight of it. Besides, who was Tom kidding? He can never say no to his baby brother.

“Which one?” he sighs.

“Her.” Bill might have grinned on another occasion, but Tom is quickly realising his brother is serious this time as he follows Bill’s eyes across the room to where a girl is standing, trying artfully hard to make it look like she’s not watching them, one foot up against the bar, elbows back and chest thrust out. Tom recognises her as one of the ones who had slipped him a number while he was signing their tickets.

She might have been one of the bunch that had been following them around all day; Tom couldn’t be sure.

“I saw you looking at her,” Bill continues, his voice practically tinged green with jealousy. “Like the way she had her tits shoved up against you?”

Tom sighs. “It’s not like I had a choice, Bill.”

Bill shifts beside him, sitting back and placing one long arm against the back of the booth behind Tom. Long fingernails trace a lazy circle on the back of Tom’s neck beneath his hair.

“Or, if you’d rather just fuck her...”


Bill does smile then, wide and dangerous, his teeth shining. “Prove it.”


Getting her up to their room is no problem. It never is. After all, it’s exactly what they’re hoping for even if they don’t really think it’s going to happen when they shove their numbers and their breasts at Tom.

She’s pretty. She knows it too though she’d look better if she hadn’t spent so long in front of the mirror, plucking her brows into two thin lines. It makes Tom nervous to stand between them in the elevator on the way up to their room; feeling the heat from the girl as she presses against his arm and the matching touch of Bill on his other side. The girl probably thinks she’s being subtle but Tom knows his brother is being anything but.

She’s flirting with him, even with Bill standing right there and Tom can feel Bill prickling up at every breathy giggle she lets out.

By the time they reach their room, the girl is begging Tom to talk to her in German asking him to repeat all the English words that make his accent sound heavy.

“No, no,” he says, pulling his swipe card out of the door’s lock. He doesn’t want to talk to her at all, save to tell her to shut the hell up but the game would be over much to quick if he did that.

Bill brushes past them both, his lip curling up in disgust though only Tom can see it. “Oh, speak foreign to her, Tomi,” Bill mutters in German. “She sounds like a chipmunk.”

“What?” the girl asks. She clutches at Tom’s arm as Bill ignores them both, heading straight across the room, dropping his purse on the bed. “What’d he say?”

“Nothing,” Tom shakes his head, carefully extracting his arm from her hands. “Drink?”

Her eyes light up and Tom goes to the minibar, unable to miss the way Bill’s hips sway dangerously as his brother crosses the threshold into the bathroom.

“Um... is Bill going to stay?” the girl asks, suddenly appearing at Tom’s side and sliding a hand over his lower back. “I was kinda thinking we’d be alone.”

In the bathroom, Tom hears the clang of glass against porcelain and resists the urge to shove the girl away. Her hands feel clammy against his forearm.

“Well, it’s his room too,” he says, sounding apologetic. “We share. You don’t mind do you? I mean, you can always go back down to the bar.”

He watches the girls heavily made up face flutter with indecision for a moment before she flashes him a sticky smile, pushing her hair back. “No, no, it’s cool. So what... he wants to watch? I guess I’ll let him.” She laughs loudly and the barking sound of it is laced with bravado.

Tom grins and presses a light kiss to her face, smelling foundation and cigarettes. “Make yourself comfortable,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

In the bathroom, Bill is smoothing his hair down. “She’ll let me watch, will she?” he hisses. “How nice of her.”

Tom steps up behind Bill, glancing over his shoulder to see the girl inspecting one of his open suitcases at the end of the bed. In front of him, Bill is playing with a thin metal nail file; turning it in his fingers. It has a point end for pushing back cuticles and Tom knows just how sharp it is. Sharp enough to pierce through skin and artery wall. It was lucky they were in the bathroom when it was Bill's weapon of choice that time. The arch of red it created had splattered messily over white tile.

Carefully, Tom takes closes his hand around the file, pulling it from Bill's fingers. “Come on, Bill,” he murmurs, putting the metal object on the edge of the sink. “What is she even doing here? We’re out of here tomorrow. It can be just you and me tonight.”

