Archive of Our Own ^beta

They had another tour to hash out, which like always required arguing. It was just picking a setlist but even that meant battles. After a week of making lists and shouting and crossing everything out on the whiteboard and tearing down all the papers and starting again, at last they all gazed in quiet awe at the cleanly-written text on the board. It was numbered and everything. It was a compromise, but everything was. 

Paul pulled his phone out. “I’ll tell Tom to take a picture and kick things into motion.”

Till sighed in satisfied defeat. “Who wants a drink?” 

“I want a handjob,” Richard said. It was mostly a joke, and they all mostly laughed. “Come to my place?” 

“I’m sorry?” Paul leered, and then they were off, because of course what Richard had meant was ‘come sit on my roof which is swankier than any one person should ever have, and so I want to fill it with people who will have drinks and admire the view and dip their toes in the pool with me and I’ll feel justified in having built it’. 

It was a very nice roof, Schneider thought a little later, drink in hand. It probably would have given most of them hives twenty years ago, but at this point they appreciated being able to sit in a cushioned lounger under the stars in the blessedly correct neighborhood and have a drink free from yuppies. The pool itself wasn’t very big, you didn’t want to launch too hard off one end or you’d crash into the other, but under the purple evening sky the glow of it looked tropical and a little unreal. There were lights strung up overhead, like a Biergarten but with better seats. It put all their faces in a soft blue light, the six of them sprawling around the jewel-like water. 

“Do you suppose pigeons crap on the Fernsehturm?” Olli wondered aloud. The lights on it twinkled in the dusk, it did make a very obvious thing to look at. “Do they have to clean it off?”

“No, the radio waves zap them,” Flake said authoritatively. “They have to pick up the dead ones every day before the tourists come in the morning.” 

“They do not,” Paul said. 

“No, no, I’ve seen it,” Till said. “They do! In a big bag that says ‘Only for natural deaths’.”

Stretched out in the lounger next to Schneider with a pink drink that Schneider would have teased him about if he didn’t have one too, Richard laughed. “I love it when we make up. It almost makes the arguments worth it.” 

“What would make it actually worth it?” Schneider asked idly. “Makeup sex?” 

“God, I love makeup sex,” Richard sighed. “It’s really the best thing for a marriage.” 

Schneider bit his tongue on some unkind comment about Richard’s marriage skills. Unfortunately he glanced over at Paul, who was making exactly the same comically consternated face back at him. But he didn’t want to laugh at Richard, really he didn’t, it would only make both of them feel bad. So instead over the bubbling, slightly drunk giggle in his chest, Schneider said, “Well, we’ve definitely been together long enough.” 

“Right!” Richard warmed to his topic. “I mean, who goes in for sexless marriages? I’m not saying it’s impossible. But how do you get the mood right again after a fight?” 

“That’s what the bonobos do, you know,” Till said. “Males, females, all of them. Somebody stole your banana? There’s no fighting. They rub off and make up.” 

“It’s true,” Olli said. 

“Or anything else,” Till added. “Happy to see someone? Lonely? Tired of their bullshit? Same thing.” 

“It would be nice to have some better way of really feeling like we were all good again with each other,” Schneider pondered. “Hugs are fine, I guess.” 

“Handjobs would be better.” 

“Yeah,” Olli agreed. He was laying backwards in his seat, knees hooked over the raised back and his head dangling off the foot, turquoise glow from the pool rippling across his shaved skull. “I’m in for whatever.” 

Till made a slightly choked noise, but Flake spoke first. “Well, we’d have to keep it fair.” 

Paul cackled. “See, that’s how you can tell Flake is sober. The rest of us are entertaining a great idea, but Flake here is all practicality.” 

“You’re not even drunk,” Flake said. “I’m just permanently absurd. Is it a great idea?” 

“I’m tipsy, and it is.” Paul nodded decisively.

“We’ve done nearly everything else together,” Till said.

“Nearly, hell. Are you telling me none of you have ever at least jerked off together?” 

“Oh, come off it, Paul, you have too.” Flake sounded very confident.

“Did I say otherwise?” 

Paul was just running his mouth, but the balance of conversation was still tilting a little too far in his direction. Schneider said slowly, “We’d have to make sure we didn’t cause any more problems, though.” 

“Right, exactly.” 

“There would have to be rules.” Till sounded exaggeratedly resigned, but he was smirking cheerfully. 

“We have rules when we go out to dinner. Of course we will.” 

“Like what?” 

“Well, they have to have any vegetarian options -” 

“No, no, the other thing.” Richard laughed unselfconsciously. “Like nobody gets left out.” 

Paul grinned. “Wir halten uns an Regeln?” 

“Wir halten uns den Arm.” Till snickered. 

“Yes, that is the right spirit,” Olli said. He laced his fingers atop his chest. “Sechs Herzen and all that.” 

Schneider nodded. “Yeah, it would have to be all of us. Not all at once -” there was a surge of ribald laughter, “But Flake’s right, it would have to be completely fair, and focused on the wellbeing of the band before anything else.” 

“Right. Nothing in secret. No sneaking around, no renewing your old connections, nothing exclusive. That’s all in the past. This is about all of us.” 

“That is a bit of a complication. Hmm. What if we uncover old stuff that has been buried and was causing no trouble before?” 

Richard wrinkled his nose. “Dredge up feelings about handjobs past, you mean?” 

“Yeah, exactly. They can’t have been all robotically emotionless.” 

Paul giggled, then choked out, “Robot handjobs!” 

“There, there,” Till said calmingly, then chortled loudly himself. 

Schneider took a sip of his drink. It was awfully sweet, and apparently awfully strong. “You know what that means we have to do.”

“What?” 

“Talk it out first. Get it all out in the open, unbury all the things we’ve done that might still bother somebody. Clear it all up before we do anything else.” 

“That is not what I expected you to say.” He couldn’t see Olli’s face with how he was flopped upside-down, but he sounded like he was pleased. 

“What did you expect me to say?” 

“I like your version better.” 

“Hang on.” Richard sat up. “Are we serious? We’re serious, aren’t we?”

Lying on his back Olli stretched his long arms out to the sides like heavy wings. “You know my vote already.” 

“This one isn’t a vote,” Schneider said. “It has to be unanimous. If one person doesn’t like it the whole thing is off.” 

Flake leaned back in his seat. “No objections from me. Provided we’re good about doing it right.” 

“Oh, I’m all about doing it right,” Till smirked. 

Paul shrugged lightly. “As presented, I think it could be okay. If anything from storytime gets really heavy maybe we should reconsider, otherwise, sure.” 

“I, well, I do love handjobs.” Richard was smoking languidly. “Schneider?” 

He was the only one who hadn’t yet voted. “I - uh, I’m not opposed. But nothing physical before I ask my wife, okay?” 

“Just stories tonight, then.” 

“That’s probably for the best anyway.” 

Schneider wrinkled his brow. “Wait, all of the rest of you who are married seem very sure that it’s not going to be a problem. You’re not going to not tell, are you?” 

Paul cackled loudly. “Don’t worry, Schneider, I wouldn’t ever hide something like that.” He tapped his nose. “I would miss out on a lot of fun if I did.” 

“With us?”

“No…” 

“I’m good,” Olli put in before Paul could continue. “This is within the rules.” 

“Yup,” Flake nodded. 

“You guys are weird,” Schneider muttered. 

“All right,” Paul prompted. “Who’s first?”

***

They’re back at headquarters the next day, doing the kind of tedious logistics that require all of them - merch approval, stage details, financials. It’s not just that if they let a subgroup make decisions the others will disagree, it’s worse than that - they actually are more likely to make the right call if they’re all together, they’re smartest with all six, like they only have one extremely cantankerous brain between them. But today there are no major rows, amazingly, and they’re done hours before they expected to be. 

“That was relatively unagonizing,” Flake comments, watching the last of the boxes be closed up and carried away. “Tom seemed slightly shocked.” They’re all sitting at the border of the stage, perching on the steps that demarcate it from the imaginary audience. 

“It’s because we’re still coasting from telling all our secrets,” Richard says. “We’re high on trust, is what it is.” 

“How long will that last?” 

“Another day, maybe?” Paul says. 

“Such an optimist.” Schneider rolls his eyes. 

“Better yet - a strategist with a plan. Schneider, did you ask your wife? About the thing?” 

“Yeah.” Schneider tries to keep his face blank. It doesn’t really work. “She laughed at me.” 

“It is kind of -”

“She said she couldn’t believe we didn’t already.” He can’t decide whether he’s insulted or just amazed. 

Paul looks at him narrowly. “So you’re voting in favor?” 

“Yeah.” 

Olli smiles. “If that’s not a good sign, I don’t know what is.” 

Schneider stares back and forth between Paul and Olli incredulously. “That’s your plan.” 

“It’s the perfect time. While we’re still all high on trust, right?” 

Schneider nods slowly. “I guess. Sure. So -”

Paul points. “I think it should be Richard. Who gets one, I mean.”

“Well, he’ll at least enjoy it,” Till says. 

“That’s what I mean. Get us off on the right foot. This is going to be incredibly awkward, but we know he won’t chicken out.” 

“Should I be insulted?” Richard drawls. 

“You’re about to get jerked off, how insulted can you be?” 

“About to -?”

“Schneider.” Olli points. “I nominate Schneider as the first, uh, hand.” 

He’s an obvious choice, no previous history together, the least recent animosity beyond the baseline, and several of them nod slowly in agreement. 

“I mean, sure.” Schneider shrugs. He eyes Richard, and Richard doesn’t look away, though he’s looking a little jumpy. “Standing or sitting?” 

“Whoa, whoa,” Richard startles. “You mean right this second?”

“Sitting, I think,” offers Till. 

“Here?” 

“There’s the couch in the costume office?” Olli suggests. 

Schneider nods. “Yeah, that works.” He stands and dusts his hands on his jeans. Olli gets up too, and Paul.

Richard looks up and around at the others. “Hey, wait, I thought we were going to do this when we needed it, you know? Not just -”

“Are you telling me you’re turning down a handjob?” Flake asks beside him, mildly incredulous. “I mean, you can -”

“No,” Richard mumbles, suddenly pink. “No, that’s fine. Uh, sitting, yes.” 

“Thought so.” Flake clambers up, and Till offers Richard a hand. Richard lets himself be pulled to his feet. 

“Are we all going?” 

“Why not?” Olli shrugs. They’re halfway down the hall by then, Richard flanking Till, Paul by Schneider, and Flake and Olli in front. 

“This is about all of us, anyway,” Paul agrees. They’re walking close to each other, for all their light words they’re suddenly awash in nervous energy. But it’s good, they’re not needling each other (or not much, anyway). Instead they’ve closed ranks. Paul squeezes Richard’s shoulder, and Olli and Flake brush against each other. 

The costume office is deserted today, only a wan fluorescent glow over the coffee pot until they switch the lights on. There’s a couch and three matching armchairs in the middle of the room. The lighting is good because no one wants to discover on stage that the costume that was supposed to be red is actually fuchsia, but most of the mirrors don’t face the couch, they’re over by the wardrobes where they’re useful. The couch is enormous, a squashy olive-green leather expanse that has at times seated all six of them, though uncomfortably, with the trio of armchairs facing it. Richard perches stiffly at one end. 

“Anybody want coffee?” Paul is rattling around in the corner by the pot. 

“You know that machine only makes battery acid.” Flake has taken one armchair and is sitting primly with his legs crossed. 

“Is that bottle of schnapps still around?” Olli takes the end of the couch farthest from Richard. Richard is pretty tense. Olli - Schneider actually can still find it hard to tell. Not too bad, he thinks, more like how he is before a show, keyed up but not bothered. 

“Now there’s an idea.” Paul opens the cupboard above the counter - just mugs. He tries under the sink. “Aha! It was with the soap.” 

“Appropriately,” mumbles Schneider. It’s a cheap bottle that they hid there years ago. 

“Sure, sure.” Paul starts pulling out mugs. He gives the bottle a shake. “I can do five shots and, uh, one battery acid.” 

Till nods. “Make it like a show. I like it.” 

It is a good idea, Schneider thinks. The tequila ritual has always been a sign that they’re doing this together and they’re doing it now. As much as they’ve been at each other’s throats in the past, on stage they’re cohesive and always have been. It’s just the right vibe for - whatever the hell is happening now. They mill around while the single cup of coffee brews. 

“That door locks, right?” Schneider wonders abruptly. 

“I’ll just text Tom we’re having a band thing and to not come looking for us.”

“Yeah, but everyone else has a key, too.” 

“I can jam it,” Till offers. 

“With what?” 

“It’s not that hard,” Till grins. “Since it has a doorstop.” He clicks the door shut, then wedges the doorstop under it on the inside and gives it a bit of a kick against the carpet. “There. Nice and private.” 

It feels weirdly muffled in the room now, like closing the door has completely cut them off. They look at each other in the new silence as the coffee maker splutters, a bit wide-eyed. Even Paul looks a little twitchy. He uncaps the bottle, pours in a neat continuous stream into five mugs. He had arranged them into a perfect circle with the rims touching and the handles out - for all that he looks like chaos, he’s always been an anal bastard, and it shows up more when he’s nervous. The sixth mug he pours a little coffee into. “All right, lads, come and get it.” Six hands pick up six mugs, five are raised. 

“Wait, wait, I’ll burn my tongue.” Flake blows on his coffee. “I’m not ready.” 

Olli crouches to open the little fridge. “Here.” He has a single ice cube cupped in the palm of his hand. Flake chuckles - Schneider can see the humor in it, the six of them revved up to do something that they’ve done apparently many times before, but not together like this, and the ice melts in Olli’s hand until he dumps it into Flake’s cup. He appreciates that Olli wasn’t going to let the momentum stall. 

“All together,” Till says, holding out his mug again, and Paul turns and meets him. They go around, the mugs make a dull noise when they’re clinked together - Olli’s deep hazel eyes, Richard’s foggy indigo, Paul’s dark gray, Till’s forest green, Flake’s clear blue. They all tip their mugs back at the same time. 

“Ah, that was just as bad as I expected,” Flake complains, making a revolted face. “And tepid.” 

Richard sits back on his end of the couch. “Can I -?” He taps his pack of cigarettes on his knee. 

Schneider gives him a considering look, there on the ugly green couch. “Sit at the other end.” He puts his mug in the little sink. 

“Huh?” 

Schneider waggles his hand, his fingers blurring. “Right handed. I mean, I could probably do fine with my left, I’m pretty ambidextrous, but -” He feels like an idiot doing one jazz hand. 

“Got it, yeah.” Richard takes a couple short steps and flops down at the far end of the couch, the blobby padded armrest now under his left elbow. His chipped black nails pinch the filter of his cigarette hard. Schneider sits beside him. For several seconds he panics about if he’s sitting too close, if that’s weird, or too far, and Richard will feel dejected, and after bouncing between the two a few times he decides it can’t be both at once so he must be okay. The others have gathered around them, Olli down at the other end of the couch and the rest facing them in the chairs. They feel awfully close. “Do I just -” Richard waves the cigarette, “whip it out?” 

“You’ll have to eventually,” Paul chirps. 

Schneider was ready to tell Paul to back off, quit antagonizing Richard, but instead Richard rolls his eyes, and just - slides his hand into his sweatpants and scoops himself out, hooking the waistband down with his other thumb while the cigarette smolders between two fingers. So, okay, Richard’s competitive desire to get ahead of Paul really worked out there. Richard raises an eyebrow. 

It’s so completely ridiculous, all of them clustered around and Richard with his junk out, that Schneider feels some of the tension slacken. Not, like, enough to be quite ready for this, but a little. He darts his eyes down. Richard is pretty soft. 

“Uh.” Schneider clears his throat. “How much foreplay is legal?” 

“Handjobs are foreplay.” 

“Thank you, Paul,” Flake grumbles. “I vote that kissing is allowed.” 

“Yeah, that’d help,” Richard says. “Not that performance anxiety is really my deal, but this is kind of a lot of audience, you know? Doesn’t really feel all that sexy.” 

“Agreed,” Olli says coolly. “On kissing.” 

Richard gives Schneider a sort of helpless look, sitting there next to him. He takes a lot of shit, Schneider feels all at once, he takes a lot of shit from all of them, and sitting here with all of them staring at him with his balls on the wrong side of his clothes, he’s holding up bravely, but that endless hunger for love is staring Schneider right in the face. “Close your eyes,” he says, and Richard’s black-lined lids flutter shut. 

Schneider has kissed Richard before, on purpose even, but it’s still pretty weird to lean in and press their lips together. Richard breathes in deeply through his nose but stays pliant, mouth closed. He’s letting Schneider lead, and just the knowledge that he has any ability to, and any willingness to, gives Schneider a bit of a kick in the chest. It took so, so long for Richard to learn how to let anyone else lead - ever. And it took even longer for him to think that it was worth it, that he wasn’t just slacking off, that he was still contributing. Valued, even. Now Richard is frowning a little under his lips, and Schneider wants him to know - he’s not quite sure what. That he wants to do this, that Richard belongs right in the middle of them all. He brushes his tongue against Richard’s mouth, where there’s a line of wetness between his soft dry lips, and Richard’s lips part and he darts his tongue out. He tastes like cigarettes and schnapps and mouthwash, but the frown is gone. 

“You were not kidding about that helping,” Flake says after a moment, almost in Schneider’s ear. He peeks again - Richard’s dick has fattened up and the head is starting to peek out of the fold of foreskin, though he’s not really erect yet, just flopped out thick against the gray knit of his sweatpants. Stupidly it’s now that Schneider blushes, and it’s always obvious when he does. Till laughs, but he leans across and pats Schneider’s knee sympathetically. Schneider decides this is as good a time as any. He reaches into Richard’s lap and wraps his fingers around him. 

Instead of kissing him again he watches Richard’s face. For one intense instant Richard makes eye contact with him and twitches in his hand. Then he sinks back into the couch, expression neutral. Schneider has another wave of doubt about this really being a good idea, he can’t quite tell that Richard is into it, but then Richard brings his cigarette to his mouth and takes a drag, eyes closed, and his smoky breath visibly hitches as Schneider starts stroking slowly. 

“Christ, your hands are huge.” He chuckles. “Feels weird.” He gulps, takes another hit. “‘s good.” 

After a few more strokes his breathing is starting to deepen. He’s definitely hard now, warm and stiff. Schneider ups the tempo. He can see the pulse at the side of Richard’s throat flickering fast. There’s a thick callus at the base of his own index finger where the stick rubs, and another on the pad of his thumb. He tries not to scrape them on Richard’s more sensitive spots - on himself he usually points his thumb out and mostly grips with the lower part of his hand. Richard is lounging back into the cushions with his arms draped on the back of the couch. He’s not exactly relaxed, he’s still pretty tight - but he’s clearly enjoying it. His eyes are closed, his cheeks flushed. He’s bringing the cigarette up every little bit, smoking slowly. Paul reaches out and runs his fingers up the inseam of his pants above his knee and Richard opens his legs. Schneider tries not to think about how everyone is watching his hand pumping. 

And then Olli looms up behind Richard and says politely, “May I?” before curling down like some sort of giant fern-person to kiss him. 

“Is that on?” Till asks. 

“Just don’t make it a total makeout session,” Paul declares. He’s still caressing the inside of Richard’s knee. Olli is going for a lot more tongue than Schneider did, but if Paul doesn’t object Schneider’s not going to. It’s nice that it’s Olli - inscrutable Olli, who turns out to be way warmer than he looks. Richard can get icy when he’s unhappy or just focused, and better than any of them Olli can thaw him. It doesn’t always work, sometimes he just gets annoyed, but Olli’s quiet clowning works better than Paul’s belligerent cheer or Till’s unbalanced debauchery. Richard sighs, like he’s blooming in Olli’s warmth. He and Olli really hadn’t meant to exclude Richard back then, they’d tried not to, but he must have been able to tell there was something happening, even if not for long. Here they are, years later, putting Richard between them and getting him off together, and unexpectedly it feels like a long-overdue apology. 

“How you doing, Richard?” Flake asks. 

“Oh,” Schneider blurts, “oh, I forgot to get a tissue, can someone -” and Till, magically, is passing him one, just as Richard whimpers into Olli’s mouth and tenses and his cock pulses in Schneider’s hand. He cups the tissue over the glistening head and pushes his other hand down in slow hard thrusts, until Richard stills and sighs. 

He takes another tissue and cleans himself up - Schneider was pretty quick with the tissue, there’s none on his clothes, but his cock and belly got some. Olli unfurls and pats his shoulder. Flake holds out the trash can helpfully, and Richard drops the globby tissue in on top of a pathetic old coffee filter. 

Schneider wipes his own hand off. Then he doesn’t know what to do. He hadn’t really had any doubts that he could make Richard come, it’s not exactly brain surgery, giving a handjob. But they’re still all there, Richard looking spent and smug and a bit pale, and the rest of them watching, giving Richard little touches here and there. He sits back rather stiffly. 

Richard sucks his cigarette and clumsily brushes the back of Schneider’s head, where the hair is buzzed short. “Uh, thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Sure.” Schneider doesn’t need to look to know that Paul is grinning like a maniac right in front of him, and he loves Paul, but he’s going to be a lot right now. “How was -?” 