Bill softens a little, leaning back and watching Tom’s face in the mirror, tilting his head to allow Tom to lengthen the line of kisses he has started to place on Bill’s skin.

“You mean that?” he says thoughtfully, his eyes flashing with sudden insecurity. Jealousy is still there though, lining his irises the way the kohl lines his lashes.

“She’s nothing,” Tom says. He sucks lightly on spot behind the curve of Bill’s jaw. “Let’s get rid of her.”

Suddenly, Bill straightens again. “Oh, we’ll get rid of her alright,” he says and shoves Tom away. Stepping out of the bathroom he says loudly, “What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

In the mirror, Tom can see the girl framed by both the doorway and Bill, frozen and caught red handed with one of Tom’s many caps on her head. She smiles uncertainly, Bill’s hard voice startling her. It’s clear she’s not sure if he is joking or not but nonetheless, she strikes a pose, lifting one hand to the brim of Tom’s hat.

“What do you think?”

Tom can’t see Bill’s face but he doesn’t need to, his brother’s words are dripping the venom that is no doubt shooting from his dark eyes and shining lips. “What do I think?”

In two strides, Bill is across the room.

“What do I think?

Without preamble, his hand shoots out and he rips the hat of her head, throwing it across the room. Tom doesn’t know where it lands but it’s irrelevant. He won’t be wearing that one again.

The girl staggers, thrown a little off balance in her heels. “Hey—“

Bill’s mouth is already opening to snap back a reply, his fingers tense and stiff by his side.

Tom steps in smoothly, lightly pushing Bill with one hand to steer him away from the girl and around the side of the bed. He squeezes Bill’s upper arm under his hand muttering, “Slow down.”

To the girl he offers an apologetic smile, “Sorry—”

“Tom doesn’t like you touching his hats,” Bill says coldly, unable to stop himself. He drops down on the edge of the bed, watching the girl with narrowed eyes, his arms folded.

The girl’s mouth twists and her gaze flutters from twin to twin. “I—I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to go through other people’s things?” Bill demands.

Tom doesn’t argue with that one. It’s true. He had his hats in a special order and everything. And now... who knows what ones she’s touched? He’ll have to get the whole lot cleaned. He lets the girl try to stumble around an explanation as he opens another suitcase to find the bottle of vodka he has in there. He is pouring them drinks as Bill settles back against the headboard, looking for all the world like he’s not planning on moving for the rest of the night.

The girl appears slightly off balance. She is tugging at the hem of her skirt, clearly wishing it was a little longer under Bill’s blatantly disapproving expression. She shoves one hand into her hair, fluffing it up a little as she says, “So... you guys do this a lot?”

“Not really,” Tom says, handing her a glass that is considerably more vodka than soda.

“I guess tonight is your lucky night,” Bill says, sweetly.

“Maybe it’s yours,” the girl says, looking at Tom with a flirtatious bat of her eyelids. She moves forward but before she can touch him, Tom steps back to sit on the end of the bed.

He can feel Bill slide his foot forward to press his toes into the small of Tom’s back and he takes a swig of vodka from the bottle in his hand.

He swallows before saying, “So... tell us about yourself.”

The girl puts her hands on her hips. “What is this, an audition?” Her eyes are still moving between the boys, watching them carefully though she keeps her voice light.

Tom leans back a little, feeling Bill’s foot a little more firmly against him. He reaches back to pass the bottle to his brother and lets his fingers trail along Bill’s bare ankle as he turns back to the girl.

“Well, you know everything about us,” he says. “It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

The girl puts her hands on her hips. “Can’t say I was expecting an inquisition when you picked me up.“

Bill makes an odd cooing noise, like one might to a small puppy. “Oh, a sassy one!” He claps his hands. “My favourite.”

The girl’s head tilts slightly to one side as she tries to establish whether or not Bill is insulting her.

Tom has to lift his hand to his mouth to hide the smile that forms there. “How long have you been a fan?” he asks.