“Nice,” Richard wiggles deeper into the couch. “Yeah. That was nice.” He’s going to pass out, he always does, and Flake reaches his long arm out and plucks the glowing end of the smoke out of his limp fingers before it burns him. 

Then they’re going to just have to sit there and stare at each other, the five of them who remain conscious, except that Till slides out of his chair onto the floor. He lands on his knees between Schneider’s feet and looks up at him solemnly. Gently he sets one hand on Schneider’s thigh, then cautiously lays the other in his crotch. 

“Oh,” Schneider says, which is really not the pinnacle of insight. 

***

“Why so surprised sounding?” Paul said. Under the string of lights his eyes looked dark but his grin gleamed. “You were there, weren’t you?”  

Schneider shrugged at him. He just hadn’t expected this story to be first - he hadn’t expected to ever tell it at all, actually, until tonight. 

“I think you’d better say that again, Olli.” 

On his back in the lounger, Olli balanced his beer bottle on his chest and said clearly, “Schneider and I used to jerk off together.” 

Till blinked at him. “That’s what I thought you said.” 

Paul sighed long-sufferingly. “All right, let’s have it.” 

Olli turned his head and looked straight at him, gaze steady and clear. “It was when we first started living together. We would get stoned, have a couple beers, put on a movie. Not porn or anything.”

“Oh good, I was worried,” Flake interrupted, but Richard patted him to silence.

“No, wait, what kind of movie, it’s important,” Paul interjected. 

“It really isn’t,” Schneider said, but over him Olli proclaimed calmly, “Action movies.” 

Richard guffawed, Flake snorted, and Schneider had been feeling like at best this was less embarrassing than some of his other past escapades, but when you said it like that it was kind of funny. 

“Okay, so you’d pop on Rambo and then…?”

“That was basically it,” Olli said. “We’d sit on the couch together, make out a little, watch the movie, get ourselves off. Then we’d clean up and maybe have another beer while we finished the movie, then go to bed.” 

“That makes you sound like total bros,” Richard said. 

“Yeah,” Olli agreed. “I think we were, in a way.”

“I guess so, yeah.” 

“And I can only speak for myself,” Olli went on, “But I wanted to be a bro.” 

“Did you?” 

Olli’s voice was soft. “I was tired of being the weird quiet tall guy who stuck out no matter what. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to find people like me. It was more about that than having a sexual partner. I’m not really much attracted to men, anyway. Uh, fine as Schneider is.”

“So just a friendly little movie-wank?”

“I won’t say it was emotionless. I had only met Schneider a little while before, but I was very excited that finally, here was someone who understood. I thought he was the coolest guy I’d ever met, actually.” Olli turned a shy smile on Schneider. “He’d been in tons of bands, he was older than me, and he would actually talk to me. I had a - well, if it was at all sexual I would have called it a huge crush.” 

Richard turned his hand over, cigarette between his fingers. “Except for, y’know, all the sex.” 

Olli shrugged expressively. “That was a side effect, kind of. I didn’t miss it much when we stopped.” 

“Which was…”

“When Richard moved in. I felt the same way about him, actually. I was probably very awkward, being so wide-eyed with admiration towards my two roommates.” 

“Oh god,” Richard laughed. “And then we would all watch Tarantino movies together. You would let me sit in the middle. I had no idea.” 

“You didn’t want to include him in the wankfest?” 

Olli lifted his head and gave Richard an appraising look. “Now I would, I think.” 

“Now you’re going to!” Till grinned. 

“Yes. But it didn’t occur to me at the time. It was clear that Richard was not going to tolerate being a third wheel. He needed to not be shut out, he would be unhappy if something like that was happening right there without him. So we just stopped.” 

Richard smiled a little ruefully, like he knew he couldn’t disagree, and looked down. Paul gave his ankle a friendly kick - ‘don’t be embarrassed, you’re all right’. 

“We never hid anything,” Olli said. “It wouldn’t have worked.” Richard still looked kind of downcast. 

Schneider reached for his arm. “Richard, seriously, the last thing we wanted was for you to feel excluded. I kind of wish we had suggested you join. But nobody did that kind of thing then.” 

The look Richard gave him was probably more open and ready to be hurt than he intended. “Did you have a crush on Olli, too? Non-sexual, or whatever?” 

Schneider made an undignified snort-laugh. “He scared the crap out of me for about a week. He didn’t talk at first. But no, not really. It was more like a bonding exercise or something. I mean, everything was terrible that year. I was in three bands that were all completely melting down, it was fighting and betrayal everywhere. Nobody was working because all our qualifications were useless. Hell, techno was popular, and it doesn’t even need musicians at all. And we weren’t supposed to be pissed off, we were supposed to be grateful. Olli understood all that. But so did you.” 

“Yeah.” Richard nodded slowly. “You got it.”

“We all did,” Till said. 

***

Till’s big, rawboned face down by his knees is more earnest than he expected. “Schneider?” 

Suddenly sympathetic to Richard’s hesitance, Schneider nods. Till watches intently as Schneider gets his button undone. The metallic rasp of him unzipping his fly is quietly unmistakeable, and he blushes again. He pushes his underwear down, carefully looking past Till’s face and between Paul and Flake’s chairs. The coffee maker is back there, that’s safe. He’s going to take a little warming up, same as Richard. Perhaps with the same thought, Till rubs up and down on his thighs but doesn’t go any farther. Schneider stops himself from reaching for Olli, he won’t mess with their rules like that, but he really would like his reassurance. Olli is steady and friendly and that was part of why it worked as well as it did when they would mess around together, it was so easily comfortable. Instead he feels trapped between Till and Richard and their ‘together alone’ thing, or as much as he can be with Richard quietly snoring next to him. 

He also can’t seek out Flake, and that leaves - 

“Of course he was going to figure out some way to kneel to you,” Paul says. So he’s a shithead, but also Schneider can smile a little and then like always deflect Paul from saying something too personal. 

“I clearly deserve it,” he answers. “Being so talented and well-dressed.” 

Even Till snorts, and it is so not Schneider’s fault that he wore those shoes a few years ago. Or those other ones. Well, yes, it is entirely his own fault, but he should hardly be held accountable for it now, that just wouldn’t be fair. 

Till clears his throat. “Paul, you want to come be soothing? Otherwise it’ll have to be Richard and I’m pretty sure Schneider’s not into sexsomnia.” 

“Trust you to know the word for it,” Paul grins. But he plops himself on the couch between Scheider and Olli, then picks up Schneider’s hand by the wrist and interlaces their fingers. “I’ll pet you anywhere but your nipples.” 

“Oh, really?” Olli jokes. “Is this new? Because I heard -”

“Shut up, shut up,” Paul laughs, and Schneider giggles and turns to lean against him, face tucked up against his hair, and Till slides all the way up his thigh and takes his rather confused dick into his big meaty hand. 

It doesn’t stay confused for long - it’s pretty weird having it be Till’s, but it’s a nice hand. Being snuggled up to Paul is helping - Paul is being heroically unawkward, just full speed ahead pretending this is normal, which is a gift of his. He doesn’t really want to know what Flake or Olli are seeing, he’s trying to not look. 

Till’s forearm rubs against his thigh as he strokes. Paul’s not wrong about Till wanting to kneel to him. There’s always been something in Schneider that draws him, some unyieldingness. Schneider’s always thought it was odd, because it’s not exactly real. Well, it is, of course - on the things that have really mattered, Schneider has always held his line. But he’s basically just a dorky musician from a normal, boring family, he’s not someone who burly wounded men kneel to. Except apparently he is, and he thinks it has always disappointed Till, that Schneider both looks the part and he knows where he won’t be crossed, but the only place he’ll use it is in exactly opposing Till’s desire to erase his own lines. 

It’s not just him - the few times that they’ve pulled Till back from an edge, it’s been all of them together. But as much as Till loves each of them, it’s Schneider who can make Till listen when the damage is starting to spread too far. Not Richard. Not Flake. Schneider couldn’t do it for himself alone, he realizes. But for the being that they are all together, he can be the enforcer. And as much as Till wants to bow to him, he doubts that he would let Schneider alone protect him from himself. But the band - well, that’s different. Maybe that’s really who he’s kneeling to now. Schneider is just their representative. 

It’s also a pretty effective position for giving a handjob, he has to admit. He kind of has to not think about what exactly is happening to stay in the groove, but as Till goes on it feels less weird, more good. Till is being fully attentive, he responds to every signal Schneider gives. When he just needs to coast for a minute Till slows and loosens, and when he’s aching for more he goes to quick deep strokes. Richard’s leg against his is warm, and he has a flicker of how his and Till’s shared secrets might have felt from the inside - crass, yes, but there’s more tenderness in this spot between them than he was picturing. The two of them held that part of each other safe for so long, and now they’ve just offered it up to the band, like it’s not theirs anymore, it’s all of theirs. And just like the two of them were, now the six of them are in this together. They’ll never really be able to tell anyone about it. They can say it, describe it even, but people will just think they’re joking. 

Curled down against Paul with his eyes closed he can still hear everything. The slide of skin on skin is getting wetter. Between his knees Till’s chest feels massive, he has to remember to not squeeze him. The cool rim of Paul’s ear is almost under his lips. He hears Flake shift a little, Richard sighs, and a big hand lands on his back, carefully only where his skin is covered by his shirt. Olli. 

Most people get a little fuzzy when they come, or so Schneider’s been told. He doesn’t. For him the world gets razor sharp, his vision is crisp and his thoughts are quiet. It’s like a short-lived coke high but without the grandiosity. He closes his eyes while his hips hitch spasmodically into Till’s hand. He might as well enjoy the pleasure of it, give it the undivided attention it deserves. To his surprise Paul turns back, his cheek brushing Schneider’s, and kisses him on the mouth. It’s a chaste, gentle press of lips, but kissing - anyone, really - while he’s in the middle of orgasm feels overwhelmingly intimate. And it’s Paul, who he long ago hated (and admired), who was able to change himself to be slowly less of an asshole, who Schneider came to like and then to love. For a moment of clarity he can see the whole shape of their relationship and how it fits into the band - with each other and all together, each of them forming themselves around the others as their lives grew together. He kisses back in an unexpected flood of affection. 

Paul grins and pecks him once more. “You good?” 

Schneider nods and slowly opens his eyes. The rush of sensation is fading, though his heart rate is still up, and in that state of perfect lucidity he watches Paul and Flake have one of those wordless conversations he still doesn’t understand, even - he counts - twenty-four years after he met them. Flake tilts his head, Paul scrunches one side of his mouth, Flake quietly says, “Mmh,” Paul lowers his eyes then quickly raises them, and then Flake scoots out of his chair onto the floor next to Till, nearly on Paul’s feet. He gives Till a crooked smile, questioning and hopeful. 

***

Till nodded reassuringly and gestured, ‘go on’.

Richard turned from him, to the rest of them. In the gathering dark the pool seemed to glow brighter than ever until the flare of his lighter washed it out. “Till and I did this thing.” He took a long drag. “It was kind of a game, where if one of us got laid, we would bring the other a souvenir. Wow, now this sounds like a serial killer thing, ew.” 

“What, like you’d steal a girl’s panties?”

“I did, once,” Till said, looking vaguely abashed. 

“Or even just, like, pussy juice. If you had it on you or something. But then you had to tell the other person what happened, how you got it, and …” Richard trailed off. 

“Let me guess,” Paul said. “There was wanking.” 

Flake snickered. “They wouldn’t be telling us if there wasn’t, Paul.” 

“Well?”

Richard nodded. “It probably started because one of us whined about getting left out while the other was fucking, but it was - honestly it was pretty intense. We were stupid and homophobic and self-loathing, I would say now in retrospect. But at the time we really would have insisted we weren’t doing anything together. We thought we were so sneaky, the two of us barricading ourselves in a bathroom or something together -” 

Till chuckled. “Oh, a bathroom was doing well. Any pretense of privacy was good enough. Dark corner of a dance floor. Between a couple parked cars. Under a blanket. Tall grass.” 

“Touching?” 

“Sometimes. Uh. One time I got head from a girlfriend who was wearing a lot of lipstick, so that was the souvenir. While I was telling Till about it he wiped it off me and onto himself. With his hand, I mean. Stuff like that.” 

“Was this competitive?” 

“With each other? Not really,” Till said. “Maybe more about feeling like outsiders, like weirdos together.” 

“Yeah, but,” Richard smiled sadly, “the trouble with feeling like you have a thing that you do because you’re different, is it gets weirder over time. Or it did for me. It wasn’t competitive like ‘who can fuck the most,’ but it felt like I had to keep up, keep being weird. I mean, I put a used condom in my pocket once to bring to Till -”

“Your own?”

“Yes, obviously my own, I didn’t just steal it off someone else. But I started to feel like I was using women, and I didn’t want to be like that. If I was weird for life, I wanted to be able to trust women with that, and have them be able to trust me. I’m not saying I’m good at that,” Richard added loudly. “But I wanted the chance.” 

“So you quit sometime? When?” 

“Richard got married,” Till shrugged. 

“Wait, that late? You did this during two albums, while we had a tour bus, on the trips to America, all that?” 

Richard shrugged in agreement. 

“How did you not get caught?” 

“I just thought you were doing coke together a lot,” Olli put in. 

“Well, that too.” 

“How did you not catch them?” Paul said. “I mean, it really wasn’t very hard to figure out even before I walked in on it.” 

Richard cringed. “Oh. Hey. Sorry, Paul. You shouldn’t have had to.” 

“But you didn’t ever tell anyone?” 

Paul looked at the water. “It was before the band formed, back then everyone knew it was us against the system, and the only people who told on their friends were snitches. And it wasn’t like I had any high ground or anything.” 

“Yeah, everyone figured about you and Flake.” 

“Hey!” 

***

Flake fidgets. “I’m - I have to - I’m next -” crouching on the floor, he’s just on the verge of stuttering, which doesn’t mean anything. Contrary to popular opinion, while strong emotion can set it off, the thing can also just decide that today’s a day that he doesn’t get to talk for no special reason. He’s sitting on one folded leg with the other knee bent up under his chin, and he puts his hand lightly on Till’s forearm. 

It’s an interesting choice, thinks Schneider. Till is close with each Paul and Flake in his way. It used to be Paul who looked like he was just as wild as Till but in reality was regulating him, steering him away from the worst damage. It used to be Flake who looked like he could keep Till out of trouble but really was leading him into it. And then Flake got his shit together and quit drinking, and though they’ve never talked about it Schneider suspects that it drove distance between them, because Flake no longer will meet Till in those wild parts of his existence. In contrast Paul hasn’t changed much. That they picked Flake suggests that they agree, and that they want to try to mend that breach, that Flake is meant to be reaching across the divide. 

He’s definitely reaching into the fray, at any rate. Till turns, and Flake pulls his head in with both hands and kisses him without a moment of hesitation. Still between Schneider’s knees Till wraps an arm around Flake’s skinny back, and that’s another reason it’s an interesting choice. Till has always wanted to cuddle Flake and Flake has always happily let him, but unlike the band’s past furtive gropings the two of them have never felt like any threat. If anything it seems like a model for how they all should be at their best - openly affectionate, genuinely caring, eternally sweet. 

Distance or no the two of them have one of the simplest relationships in the group, they just like each other. Remarkably, it never leaves anyone out, it’s never a source of jealousy or resentment. It’s probably actually one of the band’s unbreakable strengths, and they’ve needed every one of those. They look more like an actual couple than the preceding pairs, he thinks, making out there on the floor. His shin is nearly trapped between them, Till still has one hand up in Schneider’s lap but the other is hugging Flake, and all Schneider feels is the warmth of security. 

Still in that crystal focus that only lasts a minute, Schneider pulls the crumpled tissue from Till’s hand. He wipes Till’s limply curled fingers off, then bends down and kisses him on the side of the head. Just because he’s right over his knee he pecks Flake’s head too. He gets a weird sense of memory from it - he never kissed Flake when they were together, but somehow the texture and smell of his hair puts him right back in those dark hotel rooms, drunk and angry and impatient. He would have said at the time that it didn’t mean anything at all to him, but now he’s very glad that they ruled out anyone they’d been with in the past for this. 

“Come on, Flake, move it along,” Paul commands. Again, he’s being strategic - he can get away with bossing Flake, but the same to Till might sting. Till takes his cue and quits clinging to Flake’s shoulders like a teenager. He pivots and carefully lays down on the floor on his back. His hands go to his fly, and his eyes go to - Schneider. Because he’s always been the one who speaks up if Till is going too far. 

He only means to smile reassuringly at him, but instead Schneider’s face breaks into a big goofy grin. He feels ready to laugh with happiness and relief, actually. This is one of - okay, not even one of the stupidest ideas they’ve ever had, but it’s going better than it has any right to. Richard is warm against one side of him, Paul on the other, and Olli is now rubbing Flake’s shoulder and Paul is untangling from Schneider’s fingers and gathering Till’s hand into his, all of them (who are awake) staring down at Till sprawled out on the rug smiling wide and tugging open his pants. The booze is just a warm flush under Schneider’s skin, and the clearheadedness of his orgasm has faded. Now he’s just loopy and content, grinning away at this whole nutty scene. Paul catches his eye and laughs too, that one that makes his whole face light up. He can always count on Paul to enjoy it when he’s truly cheerful. 

“How’s that?” Till asks quietly. 

“Fine, it’s fine,” Flake tuts. “Quit wiggling.” 

Till’s ‘wiggling’ was to get his jeans down his heavy hips a little, they’re too tight to give him any maneuvering room otherwise. He’s not going to need any warmup, his cock is already laying stiff against his belly, coarse dark curls disappearing into the V of his fly. He doesn’t obviously react as Flake takes him in hand. His eyes stay closed tight and his expression remains impassive. But his hand tightens on Paul’s, the muscles of his forearm bulging. 

It’s still kind of comical to have all of them looking down on him, his junk light-skinned in the triangle made by the hem of his black shirt and open pants. And it’s appropriate, as funny as it is. Till can always seem to find a way to put himself on the outside of any circle. They try to leave a spot for him, they try to gather around him, but sometimes for all their efforts he just looks at them with that lonely mooncalf gaze, the one that means they’ve never really reached him at all. 

Now, though, he’s not eluding them. For a minute they watch in reverent silence as Flake confidently strokes him. It’s almost a clinical position, Flake’s hip is up against Till’s side but otherwise they’re not touching at all. Well, besides the obvious. Flake is setting a quick, steady pace, his long hand just tight enough to make the cords in his wrist stand out. 

“No mercy, eh, Flake?” Paul teases. 

“You always want to fuck around with the tempo, and what for?” Flake returns easily. The hint of stutter is gone. 

“It’s too predictable, otherwise,” Paul says. “See, you’ve got to -”

“Enough, Paul,” Till growls. 

Olli laughs. “Looks like he’s doing fine.” It’s true - Till’s earlier fretfulness is gone, now he’s quiet and contained, his thighs parted and breath deep. Momentarily his eyes flick open but Flake puts his free hand flat on his chest, and they shut again. Paul is more fidgety, Schneider takes his arm off his shoulders but he still shifts around. 

Till goes faster than either Richard or Schneider, it’s just a couple minutes before he’s making a face almost like pain and yanking his shirt up. Flake doesn’t even try to contain or catch the mess, just lets him come in white spurts on his own hairy skin. Schneider has seen Till come before, but he’s not sure he’s seen him … come, in the sense of actually watching the semen leave him. It seems like it should feel more personal than it does. Or by this point they’re so involved in each other that what’s a little ejaculation more or less. Yeah, that’s probably it. 

Paul springs up and hops right over Till’s panting body to grab the tissues. Till takes a couple from him with calm eyes. Unlike Richard who gets sleepy or Schneider’s moment of insight, the experience of orgasm is just very short for him. Or, as he puts it, ‘It lasts as long as a sneeze - feels good for a second but mostly just blows snot around.’ Schneider suspects there’s slightly more to it than that, but he does seem to always bounce right out of it. 

Flake clears his throat. “Okay, that was not so bad at all, it’s kind of fun, actually.” 

Flat on the floor, Till chuckles up at Flake and affectionately pats his chest. Flake beams back, and Schneider realizes that he actually was nervous, that near-stutter was more emotional than he’d thought. 

Still standing, Paul offers Till a hand. “Great. Now come sit with me so we can leer across the gap together.” 

Till lets himself be hauled into one of the armchairs next to Paul. He puts his elbows on his knees and rests his chin on his fists, which does indeed put him staring directly across at the couch. Paul does the same, and they both grin wolfishly. Schneider wonders for a second if he should move too, but Richard is still melted into the cushions, and instead Olli is reaching out and gently taking Flake by the elbow. After all, the options for who does Flake are dwindling. It can’t be Paul, and it can’t be Schneider. 

***

Schneider looked through his pink drink at the glow of the pool. “I, uh,” he started, then mumbled in a rush, “I used to jerk Flake off.” He put the glass on his knee. “When he was really drunk. He might not even remember.” 

Flake cleared his throat. “I remember.” 