For a second Tom is sure she’s going to be like the last girl who tried to pretend suddenly that she barely knew who they were but instead the girl smiles brightly, “Oh, right from the start,” she says. “Like, Monsoon. You know? I saw it on TV and I was like... in love! I have all your stuff. And like, every edition of Bravo, too.”

“A real fan then, huh?” Tom asks, leaning back a little against Bill’s foot.

“Totally,” she agrees. “You don’t even want to know how many concerts I went to last tour! Or maybe you saw me?” she adds, hopefully. “I was in the front row, like four times.”

“You definitely looked familiar,” Tom says, flatly.

Clearly fed up with the slowing pace of the proceedings Bill clears his throat and declares, “Okay, okay, okay! What is this, a fucking meet and greet? Let’s get on with it.”

The girl starts. “What?”

“Strip,” Bill says flatly.

The girl starts, then laughs a little. “Jeeze... no time for romance anymore, is there?”

“Come on now,” Tom says. “We all you that’s not what you’re looking for. You wouldn’t have asked me to sign your tits if you were.”

She brings one hand up to cover the signatures marking her skin as Bill adds, “Well? Don’t you want Tom to see what you’re offering?”

She hesitates but after a few moments brings her hands up to pull her flimsy cardigan off her shoulders. Her breasts bounce a little and she turns away, making a show of looking over her shoulder as she pushes her skirt down over her hips. A large tattoo is splashed across the skin of her lower back. She turns around again, and it’s back to the act as she bites her lips, pressing her knees together in a show of shyness.

“Am I... okay?”

Bill’s lip curls up. “Tacky,” he remarks.

The girl’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

Bill sits forward, a sickly sweet smile on his face. “Your tattoo. It’s tacky. In fact, your whole outfit is disgusting. What look were you going for exactly, hooker? Or just your average slut?”

The girl’s mouth falls open and a shocked, choking noise escapes. “What—”

“You know those things are called tramp stamps right?”

Her nostrils flare as she spins back around, hands defensively on her hips, her thighs pressed together. “Oh, yeah?” she snaps. “What’s that thing on your fucking stomach then? A jizz dartboard?”

Tom bites his lip to stop them curving up in a smile, heat flooding through him as he feels Bill’s foot nudge him and his brother murmur just for Tom’s ears, “Tom’s dartboard.”

Clearing his throat, Bill continues louder, “What do you think... that Tom loves tits so fucking much he’ll see yours shoved into that too small bra and just have to fuck you?”

Her hands fly up to her chest. She’s nervous and sweatng- it’s smearing the ink Tom had scrawled there earlier.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she demands, defensively covering her cleavage. “Who invited you anyway?”

Tom has to duck his head to hide his smile at that, feeling the bed dip as Bill slides up behind him and a second later, the heat from his brother is pressing up tight against his back. “Tomi did,” Bill says, his voice smug in Tom’s ear.

“What is this,” she asks, pursing her lips. “Some sort of double tagging shit? ‘Cause I gotta say, I didn’t think you liked pussy, Bill.”

Her tone makes Tom bristle and he’s about to get to his feet, but Bill’s arms tighten around his shoulders.

“Not yours anyway,” Bill says. “I’m not interested in something that’s been dipped in a million times already.”

The girl gasps. She looks to Tom as if she expects some sort of defence from him and when she gets none she spits, “What is this, some sort of joke?”

Tom feels Bill smile against his neck and he says what his brother is thinking, “The only joke here, is you, sweetheart.”

Hurt and anger flitter over the girl’s face in equal measure. “I’ve heard shit about you, you know,” she says. Her voice is shaking a little. Seemingly ignoring Tom she shouts at Bill, “You’re just as fucking rude as everyone says you are! What, you hate girls? You’d be nothing without us. Your fans made you, you fucking faggot—”

Bill’s arms can’t hold Tom back after that and a moment later, his fist is clenched and connecting hard with the girl’s face. Her head snaps back and the momentum sends her slamming back into the cabinet behind her. Her glass of vodka topples and shatters on the wooden floor as she cries out.

“Fuck!” Tom swears, shaking his hand out. “Watch your fucking mouth, you cunt!”