“Whoa, whoa, hold up. How did that happen?” Richard looked baffled. 

Schneider rubbed his face. “I’m not proud of it.” 

“Oh, you’re not? Just think of me!” Flake was glaring at his own feet. “It was me who was so drunk that you didn’t know if I’d even remember it!” He glanced up. 

Schneider studiously avoided his eyes. “The first time I just found him totally wasted in the hall of some hotel, trying to get onto the fire escape with his pants open. He probably would have fallen down the stairs if he’d managed to get out the door, but he still tried to fight me when I pulled him away. I nearly carried him - I was pretty drunk too - and got him into my room. But he kept trying to leave, and he still had his dick out, and I figured if he didn’t know where he was, maybe I could just get things over with so I could get some sleep. I turned off the light and got him to kneel down so he wouldn’t fall over, and I knelt with him, and then. Uh. Yeah. It worked, though, he passed out and didn’t break his neck.” 

“And you did this … often?” 

There was no sense in downplaying it. “Quite a few times.” 

“And he let you?” Till blinked at Flake. 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly personal. We didn’t cuddle or anything.” 

“Um,” Flake cut in, “Speak for yourself.” 

“...So you did cuddle.” 

Flake pinched the bridge of his nose. “I could put my head on his shoulder. During it, I mean. Or my arms around him.” 

“I thought you were just trying to stay upright.” 

Flake shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing. “It was probably the kindest touch I was getting then. So I should thank you.” 

Schneider frowned. “It didn’t feel very kind.” He had usually rolled Flake into a bed afterwards, or once just left him on the floor when he crumpled. He still was ashamed of that, though he probably would have given him rugburn dragging him around. 

“Well, you could have hit me, I deserved it. And it might have made you feel better.” 

“God. That wouldn’t have helped anything.” He winced, vaguely remembering manhandling Flake’s thin body, holding his arms to his sides or pinning him against a wall. Not particularly roughly, but not particularly gently. “I was pretty pushy as it was. Uh. Kind of a bully, actually.” 

“And did it?”

“Make me feel better?” He thought. “Maybe.”

“Schneider!” Paul sounded teasingly horrified. 

“Not sexually,” Schneider protested. “I wasn’t getting off on it like that, and I really didn’t want to hurt him at all. But - everything felt so out of control, and here was one thing I could make sure went right.”

“Exactly,” Flake agreed. 

There was a pause while Schneider’s brain failed to make sense of that. Eventually Richard spoke for him. “What?” 

“Like you said,” Flake shrugged, “Nothing else was working, we all hated each other, but that was one time I could relax, I always knew it was going to work out. You would take care of it. I didn’t have to make any decisions, I didn’t get in trouble, and then I could go to sleep.” 

“Did you want … anyone else to control you?” 

“Not me,” Flake insisted. “Everything else. Hell, if I could have had Schneider fix the whole world I would have.” 

“With handjobs? That’s a little ambitious.” 

“The band, then.”

Ruefully Schneider said, “Maybe we should have.” 

“Hey now, we can’t just have Schneider tell everyone what to do.” 

“Yeah, give someone else a turn!”

***

“Here, Flake, sit on the couch.” Olli guides Flake up, and Flake follows clumsily. He nearly trips as he stands, and of course if any of the rest of them are slightly nervous, he’ll be wildly anxious. It’s vastly better than twenty years ago, but there was a reason he was drunk all the time. Even so he shook and shivered every time they flew anyway. What a way to live, Schneider thinks for the thousandth time. Now he’s just a little uncoordinated, and he sits with a whump right next to Olli, leaving a gap between him and Schneider. 

“How should I do this, should I just sit here?” Flake fiddles with the waistband of his joggers. 

Olli looks back at him impassively. They’re an unexpectedly good match in that way - when they get nervous Flake talks more and more, but Olli less and less. The amazing part is that this actually works for them. It didn’t used to at all, but these days Flake can just chatter away to him and Olli contentedly listens, reacting appropriately. It’s often slightly teasing, but Flake doesn’t mind being laughed at. After all, he's pretty entertaining, and Olli is perfectly engaged. Olli licks his lips with a little dart of pink tongue. “Do you want a hug first?” 

“A - a hug? Sure, that’s a nice part of handjobs.” 

Olli’s pursed smile and widened eyes say, ‘That didn’t make any sense, but I enjoy your company,’ and he enfolds Flake in both long arms. He hunches down out of habit, bending his back because hugging anyone else requires him to reach low. After a second Flake figures out how to get his arms around Olli’s back, too. 

“I’ve always wondered, can the two of you hug yourselves at the same time?” Paul asks. “Like, can you reach all the way around each other and back to your own back? It really seems like it should work.” 

Olli smiles. “Good question.” He had been curling his hands up near Flake’s shoulders, but now he wraps around him. Flake twists to face him better so they’re chest to chest and does the same. They both straighten up to press closer. The side of Flake’s glasses rests against Olli’s cheek. Olli squeezes, pulling Flake tight against him. The points of his elbows are almost on top of each other behind Flake’s back, and he stretches his forearms back towards himself. “I can put my hands on my sides,” he announces. “That’s it.” 

“You’re bigger than me,” Flake wheezes. “And way stronger, oh my god, I can’t breathe. I kind of have my fingers in my armpits, though. Happy, Paul?” 

“I suppose that counts,” Paul says. 

“I’m so glad to have lived up to your expectations,” Flake mumbles. 

“See?” says Olli, “We still have a lot of new ideas.” And then when Flake does something that’s both a scoff and a laugh, Olli kisses him on the cheek. He hasn’t loosened his arms at all, they’re still squeezed tight together. It makes them look like one strange creature that’s all a coil of arms in unexpected angles. They really do have a lot of length between the two of them. And once again Paul has managed them, Schneider realizes. He came up with something that eased Flake’s nerves and showed Olli how to interact rather than staying aloof, and it was a little manipulative but it does seem to have worked. And then in reply Flake kisses Olli full on the mouth, and Schneider’s been waiting for that, because Flake only has a couple modes and complete commitment is one of them. 

Olli kisses back, of course, because for whatever inscrutable reason he’s decided that this is something he’s encouraging. He loosens his arms and Flake’s breath rushes in, it really was constricted. Olli’s eyes are closed and his face is placid. He’s a good kisser, from what Schneider remembers. He doesn’t have a great recollection of what they physically did, it wasn’t the interesting part and it was a long time ago. In a way this feels is just like those evenings with Olli panting on his shoulder while blood splattered on the TV screen. Now they’re six instead of two, but like then they’re confirming a kinship. 

“Can I lay down?” Flake says. “I’m actually really bad at sex standing up.” 

“Sure.” Olli unwinds his arms

Till says, “You’re not even standing up, though.” 

“Maybe I’m even worse sitting.” Flake glances at him. “Does this even count as sex?” 

Olli eyes him up and down in a look that means ‘It would be a lot closer if you weren’t fully dressed.’ 

“Fine, I’m going, and wow you were right about this being a lot of audience.” 

“I can hide my eyes.” Paul exaggeratedly puts his hands over his face and sways around blindly, and Flake takes that as his moment to swing his legs into Olli’s lap and pull his pants down. He doesn’t stop at just getting the waistband under his crotch, it’s all the way past his ass. His knees are sprawled open and his shins crossed atop Olli’s thighs. He leans back on his elbows on the couch’s greenish leather. 

“Okay, now I’m ready.” 

Till chuckles and Olli grins, because he was already reaching up under Flake’s shirt. He lays his hand inside the fabric, it drapes across his broad knuckles as he cups Flake’s dick under his long fingers. Flake gulps, and Olli rubs up and down. It looks like he’s letting his fingers part around the tip and sliding it between them while the shaft rides snugly in his palm, and abruptly Flake collapses down with a rush of breath. His head lands in Schneider’s lap. 

There’s a sudden sleepy snort. “Oh my god, you’re all still going?” Richard blurts. 

“No, I just fell down and my pants came off.” Flake’s eyes are closed behind his glasses. 

“Welcome back to consciousness,” Schneider says. “It’s become a chain. While you were out.” 

“Mm hm.” Richard eyes Flake. Olli has nudged the hem of his shirt up his pale thin belly and now everything is fully exposed, his hand wrapped around his cock pumping steadily. It’s a little funny watching the two members of the band who he’s (sort of) been with, together. Oddly, Schneider never looked very closely at Flake’s dick while he was doing that. It’s pretty much what he imagined. Suddenly, watching them, it seems strange that he knows what Flake’s body feels like arched against him in climax but not what his mouth feels like against his own. They were seeking the same thing, him and Olli and Flake, that same sense of connection and comfort, and all at once he wishes he could have better provided it to Flake. He’s glad they’re trying again now all together. Flake’s head is heavy on his thigh, and he wants unexpectedly and badly to make up for it and kiss him now. 

“Here,” Schneider takes Richard’s hand and brings it to Flake’s head. “You pet him. It’s against the rules for me.” 

“Somebody else is going to have to light my smoke, then.” He starts combing Flake’s hair back with his fingers. “Do I want to know why Paul is covering his eyes?” 

Paul turns his head and surreptitiously peeks out from behind his palms. “Flake was feeling the weight of the audience.” He moves his hands farther out, so they’re just hovering in front of his face. “I’m not looking.” He winks at Richard. 

“I still don’t care if you do,” Flake says. He has one hand folded atop his chest and the other reached down on Olli’s knee, next to his own butt. Richard is steadily running his black fingernails across his scalp. It makes Flake’s messy hair fan out across Schneider’s leg. Schneider’s never understood how he gets it so choppy, the bangs aren’t even at all, does he ask a hairdresser to do it like that on purpose? Flake sighs contentedly, for a moment gone limp like a cat. Maybe it wasn’t purely intoxication that made him droop heavily against Schneider back when they’d knelt together. 

“You’d better have washed your hair today,” Richard comments, letting the strands slip from between his fingers. 

“Oh, you’d know if I hadn’t,” Flake says distractedly. “I have very good hygiene these days.” 

Olli snorts but doesn’t say anything. He’s rubbing steadily, long fingers loose as they move up and down. Flake’s hand on his knee is repetitively squeezing and relaxing and his lower belly hollows between his hip bones. 

Next to Schneider, Richard struggles to open the cardboard flap of his pack of cigarettes one-handed. 

Till holds out his hand. “A little help?” 

Richard grins. “From my friends.” He puts the pack into Till’s palm, and gracefully accepts one in return when Till puts it in his fingers. He doesn’t actually have any trouble lighting it with one hand after all. The sound of Olli’s hand working is unambiguous, and his gaze moves back and forth between Flake’s crotch where he’s wanking him and his face where he’s tipped back on Schneider’s thigh. Olli seems expressionless until Schneider notices a tiny smile bristling out his beard. 

“Does anybody want coffee?” Paul is back to fidgeting, tapping his feet and no longer even pretending to cover his eyes. “I’ll make a pot.”

“It’s your turn next,” Schneider says. He cautiously puts his hand on the front of Flake’s shoulder, the rounded bony joint in his palm warm through his shirt. 

“Yeah, give me just a - a minute - oh, oh, oops -” Flake shudders but stays loose-limbed, letting Olli set the pace of his final strokes. Only his hand moves, his thumb firmly rubbing back and forth on Olli’s leg. He used to do that when it was them alone, Schneider suddenly remembers, that little convulsive touch on his shoulder or arm or waist. And Olli finishes him like Schneider remembers he does himself, long slow tugs that go on until Flake hurriedly grabs his wrist to move him off. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s my turn next,” Olli says coolly, just a minusculely raised eyebrow hinting that he’s joking. “Also could I get the tissues?” 

Till tosses the box to him and Olli deftly catches it left-handed. He tries to offer them to Flake, but he’s still got his eyes closed. So he wipes Flake’s belly and dabs the drop still hanging from the lip of his foreskin before he turns to his own hand. He has to rotate his wrist a couple times before Flake lets him go. Their proportions are similar enough that they look normal against each other, long shapely forearms and long slim hands together. 

If he had to guess, Schneider would say that Flake’s orgasms render him cuddly. He’s not as drowsy as Richard but he’s making no move to get up, and his hand has settled back on Olli’s knee again, his legs still sprawled in his lap and his head on Schneider with Richard’s hand sunk in his hair. He looks like he could stay that way for a while. He kind of hates to disturb him. 

***

“All right, Flake and Paul, get a move on. Spill.” 

“Why do you think we -”

“You shared a sleeping bag,” Schneider interjected. “I saw it!” 

“Only, like, a couple times!” 

“How did they even fit?” Till wondered. 

“Tightly,” said Schneider. He remembered staggering past them to piss once, his body aching from sleeping on the hard ground and truly a massive hangover. They were spooned together, the entire length of their bodies snug, and even so the sleeping bag strained around the bend of their knees. Only their heads stuck out the top. They had both bleached their hair the same crispy yellow, but under the pale scudding dawn sky it looked golden, Flake’s shaggy bangs intermingling with Paul’s ratty ponytail, the strands indistinguishable from each other. They looked almost angelic there together in the pearlescent early morning light, serene and deceptively innocent. 

“That was separate. The jerking off thing was mostly a way of keeping Flake from puking in the van every time he got slightly anxious,” Paul said. 

“Oh, was that it?” Flake said skeptically. “I thought it was to keep you from throwing the keys out the window when we were on the Autobahn.” 

“He did that?” 

“Yes!” 

“Okay, that was just because Aljoscha was entirely unreasonable -”

“We had to get out and look in the weeds!” 

“You hurled on my pillow!” 

Till rubbed his forehead. “So, moving along…”

Flake sighed. “Well, anyway, it worked. Paul and Aljoscha would start arguing, and riling each other up, and it wasn’t even that hard to act nervous - I usually was already anyway -”

“Aljoscha’s driving was pretty hazardous even when he wasn’t yelling,” Schneider muttered. 

“Wait,” Paul laughed, “Are you telling me you were faking?” 

“No! I was just - performing a little.” 

“It really did work, anyway,” Paul mused. “Flake would start looking a little pale, and I’d say he looked like he should lay down for a minute. He would gripe and say he didn’t want to be exiled all alone, so I’d go back with him…” 

“And we’d be nice and mellow for the rest of the day. Both of us, apparently.” 

“Do you think Aljoscha figured it out?” 

Schneider’s chuckle turned into a guffaw, and both Paul and Flake turned and looked crossly at him. “Oh, yes, he certainly did.” 

“He told you -”

“Nothing, just once that I should leave you alone when you were back there, but there was a lot of implication to it. He maybe thought there was more to it than there was.” 

He expected Paul in particular to laugh with him, and agree that Aljoscha had had it wrong, but instead they both looked cagey and slightly guilty. He remembered them looking like that back then, too, though he hadn’t known what it meant. Paul darted a glance at Flake, who picked up the hint and said, “I don’t think he ever understood it, really. His relationships were - they were completely different. Paul and I, we were friends -”

“What, you were just murmuring professional encouragement from separate bunks?” Till asked. 

“Uh,” Flake said, “No? There was definitely wanking. Usually in one bunk, too.” He cleared his throat. “It was just, Paul wasn’t afraid of anything, and I was afraid of everything -”

“Except the things you should have been.” 

Flake raised one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “It did settle Paul down. And I felt better, too. Not just calm, but, um, reassured. I - ” his voice faded to a crackly murmur, “sometimes I was afraid I wasn’t cool enough for Paul.” 

“See?” Paul interjected. “Like that. You never have any idea which ones are which. You’re afraid of diseases you don’t have, but not that you’ll get the shits from drinking raw river water. You’re always afraid that the plane will crash, but not that Aljoscha was going to wreck the van and kill us. You were afraid you weren’t cool enough for me, but not that I had the most inept little bi crush on you.” 

“Why would I be afraid of that?” Flake blinked. “Did you?” 

“Yeah.” Paul sounded half rueful, half amused. “It was terrible.” 

“Oh, I didn’t -” Flake looked wide-eyed and startled. “Paul, that’s - sorry?” 

“What are you apologizing for? It was me who was getting off on it. It was me who was ogling you when we jerked off together.” Paul sounded steely, which Schneider now knew meant he felt guilty. 

“I don’t mind,” Flake said quietly. “But I - I must have been cruel to you. In ignorance, but still.” 

“Not too much.” Schneider doubted the truth of that, Flake could be a wrecking ball back then, even if just from ineptitude. Paul shrugged nonchalantly. “Anyway, it was better that you didn’t reciprocate, I would have been cruel too, worse than you. Maybe on purpose.” Schneider bit his lip - he understood about Paul’s cruelty, too, he wasn’t just saying that to say it. Paul went on, “But that made it safe for me. Not for you. Having somebody looking when you -” 

“Seriously, I don’t care about that.”

“But would you have then, if you’d known?” 

“Oh, no,” Flake said confidently. “You must have actually thought I was cool enough, if you were so into me!” 

“The coolest.” Paul sounded sarcastic but he probably wasn’t. “I got over the rest of it, thank god. Then it was just fun.” 

“Did this whole thing stop with Feeling B?”

“Yeah. Before that, even. The two of us, we were going to be different, tough and cool and nasty. No more cute.”

“Did you miss it?” Richard asked. He and Till were similar enough, perhaps, to understand better than the others. 

Paul shook his head. “It was - I can’t even believe now how young we were. I guess we just grew out of it. And later, it wouldn’t have translated well, I don’t think it would have worked the same. They’re really different bands.” 

“Too different,” Flake agreed. He hesitated. “It was nice, though.” 

“Yeah.” Paul didn’t have to think about it. 

“I hadn’t thought about it in a long time,” Flake said with a wistful note. “It was probably stupid, but in the same way that everything else we did then was, so it fit right in. The whole world felt limitless, we were free to do anything, and if we were together it would all turn out right.” 

“Yeah,” Paul said. “I know. I mean, we did so many stupid things, we could have actually gotten hurt. But like that, together, I was sure we’d always be okay.” 

“And after you quit?”

“Well, the two of us were always together then too,” Flake said. 

“And we were going to be okay together, weren’t we?” Paul said. “All of us, all together, I mean.” 

***

“Okay,” Paul says, a little wildly. “Okay, my turn, yeah.” Something is unsettling him but Schneider can’t tell what. He doesn’t seem like he’s reluctant about his role in the next phase of things, though, he’s standing up and making his way to Olli. “How do you want to be?” 

Olli looks up at him. “Is there a way we can do this without me looming over you?” 

“I mean, I’m not going to stand on a box, so you’re probably going to have to at least lean a little.” Paul considers. “Flake, move your legs.” He taps his shin commandingly. 

“Mmmph,” Flake says. 

“And your head.” Schneider taps above his ear. 

“Mmmph.” 

Richard tsks. “Give him here.” It’s something he in the past said with ire, when Flake was hopelessly drunk and no one else had the sense to take care of him. But this time he’s grinning, laughing a little at Flake but also - proud, he’s proud that the anger and heartache and bone-deep struggle are behind them and underneath it all is a rock solid foundation. Now Schneider can joggle Flake as he stands and Flake grumbles but pulls his pants up. When Richard tugs at his shoulder Flake scoots across the couch, into Richard’s waiting arm. Schneider takes the chair next to Till.

“How about me looming over you instead?” Paul has perched on the arm of the couch next to Olli. 

“I don’t think you’ll be able to reach from there,” Richard says, Flake nestled up against his side. 

“Fuck you. I could - hmm, what if I sit behind you?” Paul asks. 

Olli tilts his head in assent and scoots forward. Paul jams one foot in beside him to clamber up, grabbing Olli’s shoulder to balance. His rings gleam. For a moment he stands with his feet wide and both hands on Olli’s shoulders like he’s going to leapfrog over him. Olli reaches up and covers one with his own elegant fingers. He’s lowering his gaze, it’s almost a demure look, but if he raised his eyes he’d be staring right at Till and Schneider. 

Then Paul kneels behind him, knees open around him, and Olli carefully leans back against him. 

“That’s it, snuggle up,” Paul says in that mocking, teasing way of his, which can feel insulting but also can propel them through a lot of situations. Olli settles, then looks back at him with a slightly surprised expression. Paul shakes his head slightly. A quick smile crinkles Olli’s eyes, but he relaxes back against Paul’s chest. They’re about the same height in this position, Paul is even a little taller. Nobody messes with Paul about being small, but Olli in particular goes out of his way to not make a thing of it beyond the unavoidable. In return Paul gives him exactly no trouble about being huge. Schneider doesn’t really know which of them is benefiting more from that consideration right now. 

It’s not just politeness, he thinks. The two of them seem so superficially different - quiet and loud, younger and older, but they’re more similar than not. In particular they have the same kind of drive. They’re the pounding bass and guitar underlying everything, but more than that they meet on the common ground of providing the band’s impetus. Richard has more motivation than he knows what to do with but he can get sidetracked into perfectionism, Schneider himself often wants to go but doesn’t care where, Till and Flake both need a structure to weave into. But Paul and Olli never falter, they have no patience for dithering. Together they’re twin engines burning steadily, forcing the band along up hills and over bumps. It’s gotten them here - they both have declared that the band is doing this, and so they are.