Bill sits forward, scooting to the edge of the bed, a grin erupting over his face. “Did you knock her out?”

“She’s fine,” Tom says.

He reaches down and grabs hold of the girl’s face, dragging her upright again to shove her against the flat screen television. The heel of his hand presses hard into her bloody mouth and she makes a muffled noise against it. Her eyes are wide and frightened as Tom leans in close.

“Know what I did to the last girl who talked about my brother like that?” Tom asks, his voice soft, the tone conversational.

With effort, the girl shakes her head, the pressure of Tom’s hand forcing her neck back at an awkward angle.

“I cut out her tongue.”

She starts crying then, big fat tears that send her mascara and eyeliner running down her face in watery black lines.

Tom straightens, pulling his hand away from her mouth. He grimaces, looking down at his fingers. “Shit, there’s blood all over me.” He turns to go wash his hands in the bathroom and as he does so, the girl bolts, scrabbling for the door, despite her state of undress.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

With almost leisurely ease, Bill reaches out and grabs her arm, yanking her back. She’s a fighter, wriggling in his grip like a fish on a line.

“Let me go, let me go!”

Bill swings her around, pleased at the sound her head makes as it connects hard with the television screen. The panel shatters, sending shards of glass onto the floor and flakes of it spray across Bill’s cheeks like rain and send rivets of blood through the girl’s bleached hair.

“Don’t want to play anymore?” Bill asked, sweetly, watching the girl struggle to get up. Her hands are getting all cut up on the glass and things are quickly getting messy which Bill realises Tom isn’t going to be all that happy about. No matter.

“I thought you wanted to come up to Tom’s hotel room,” he continues, grabbing the girl’s wrists to yank her back to her feet again. “Come on now, what are you crying about? This snivelling isn’t very attractive. Why would Tom want to fuck that?”

“I thought they said that thing was a plasma,” Tom says, drying his hands on a towel and nodding towards the shattered television. “Bullshit.”

“Get me the duct tape, will you?” Bill asks, pulling the girl across the room to the closet. The girl fights him, yanking back on her hands and letting out a low moan- clearly disorientated by the blows to her head.

“She tried to get away, didn’t you?” Bill explains in a sing-song voice, pulling her arms up hard. Helpfully, Tom pulls a strip of tape off the roll he has taken from Bill’s suitcase. He wraps it around her wrists, holding them together and then runs another piece between her hands, securing them tightly to a hook on the wall that had previously been housing their complementary bathrobes.

“That’s not very nice,” Tom says, stepping back. “Doesn’t she know it’s rude to just run out on her hosts?”

“What the fuck do you guys want from me?” The girl cries, pulling helplessly on the tape. “Please. What— just let me go. Please, let me go.”

“But you only just got here,” Tom says, as he surveys the damage already done to the room. “What sort of hosts would we be if we let the party end so soon?”

“Nice ones?” she says. “Please, I won’t say anything I swear. Just let me go home.”

“I thought you wanted to come up here to have a good time,” Tom says.

The words make Bill bristle and his face darkens with jealousy. It is exactly what they all want- a good time in Tom Kaulitz’s hotel room. He glares at the girl and then at Tom as if it was his brother’s idea to bring her up here in the first place.

“Let’s play a game,” he says, his smile sweet, voice hard. “I’ll ask you a question. You get it right, you get something you want.”

“I get to go home?” she asks, her breath picking up.

Bill shrugs nonchalantly, “If that’s what you want. But if you get it wrong, we get something we want.”

“We don’t even have to play,” the girl babbles. “I’ll give you whatever you want right now, just let me go.”

Bill lets out a frustrated noise and his hand shoots out, connecting hard with her face. “Think we want anything you would give us? Give me a break!”

The girl is still crying now, her head lolling down between her arms. Sweat is running down her neck and over her chest, sending the ink signature down over her skin in a messy, smudge steam that spills into her bra. Her body is shaking and there is mascara all over her face. Blood runs in a line from her nose and around the side of her mouth.

It all makes Tom grimace and he mutters, “Jesus. Get yourself together.”

Bill has the vodka in his hand by then and he takes a swig. “First question!” he announces. He pauses dramatically, watching the girl lift her head. “Okay. Tom and I recently brought something... what is it?”

The girl lets out a breath, closing her eyes a moment as she presses her lips together. She doesn’t answer immediately and Bill dances a little on the spot, already thinking of what he wants as his prize.


Tom watches Bill’s face change from gleeful to furious.

“Puppies,” the girl repeats. She starts to cry again. “You bought puppies.”

His brother lets out a rage filled cry and the small bottle in his hand is hurled against the wall near the girl’s head to shatter, sending glass and vodka in a shower over her and the floor.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” the girl asks even as she flinches. “You have to let me go.”

Tom shakes his head, stepping between Bill and the girl lest his brother rip her arms clean from their sockets. Of course she knows about the puppies. Fans are camped outside of their house constantly. A new pet is too much gossip to resist.

“What are they called?” he asks.

“What?” the girl strains against her taped wrists. “No, no—you said you’d let me go if I got it right!”

“That was a warm up!” Bill snaps, pressing against Tom’s back. “This is the real question!”

She sags against the restraint, her mouth open. Tom’s sure there is a little drool there and he steps back a little.

“I don’t know,” she gasps, shaking violently. “I don’t know. Please...”

“Guess, at least,” Tom says, getting impatient.

But the girl is sobbing now, turning her head from side to side, her toes shifting uselessly against the floor. A low, moan escapes her open mouth.

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Bill snaps, shoving away from Bill. He yells at the girl. “The game doesn’t work if you don’t play along!”

“Nena!” the girl blurts. “Nena... and Samy.”

A laugh bubbles out of Tom’s chest. “Oh, please. What do you think we are, insane fans?” Behind him, Bill is dancing again.

“Wh...What are you going to do?” the girl asks, blinking at them from the smudge of black that was her eye makeup.

“You got the answer wrong, so you get a slap,” Bill says, matter of factly.

The girl almost looks relieved at that. “A slap?”

“Well, maybe two,” Tom said, helpfully. “Since you didn’t play along. Right, Bill?”

“Hmmm...” Bill was reaching into his pocket and pulling out the thing metal bar that slipped over three fingers like knuckle dusters. Spark spikes burst from either side of the bar, catching in the light as Bill twisted his hand. “Definitely.”

He catches Tom’s eye and the bottom of Tom’s stomach drops out as a wicked grin split his brother’s face before Bill draws his hand back and strikes out, neatly backhanding the girl across the face.

The room seems to take an inhalation of breath and connecting of Bill’s hand against her face breaks the silence with a dense thud. The girl lets out a strangled cry as the metal spikes curving out of the back of Bill’s hand split into her cheek and then again a moment later as Bill rakes his palm across the other side of her face, sending a bloody spray arching down onto the floor. Red drips off the ends of Bill’s fingers to join it as he shakes the impact out of his wrist.

“Nice,” Tom says.

The girl’s head is hanging between her arms and her breath slides out between bloody lips in panting gasps. Her cheeks are shredded, pulpy and leaking as she works her jaw; trying to talk or to cry out.

Bill grabs a handful of the girl’s hair and yanks her head back, inspecting his handiwork. “Ahh... definite improvement!” He releases her and steps back to clap his hands.

“Next question!” he announces, pulling the rings off his fingers and tossing them onto the bed.

Tom feels his dick twitch in his pants, seeing the excited flush on Bill’s cheeks and watching the way his brother works his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down a little as he thinks of the next question to ask the girl.

“Come on,” Bill is saying to her. “Get excited! You might just get this one right!”

Tom shifts across the room to his yellow duffle bag and reaches into it, fumbling until his fingers close around the soft leather he is looking for. He pulls out what looks like a large manicure set; a dark brown case, closed with a silver zip. The inside of it is lined with a thin layer of lead that keeps its contents hidden from airline metal detectors.

Sitting on the bed, Tom unzips the case, unfolding it to rest on the mattress beside him. Lined up inside, neatly held in place by thin straps are a variety of instruments, mostly glinting, sharp metal. The spot that normally holds Bill’s rings is empty.