And they’re chugging right along now - Olli shimmies his shorts down his slim hips, and Paul briskly runs his hand down his taut belly and pulls his tank top up. Olli’s abs are spectacular, Schneider has to give him that. Paul’s hand wraps easily around his dick and squeezes gently. Again Olli looks slightly surprised, but unexpectedly it’s Paul who blushes blatantly. “Sorry,” he mutters, pitched for Olli’s ears. 

Olli twists back and looks at him with that steady gaze that would cause lesser men to quail. Then, deliberately, he kisses the tip of Paul’s nose. Paul laughs, an embarrassed scrunch of his nose and pink cheeks. 

“Are you keeping secrets over there?” Schneider asks, half joking. 

“You’ll know everything in a minute,” Olli says firmly. He looks very long and narrow with his slim hips exposed and held between Paul’s knees. 

“I don’t know, Olli, I think maybe you’d better tell us now,” Till leers. Mostly because it’s fun to fluster either of them, the opportunities are so scarce. Paul is almost never embarrassed, and Olli can hide it so well that it’s hard to catch it. But Paul is flamed up, and Olli is getting a little warm around the neck. It’s probably more from the position than whatever Paul is worked up about, none of them except Till have a hint of stage fright but Olli gets a thrill off a crowd that looks a whole lot like the way his breathing is just a little fast. As to what’s bothering Paul, well, he has a guess now. 

“Weren’t we just talking about the virtues of not hurrying?” Paul objects. He’s not really moving his hand, just repeatedly pinching Olli’s foreskin so it pulls tight over the head. 

“I think we were talking about the value of not changing things just for the sake of changing, actually,” Flake says. He lands a peck on Richard’s earlobe, and Richard tightens his arm around him and looks mildly surprised. 

Then Paul strokes Olli from tip all the way down to dark pubes and back up, and Olli gasps and shifts his hips up. 

Till grins. “Oh, yeah, that’s what I like to see.” 

“You didn’t get enough before?” Schneider asks, and Olli laughingly groans and turns his face away, hiding in Paul’s neck. Paul does a couple more deep slow pumps that let the increasingly flushed head of his cock strain out from his fist, then ramps up until he’s pistoning steadily. 

“That’s our Olli,” Schneider muses. “Put him naked in front of an audience and the only thing he hides is his face.” 

“We’re all fucking exhibisionists,” Olli mutters. He’s tucked under Paul’s jaw, eyelids pressed against the black tattooed skin. It’s rather symbolic when Schneider thinks about it - observant Olli, blinded against that tattoo that has six sharp points, Paul’s latest rendition of a repeating motif. 

“We definitely are,” agrees Richard. “Can I kiss him?” 

“I guess,” Flake says. 

“Do I have to move?” Olli mumbles. 

“That seems backwards from who should have answered what,” Schneider points out. 

“Just don’t mess with my arm,” Paul commands. 

“Sure, sure.” Richard disentangles from Flake and moves to the empty spot between him and the pair. He has to sit on one shin to reach, and arch a little over Paul’s quick-moving forearm. With one rounded, black-nailed hand he gingerly cups Olli’s head - or as much of it as isn’t hidden, which leaves mostly beard. His fingertips splay out along the tendon at the base of Olli’s skull and his thumb settles on his cheek, nearly under Paul’s chin. 

“Are you doing it?” Paul asks impatiently. 

“It’s a tricky position,” Richard huffs. And finally leans in - Olli doesn’t move but he purses his lips to meet him, delicate and pink under the dark mustache. Richard’s temple is against Paul’s cheek, they’re so crammed together they’re all touching each other. Olli’s neck is a long elegant line and his jaw looks especially sculpted with his chin tipped up like it is, working as he kisses back. Schneider doesn’t have much of an eye for men but Olli’s easy to appreciate from a purely aesthetic standpoint. Till, too, is watching beside him, and they share a knowing glance - they have Olli in common, strangely. Schneider lays a companionable hand on Till’s wrist. 

Paul scrunches his nose again. “Fuck, that tickles.” Which is fair, Olli’s beard must be scraping all over his neck. He pecks a kiss on Richard’s cheek, and Richard smiles. Olli squirms, Paul blushes again, Richard puts one hand on Olli’s shoulder, and Paul brings the tissue to his belly as Olli makes a high muffled whine. He’s arching hard, his shoulders are pushing back against Paul’s and his stomach is taut under Paul’s hand. 

“Keep going,” Till says. 

“Yeah, he’s not done yet.” Schneider was always slightly amazed when they fooled around together how long Olli seemed to come for, way after he himself would have found touch uncomfortable. 

Paul does a couple more strokes that go so deep they brush Olli’s balls, and Olli pushes a breath out heavily. “More?” 

Olli minutely nods into his neck. He looks almost immobilized by Paul’s ministrations, body quivering as his hand slowly pumps up and down, up and down. Finally he flinches, and on the next stroke twists his hips away. 

Paul gives him a final wipe with the tissue that makes him hiss. “Were you seriously coming for all of that?” 

Olli drags his lip from between Richard’s teeth, lifts his face and clears his throat. “More or less.” 

Richard laughs and settles back on the couch. “Do you want to get off all the time because it’s amazing, or never because it’s such an investment?” 

“They balance out.” He pulls his shorts up, leaning back to get his weight off his butt, and Paul makes crushed wheezes behind him. 

“All right, Paul, now it’s your turn,” Till teases. “And I think you were going to tell us something.” 

“I can’t if I die from being flattened by Olli.” 

“Should I tell?” Olli asks innocently. 

“No!”

***

“I’ll tell it,” Till said quietly in the dark, “Unless you want to, Olli.” 

Olli tilted his head, meaning “Go ahead.”

“Well, like a lot of fun things, it started as a dare.” 

“Fun,” Paul muttered.

Till ignored him. “There was an after-afterparty where it ended up being me and Olli and just one girl. I said something about that I wanted to go first, and she asked if I was too chicken to jerk my friend off at the same time instead. Well, I wasn’t, of course.” 

“Of course,” Richard nodded.

“So I sat in a chair and she blew me, and Olli stood over her, I mean completely over her, one foot on either side of her as she knelt, both of them facing me, and I jerked him off.”

“Is that it? Because if that counts we’re going to have to tell a lot more stories tonight.” 

“It wasn’t just once,” Olli said quietly. 

Till nodded. “At first we did it again because the same girl came to another party, and she said she’d had fun. I didn’t think Olli would go for it, my handjob versus properly getting laid doesn’t sound that great. But he went along with it. Then we tried switching, but it worked better the other way.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Olli’s got the legs for it,” Till smirked. Right - he could bridge completely over a kneeling person with room to spare, while Till would probably squash them. “Anyway, it turned into a regular thing.” 

“So -” Richard began, but Olli interrupted. 

“Tell the rest of it.” 

“That first girl, part of what she liked about it was getting jizz in her hair. Which was pretty hot, I had to agree. But another time, with another girl, we told her this was what we were into, and she said she didn’t want Olli coming on her. I said I’d take care of it. Then when we got there, I didn’t really have a plan.” 

“Hand?” asked Flake.

“Mouth.” 

“Oh. I would have caught it in my hand.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you would have,” Till agreed fondly. “But I liked it. And pretty soon we were doing it a lot. It was never just the two of us, there was always a woman there, which I would tell myself meant it was all normal and perfectly straight.” 

Paul shrugged. “Hey, we’ve all been there.” 

“Ah, but then I figured out Olli wasn’t going anywhere else.” 

“Wasn’t -?” 

“He quit doing anything with women. He was sneaky about it, but there were a couple tours where I’m pretty sure I was the only one he was getting with. I worried a little that I was taking advantage of him -”

“You weren’t.” Olli left no room for argument.

“You didn’t just start thinking he was gay?”

“Olli? He obviously wasn’t.” 

Olli, who had been pretty cool through all the rest of this, suddenly frowned deeply. Looking up at the sky he muttered, “It was me who was taking advantage of you.” 

“Mmm, I was getting plenty out of it. You were always sweet about it, too, not weird or anything.” 

Olli shook his head, clearly distressed. Paul looked back and forth between them. “So, hmm, okay, I’m missing something. Olli?” 

Olli passed his hand across his face. “For a little while I actually did think I was gay.” 

“I’m still pretty sure you’re not.” 

“No, I’m not. But all the sex on tour lost any appeal. The only thing that held any interest was this thing with Till.”

Till chuckled. “Hey, I know I’m good, but I’m not that good.” 

Again, Olli shook his head. “No, I was just so lonely doing everything else.” 

“Oh.” Schneider remembered it viscerally then. “Oh, god, of course Olli was the first one to give up groupies.” 

“You said it was because you had a girlfriend, Orgy Olli,” Paul teased. 

“It was the other way around,” Olli said lowly. “I got a girlfriend because I realized I wanted to have sex with someone who liked me. But I - I stuck my dick in Till’s mouth a lot just because he wasn’t a stranger. He cared about me even a little bit, which was more than I could say for any of the women. Hell, he even made sure I had a good time. I didn’t even do that for him.”

“I both like you more than a little and had a very good time myself, you know.” 

“Yeah, why do you think you were using him again?” 

“Because the whole thing, it was just a substitute for what I really wanted. It was just a stopgap, I was just biding time until I could figure out how to move on. And I was - I was angry that I kept coming back.” 

“Wait,” Till said slowly. “Do you think you were making me do it, or that you left me hanging when you quit?” 

“Both. Neither. I don’t know.” 

“Olli.” Till reached for him, gently tapping his chest with the back of his hand. “Hey. I kind of thought you were pissed at me for escalating it -”

“No, that was fine.” 

“Yeah, I figured you weren’t too mad at me, though I did wonder why you kept doing something that seemed like it pissed you off.”

Olli ducked his head. “It did. I was pissed that I felt so strongly about it. It made me feel awfully uncool. No way to pretend to be a bro at all. I hated that I wanted so much to be touched by someone who I cared about.”

“I’m honored to be that person, then.”

“And I hated that I was such a prick to you. Someone who I cared about, who I just dropped the instant I could.” 

Till shrugged. “Not really. You didn’t avoid me or anything, we still did all the other fun stuff. Drinking and sports and music and all. Those mattered more to me.” 

“Oh.” Olli blinked. “No, I wouldn’t have given those up. Not for anything. And I shouldn’t have quit the other part, it’s not like she even minds.” 

Till held a solemn face for a few seconds before cracking. “So what we keep coming up with here is that we’re a horny, grumpy, touch-starved sextet of men who have loved each other in fucked up ways for years.” 

“And we should have fucked each other in loving ways from the beginning.” Paul looked pleased with himself. 

****

Paul waits until Olli starts to sit up on his own, then gives him a push. Olli stands and makes a ‘Please, go ahead,’ gesture. Exaggeratedly rolling his shoulders and scratching his neck where Olli rested, Paul scoots out. 