“Next question, next question,” Bill is singing, obscuring the girl’s breathy, faint pleas to be released.

Bill steps over to him, sliding his foot against Tom’s calf for a moment before he reaches out and smoothly slides a pair of sharp scissors from their place in the case. The ache, low in Tom’s belly is quickly unfurling in both directions as he watches his brother’s hips sway to a stop in front of the girl.

“Ah-ha...” Bill says, toying with the scissors. “I know.” He pauses, annoyed and snaps, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

The girl slowly lifts her head and Bill grins. “Okay! Next question is... what does Tomi like better? Blondes or brunettes?”

The blood is no longer flowing from the cuts on the girl’s face but her lips have already started to swell up. A faint shadow is creeping up her cheek that will no longer blossom into a healthy black eye given time. Her chest is heaving and her eyes roll, moving around the room to Tom’s face. They don’t stay there however, and her gaze is unfocused, her pupils wide.

“Oh, you don’t want to play anymore?” Bill asks, flashing a brief pout in Tom’s direction. “Well, I think I already know your answer, judging by your cheap bleach job and I can tell you you’re wrong again. Oh, how sad.”

He lifts his hand, snapping the scissor blades open and shut, and Tom can’t help but laugh again at the way the girl’s eyes flash. She must think that Bill is going to take her eye out with the pointy shears but Tom knows for a fact that something like that wouldn’t happen for at least another hour. Instead, Bill grabs a hunk of her hair again, yanking hard. The girl yelps as her head is jerked forward and Bill roughly saws at her hair, hacking through the hunk he is gripping with the scissors. Dry, blond locks drift to the ground to join the blood and vodka cocktail that slicks the wood.

Letting out a disgusted noise, Bill shoves her head back. “Don’t you even condition?” he mutters.

“Let me see,” Tom says, tilting his head to view Bill’s handiwork.

Bill has cut a little close to her scalp in points- leaving thin trails of blood to slide over her forehead. Half her hair is untouched, leaving it messy and jagged, hanging over her face.

“Stunning,” Tom says, reaching out. His fingers sliding over Bill’s for a moment, curling, before he pulls the scissors from his brother’s hand to put them back in the case. “What now?”

Bill purses his lips, his eyes scanning over the row of instruments lined up in the case. He pauses over his favourite of all- a silver scalpel Tom had given him after the nail file incident. Bill’s finger’s bumped over the rows of diamantes that studded the handle. It had had to be custom made- sparkling surgical instruments weren’t easy to come by and it always got terribly dirty with blood running into the little rivet between the stones. Bill loves it.

He is pulling it from its place when, behind him, the girl lets out an angry growl and struck out with one foot, barely grazing it against the back of Bill’s thigh. Bill jerks as if the strike had hurt, gasping and Tom shoots up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, grabbing hold of the girl’s striking foot. She struggles, crying out and he squeezes hard.

“Let go! Get the fuck off me!”

Ignoring her, Tom grabs her other foot, pulling them both up high in either hand and forcing her legs wide apart. He presses into the space between them, feeling her heave between him and the wall.

“What?” he asks, shoving hard. “What’s the matter? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

She’s moaning then, still struggling weakly to shove Tom off. “No, no, no....”

Tom squeezes her feet in both hands- dragging her knees up and apart.

“What’s the matter?” Bill asks, pressing tight to Tom’s back. “You were all ready to spread them before.”

The girl continues to struggle; pleas and strangled mutters about wanting to go home slipping from her bleeding mouth.

“No?” Tom asks, shoving against her again. He reaches back to Bill, his fingers closing around the studded handle of the scalpel. “Give me that.”

The girl’s eyes flash as Tom holds up the blade in front of her but before she can scream, Bill is slapping a hand over her mouth- a sharp nail pressing into her torn cheek.

“Hush, now,” Bill breathes.

Tom steps back a little, scrutinising her open thighs. “This was my present, right?” he asks, conversationally. Then, without preamble, he paints a bright red line with the scalpel up her right leg. The blade slips cleanly into her skin and Bill makes an excited noise.