Richard eyes him. “So.” He sprawls a little, partly because he’s antsy and partly because he’s going to make Paul work for it. 

Instead of answering, Paul just moves to stand between his feet. He has his back to Schneider but beside Richard on the couch Flake is mirroring his face - he knows because they do that, adopt each others’ expressions before they’ve decided how they personally feel about something, and then change to their own opinion later. If Flake’s version is accurate, Paul is staring at Richard with a desperate, off-kilter look. He drops so his knees are on the edge of the couch between Richard’s legs, and Flake smirks - his own smirk, this time - and says, “Oh.” 

Richard makes a ‘Come on, let’s go,’ gesture, and Paul brings his hands to his waist. 

Flake springs up. “Schneider, uh, switch places with me.” 

“Too much?” Till grins. 

“It wouldn’t really be fair, would it? I - I think it’ll be okay next time but I’d rather watch his back than his front this time.” 

By the time Schneider takes his seat on the couch, Paul has his fly open and his jeans slung low on his hips. Richard is staring with his brow wrinkled and his mouth down in concentration. It’s what Schneider expected. There’s a huge wet spot on Paul’s underwear and under it he’s obviously massively hard. He must have managed to get his dick tucked up so it didn’t tent his pants, but he’s clearly been aroused for a while. 

“Olli!” Richard points indignantly. “Was he rubbing this on you that whole time?”

Olli smiles contentedly. “No, he was very polite. He did twitch a little though. I don’t think he could help it.” 

“Oh my god,” Paul groans. “I’m never going last in line again.” He rolls his head back, eyes half shut like he’s too embarrassed to look at anyone. Belatedly Schneider understands what it would be like - if it had been five women, all of them beautiful, all of them making out with each other, and who he’d loved for years - Then Paul pulls his underwear down, and yeah, he’s more than ready. Richard keeps staring at him, hands on his own legs. “Richard?” Paul murmurs. It’s more tentative than Schneider expected out of Paul - ever really, but particularly in this state. He’s genuinely asking, and that, too, is a development that once seemed impossible. Paul told , Paul demanded, Paul insisted, but Paul didn’t ask. Not Richard, anyway. And Richard did his own share of telling. 

“Yes, Paul?” Richard answers sweetly. He’s being a shit on purpose, but not because he feels like he has to, more like he thinks it’s funny. Even Richard being able to think things are funny feels precious, there were a couple years there where Schneider doesn’t think he ever smiled. Followed by some years where he was so careful around them all, especially Paul, that he seemed faded and nearly absent. Paul backed far away too. For a while they didn’t seem to have any relationship at all. They had to rebuild it like strangers, and they did it so carefully that it ended up almost completely different from the first version. There’s a trust there now, enough that Paul can stand in front of him while Richard teases him, looking painfully turned on - and wait. 

“I was kind of hoping you might -” ears red, Paul gestures vaguely at his own crotch. 

Then Richard leans to the side. For a second Schneider thinks ‘holy shit, is he going to bail?’ It would be so catastrophic, he’s been ignoring how much they’re taking a risk together but for a moment the chasm yawns, they could fall so very far - and then Richard reaches out and makes a pinchy grabbing movement with his hand, and Olli obediently hands him the box of tissues. He offers them to Paul. “Here. Take a couple. Use them. That’s your job.” It sounds prissy about getting his hand gross and it probably is, but it’s also smart. You can keep Paul out of a surprising amount of trouble by giving him a job, even a trivial one, as they all know well. 

Paul crumples a couple in his palm and lets his arms hang. This is an extraordinary amount of patience from him, and evidently Richard agrees that he’s pushing it because he puts one hand on Paul’s hip and wraps his fingers around the rigid base of his cock. Paul makes a noise that isn’t a moan only because he quickly bites it off. He’s dead silent as Richard strokes smoothly up and down, not breathing at all. 

“You’re going to get your shirt wet,” Schneider warns. Now that Richard is rubbing him it’s folding dangerously close. 

“It, hnnnh, it already is.” Paul sounds rough-voiced and thoroughly distracted. 

Over in his chair Till crosses his arms. “Now, I’m not sure if this is really fair. This is going to be the fastest one of us all, and that’s letting Richard off easy.” 

“On the other hand, he’s also the one in the greatest danger of having Paul come on his face,” Flake counters. There’s some truth to that, Paul’s dick is indeed aimed pretty much right at Richard’s nose, and while he’s holding carefully still now Schneider knows he usually moves quite a bit when he comes.

“You’d better fucking not,” Richard says. “Also if we’re awarding points I get all of them for mess, because he started all slimy and drippy and it’s only getting worse.” 

Paul opens his mouth to protest but Richard slips his thumb up across his frenulum and over the glossy head, and all that comes out is a sharp groan. He tries to push into Richard’s hand but is held back by the tight grip on his hip. “That’s not - how this works. I get all the points for - going last and - being so supportive and -” He puts his hands on Richard’s shoulders to steady himself, he does look a little wobbly. 

To help, Schneider reaches for his upper arm. The tattoo there is half obscured by the sleeve of his t-shirt until he pushes it up. The black of it is stark on his pale skin, sharp and gear-like. He holds Paul by the bicep, thumb resting on the uppermost inked point. Points, he thinks, and chortles to himself. Paul pries his eyes open and gives him a squinty look, and Schneider pulls himself together. He rubs up and down on that black dart aimed up, then the one clockwise next to it, covering it and pressing with the pad of his thumb so Paul’s skin dents a little. Then the third, and the one pointed down, four and five and six. Always six. 

“Hey, I want some points too,” Till announces, and gets up. He leans one knee on the couch and carefully puts his mouth on Paul’s. Apparently that’s all it takes, he was right about Paul not lasting at all. A shudder runs through him, followed by a long moment in which he seems frozen. Then he yanks his hand away from Richard’s shoulder and covers himself as he bucks into Richard’s grip. Or away from it, Richard is trying without much success to hold him with the other hand. Till loops a big arm around his chest, and as Paul’s frantic movements slow he droops into the support, leaning against Till’s shoulder. 

He stays like that for a moment, not so much kissing Till as just pushing their mouths together, and after a few seconds of him not moving away Till brings up his other hand and strokes his hair. Paul can be so harsh sometimes, he’s hurt them all but Till and Richard are especially sensitive to it. They’ve done their share, too - it can be comforting for the band to have some closer alliances but it can also leave the rest of them out, and Till and Richard have been on both sides of that line. And even so Paul would never betray them by telling something that wasn’t his to share. It seems fitting that now he would end up between them, tamed and thanked and forgiven. 

Richard lets him go and wipes off his hand. “You can make coffee now if you want, Paul.” 

“Okay.” Paul makes no move to go anywhere. Instead he puts his head on Till’s shoulder. He’s always noticeably mellow after he comes, like Flake said. Till keeps smoothing his hair down, cradling him. For a moment he looks small and still in Till’s arms. Then he lifts his head, blinks a couple times, and closes his pants with a grimace. “But would anyone drink it? I was just being restless.” 

“And insensible with lust,” Till adds, and Paul shrugs self-consciously. 

“Sure,” Schneider says. “I’d have a cup.” 

“I might put a little schnapps in mine,” Till says. 

“You might have to,” Flake says.

“Should we tell Tom to get better coffee?” 

“Probably.” Paul pecks Till on the cheek and pulls away. He leans down and briskly kisses Richard in just the same spot. “Thanks.” 

Richard catches him by the shoulders and swaps sides, turning it into a double kiss. “Schnapps in mine too, if you would.” 

Paul rolls his eyes but without any actual rancor, and smacks a kiss on Richard’s mouth just to one-up him before he extricates himself. Richard grins, and Paul goes and starts dumping the wet grounds out of the coffee maker. 

“Is everyone happy?” Paul looks at each of them in turn. “Nobody got shorted, nobody had to do more than they were ready for?” 

All of them look around. There’s a variety of expressions, but they’re all pleased enough, all largely at ease. 

“Wow, a unanimous vote?” 

“It’s like voting for ice cream, everybody likes handjobs, it shouldn’t be that difficult.” 

“Shouldn’t.” There are lots of things that shouldn’t be difficult, but they can manage to make them so. “That’s still impressive.” 

“That was both more and less like sex than I’d expected,” Schneider muses as Paul fills the carafe. 

“I’d say more,” Olli says. 

“So should we consider this -” Till gestures around at all of them, “finally consummated?”

“I sort of expected to get laid before we’d made six albums,” Flake says dryly. 

“Worth doing again?” Till asked. 

“I’d say so.” They’re all nodding cautiously. “For any of those other reasons, too.”

“It wouldn’t have to be all together like this, that’s a lot to arrange.” 

“Just - careful of the rules, all right?” 

“Right, everybody has to get the same.”

“What, are we going to keep score?” 

“Maybe we should, at least at first. Everyone gives as many as they get.” 

“Oh, god, this is going to become one of Tom’s jobs, isn’t it. He’ll have another little page in his notebook -” 

A laugh breaks out of Schneider, it shouldn’t be so funny but he can almost see the little columns with penciled tallies. “Oh no.” He tries to stop himself but he can’t, it’s so perfectly predictable and ridiculous - and he feels so good, sated and companionable, and the laughter just keeps bubbling up. Paul tries to give him his discouraging look, but it dissolves instantly into sharp giggles. And once they have two of them laughing it’s bound to set the others off, Richard succumbs next, and Till groans with it and Flake gasps and Olli shakes with his face on his knees. 

“Focus, focus,” Paul commands as they’re winding down. “No surprise feelings?” 

Schneider is about to shake his head, but - he’d really wanted to kiss Flake for a second there. Flake. And not because he somehow suddenly liked the looks of him, but because he understood that he should have before. “Uh -”

“Maybe not surprise, but -” Olli glances at Richard. 

Flake nods. “It’s not bad, but it’s there.” 

“I -” Richard drags his eyes up and looks quickly at each of them. “I do love you guys.” 

“That’s it, isn’t it,” Till agrees, deceptively casual. 

“Yeah,” Schneider nods. That’s the strongest feeling, underlying all the others. 

“So you’re saying you won’t mind if I mix the cups up?” Paul asks, arranging them on the countertop. “Because I have no idea whose was whose.” 

Schneider tries to remember which pairs had kissed and which hadn’t and quickly gives up. “A little spit seems like the least of our worries.” 

“We might as well get used to it.” Paul taps the coffee machine, encouraging it. It coughs out a last dribble before Paul starts impatiently filling mugs. “Coffee’s up.” 

They cluster around, bumping shoulders as they gather close. “To the first of many.”