“Careful!” he warns, as Tom adds two shorter strokes to the end of the gash, leading to her crotch. “Not too deep! She’ll bleed out.”

“It’s fine,” Tom mutters. His tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration as he mirrors the cuts on her other leg, leaving two streaming arrows pointing to her crotch, dripping red to the floor.

At that moment, the girl shifts her head, biting down hard on Bill’s hand.

“Bitch!” Bill yanks his hand back and, just as quickly, it is closed in a fist, connecting hard with her face. Bone crunches beneath his knuckles as he complains, “She bit me!”

“You really aren’t a good guest, you know that?” Tom asks, pulling Bill back to inspect his hand. “Go wash,” he instructs. “God, we’re making such a mess.”

“Someone will clean it,’ Bill says happily. He pauses, leaning against Tom a moment to look at the girl. “Besides, it looks so good!” He kisses Tom’s cheek and Tom feels the slightest flicker of tongue before Bill is skipping off to the bathroom.

Tom can hear the water running and then his brother rummaging around as he eyes the girl, sitting back on the bed to watch the blood running down her legs. In truth, it was enough seeing Bill’s excited face to set his stomach aching. The blood was more messy than anything else.

“You really pissed my brother off, you know?” Tom asks her. “Being such a skank. He gets jealous.”

“Please...” the girl whispers, her head lolling against one suspended arm. “I’m sorry... I just... please, let me go.”

Tom shrugs. “No can do. Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone’ll notice. Where’d you tell your parents you were sleeping over tonight? A friend’s place? We got all night.”

She’s crying again, big fat drops that send her eye makeup and the blood down her face in watery rivets. “I want to go home.”

“Nah, you don’t,” Tom murmurs. “You want to hang out with us, don’t you?” He stands up, stepping closer to her and touches one of her arms. It is cold and clammy. “I’ve seen you,” he continues. “Hanging out outside our place with your friends. Now you’re telling me you don’t want to be here?” He presses close, watching her swallow and whispers, “I don’t believe you...”

Tom slowly runs his flat palms up the girl's pale forearms. He can actually feel her shiver and shake and it's exhilarating beyond belief to feel that immediate reaction.

Her hot breath is washing against his face with every heavy pant, pant, pant that stirs the hair hanging into her face.

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees the indistinct form of Bill in the bathroom, turning around to watch them. An audience always makes things more thrilling.

He lets his fingers curl into her sweaty palms, gently stroking the skin there, not even pulling back when she grasps at his fingers, squeezing them. Tom leans further forward till their noses are almost touching.

Her eyes are huge and shining, dilated with fear.

"Please let me go," she breathes, quietly, quickly so that Bill won't hear while he's still in the bathroom. Tom smiles, twining his fingers with hers.

"I won't tell anyone, I swear!" She continues in a hoarse whisper, while she searches his face for any kind of recognition.

A reassuring smile slips into Tom's face. It's always like that. Sooner or later they start to bargain with him. For some reason Bill just doesn't seem to inspire the same kind of confidence in any of these girls like Tom does. He's the confidante. Bill's the bad guy – a role which his brother loves to take on, positively wallows in it.

"Can't let you go now," Tom mutters, looking at her long and hard, "I'm sorry," he adds, sparing a quick glance towards the bathroom where Bill is still nursing his bitten hand.

"Bill won't allow it..." He mumbles, astonished how honest and sincere he sounds when he says it. And the Academy Award goes to...

"Please! You can just loosen the knots and I slip out." She nods her head eagerly and Tom leans back just a bit, his forehead puckering up into a tortured frown as if he's really contemplating the option for a moment.

The girl looks at him, something akin to hope flickering over her face. It lasts only seconds before Tom leans in again, taking her hand in his once more. Her fingers are nice and slim, clammy though and slicked with cold sweat.

A cough makes them both look up towards the bathroom door. Bill stands in the door jamb, his hair illuminated from behind by the harsh bathroom lights, giving him a steely, cold looking kind of halo.

A smile passes between the twins and Tom can feel the girl stiffen under his towering presence when she notices it. Tom smiles to himself when he takes the fingers of her right hand in his, playing with the fingertips, twiddling them gently.

"This little piggy went to market," he sing-songs, twiddling her pinkie. "This little piggy stayed home...this little piggy roast beef, this little piggy had none." He continues, counting off her thumb and index and ring finger.

Tom shoots a short glance towards Bill, leaning against the door frame.

"And this little piggy cried wee, wee, wee all the way home."

With a spine chilling CRACK he twists her middle finger back, forcing the bone past its initial resistance to bend backwards at a queer angle.

The girl cries out and this time they let her, not even trying to muffle the screams this time. She's sobbing wildly, uncontrollably now while Tom watches her fingers curl around her bonds, all except for the broken one which twitches strangely whenever she tries to move it.

With a deep sigh, Bill pushes himself off against the door frame, casually strolling back into the room.

"Oh shut up!" He cries out irritatedly. With three quick strides he is across the room and in front of the girl again. She flinches back as he snaps at her, “So much fucking noise! All of you. Wah wah wah, fucking wah!” his last word is punctuated by a loud crack as the palm of his hand connects hard with her face.

“You just never shut up!” He slaps her again, with the back of his hand this time, sending her head snapping around to the other side.

“Give me an autograph!”


“Take a picture!”


“Fuck me!”


The girl isn’t crying anymore, she’s quiet, her eyes fluttering wildly. Bill shakes out his hand, turning to Tom with dark, flashing eyes.

“Jesus, Tom,” he says, panting. “You might as well just fuck her already.”

Tom steps back from the girl, dropping his hands to tug his shirt down- masking the way Bill’s jealous anger is making his cock hard.

“Well?” Bill asks, stepping forward with his hands on his hips.

Tom sighs. “Bill, come on.”

“No!” Bill throws his hand out, pointing at the girl but his eyes don’t leave Tom’s face. “I turn away for thirty seconds and you’ve practically got her sucking your dick! What, think she can do it better than me?”

“You know that’s bullshit,” Tom says. He steps forward, thoughts of the girl falling from his head as he smooths his hand over Bill’s hip, tugging his brother closer.

“Don’t touch me.” Bill’s voice is a soft murmur rather than an angry snap and the pout on his lips is softening.

“Come on...”

The girl raises her head, blinking. The twins have eyes for nothing but each other and she quickly begins to work her hands around, biting down on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out as her broken finger sends spiking pain down her arm. She rocks her hand, feeling the duct tape around her wrists rolling a little as the hook she hangs from slides across the thick plastic.

With a jolt that sends pain up her cut legs, her feet are on the floor again and she brings her hands down. It’d be much easier if they weren’t still taped together at the wrist but she can deal with that. She glances over her shoulder seeing the twins huddled together, murmuring.

Tom is touching Bill’s hip. “You’re always so jealous...”

She turns, eyes darting across broken glass and suitcases to the door, expecting at any moment to feel cold hands and sharp nails dragging her back. They don’t come.

As quietly as possible she lets the door slip back into its lock. Her legs feel like jelly and the hallway around her is swimming in and out of focus as she starts into a wobbly run. She just has to make it to the elevator doors and then she’ll be free...

on to part 2
( Post a new comment )
[identity profile] tenth2fifth.livejournal.com on January 28th, 2009 06:17 pm (UTC)
I swear I thought I could feel the pain. Its all too surreal. Gah! Love your part 1 and 2. 2 is scarier though. I think I'm gonna have nightmares. GAHHH! awesome fic!
[identity profile] paraboobizarre.livejournal.com on January 28th, 2009 06:52 pm (UTC)
We're glad to inspire nightmares harr harr *maniacal cackle*

[identity profile] sumrndmgrl.livejournal.com on January 29th, 2009 12:12 am (UTC)
Definitely not the run of the mill fanfic. I'm interested!
[identity profile] paraboobizarre.livejournal.com on January 29th, 2009 09:31 am (UTC)
Most definitely not run of the mill LOL which is probably why we had so much fun writing it XD