Manual Solution De John Hull 6 Ed

777 - Your blood in my veins - P18 - BillxTom - (7 / 7)

sin Acedia ° inertia
Author: unspoiled
characters: Bill, Tom
Rating: P12 (Slash)
Warnings / Genre: tiny one Twincest - more could not rouse myself
Summary: Bill is tired.
Disclaimer: Bill and Tom are still sleeping. I assure that they continue to have with me are good and have as many plastic dolls, as they want. for a certain singer, but the pseudonym of a Swiss aphorist (* 1932)
Comment: Written for 7_suenden .



Today
was the water level of reality unbearable


Bill knows all the questions by heart and the moderator all the answers. It is not just that getting the same hackneyed phrases will be chewed through like old chewing gum that has long since lost its flavor. No, this is called off before. If we give an interview for a handful of journalists koffeinzittriger, It is not a problem when one of David's Anstandswauwaus strangling a question, or the allusions to this and forbids that direction, but before the TV cameras in live shows would be a bit embarrassing so you go first as the sound check through everything and tried after the , beautiful and interesting communicator recite his Textlein.

fact, we deserted the moderator as well as to us and actually we all want to go home and wipe us the painful and itchy Foundation grin off his face. Already with the noisy need to scratch on the nose, sat in front of an audience of millions? And it would have failed because the make-up suffered? Because all could have seen what it has with the pure Kaulitzhaut about? No? Estimates you're happy.

safety makes us the circus fun. He certainly gives us something.
Anything.
I believe.

And if I'm sitting there and my arm behind the back to the Bills put back because it always gets Dunja eyes light up and so can at least hide a part of me behind him, it happens sometimes that I wonder how many play by the girls drooling in front of the televisions and computer monitors are worried about how it feels when young, but the grown man forever fifteen-year break to have clown.

Such considerations are shit. They end each time with the realization that this is not about me but about the product that I represent to the others and to sell, and that automatically leads to a furry feeling in the mouth and annoying throbbing in the temples.

"I'm tired," said Bill, as we hang backstage later in the couches like damp towels that you have with violence and wrung out to dry over the tub edge. Cold and clammy, so what does not touch you. And then you put in your body but - as you will not touch him?

I mumble in agreement and close my eyes. We are ready to Wegzuficken lethargy, and alcohol is not a good idea if it is even too lazy to walk to the toilet bowl. We are staring in the right mood for hours woodchip, but the damn hotels are of course only slick walls in relaxing, elegant pastel shades and interior design cleverly placed piece.

The only one who does not look as if he had just emerged from a coffin, is David. He scurries around like a squirrel on speed and goes all with his good humor on the bag until sometime Gustav compassion, is angry at him and summon the energy to moan him. David has no sympathy for this course. The sky is blue, the grass is green, we are beautiful, life is a request show. If my arms and legs were not so hard, I would give him a bouquet of violets for his paradise.

"What we do today?" I ask the ceiling.

"lying around."

And we really do. Bill eventually zaps from one TV channel and a horse-faced presenter tells us that the bus shelter, where we used to wait every morning for the criminal transportation, was destroyed by rampaging youths and now to be auctioned. "Whoever buys this is perverse," Bill yawns and eyed my lame attempts to scratch his crotch. to open his belt is too much work. Actually I also do not fancy him seriously get down to one. My hands are claimed by the guitar enough and then you would have him behind and make more clean, because he certainly will not get up and look for handkerchiefs.

°

We give an autograph session in Michigan, and creep time. A nervous girl after another pushes me cards, posters and tits out for signing, my hand hurts after ten minutes.

We have torn up the ass for the album Room 483. We play concerts, as do the musicians be it. What we have done, that we owe these hordes, ages us to put in a shopping center and us, "Heather" and "Liz" to have spell out with "z"? Liz looks at least still appealing, but the Katy behind her is a true natural disaster. If we can have the pesky daily make-up artists go through our program - and as the guys - then the fans might still be at least as polite and take off ten pounds and become familiar with Clearasil, before they come to us under the eyes.

When I whisper in his ear the Bill, he rolls his eyes and whispered: "You would think that all women have to walk around naked." Thank you, little brother, now I feel really bad.

get the Megan Herzchenaugen before me when she sees how close my lips Bills ear. I quickly scribble my name on her arm and nodded to the next. On days like this I wish we had more male fans. Guys who have respect in front of what we do, and stare at me as if to devour me. But no, I'm doomed technical audience to let me move out of a thousand eyes. We are sitting on a platter, I and Bill and the Gs, and it's missing is that someone comes and we put parsley in your ears and an apple in his mouth. The apple, we could auction the highest bidder after, especially if he never kissed her lips between Bills was.

"Tired," sighs the innocence of angels through clenched teeth, so that only I hear it.

"Cut", I hiss back.

He rolls his eyes again. What, you Hirni?

"owe me something," I wave and whisper Saki to me. One only has to press the right buttons, the right tone and then a little pray that Saki his messenger job somewhat seriously, and David has a merciful day, et voila, we can go after only one hour. No, we must urgently away late, time pressure, we feel so sorry that some of you sweet nothing traveled from another state, but hey, we're stars, we have much to do. Sorry, girls, sorry.

"How did you do that?" Asks Bill, as he lets himself down on the seat in the bus lounge. Well, not only is he a master of freehand manipulation.

"I do not say," I answer and stab him in the side so that it slips over and make room for me.

"There are quite a few got an autograph," he murmured, slipping leaning his head on my shoulder and yawns.

"bad conscience?"

He snorted and mumbled "I'm tired," as if it were an apology.

°

Bill is on his bed with closed eyes, while I sit on the edge and his removal. I can not do as good as him. There are always back black streaks, no matter how often I drink a new, clean cotton pad and gently go over it so that the lids. Eventually I give it up and take him instead, from the jewelry. He helps with only sporadically when I told him T-shirt, shoes, jeans and socks take off. I do not cover it, this is much too warm and stuffy. I put out the light and open the window before I give him a "sleep well" prompter and shuffle into my room.

My children, with tape marks on the walls, where once have hung posters, and a Kugelschreiberkritzelei on the light switch. The day after tomorrow we will go right after breakfast back to Hamburg and officially start working on the third album. Until then, family is on the agenda. Mama, Gordon, grandma, Scotty, Kasimir. It

clock is half past two in the morning when I go to bed. We arrived late and I really wanted a shower yet, but Bill said he was too tired to make itself ready for Heia. I am insulted his bed a bit, that it is too small to lie down next to him can, and contented myself with I need it by the listen to breathe wall. Of course, not really, of course, only in my imagination, but if I screw up my eyes, I can even imagine her silhouette through the wall. He is as stretched out on his back, his left arm like a roof over their head.


"Tired," Bill grumbles when he is at noon at the kitchen table. He has his hair tied in a sloppy ponytail, as always when they are greasy and he has no desire to wash them. Bock, to style himself, he obviously had not. He wears a black training pants and an old baggy shirt term in a nondescript gray mouse with a small hole in the shoulder.

"Good morning," Mama shines and makes him back his old favorite cup of steaming coffee. "Gordon has brought croissants."

"No Hunger", mumbles Bill and bent over the cup, as if they take away.

Mama not be put off. It has decided that today is a wonderful day, no matter how bad-tempered man her son number 2 may be.

"I would like to have one," I say, although I have squashed only an hour before two and we will eat in another hour with our grandmother for lunch. Mama shines even wider the horn still taste of glue.


"Tired," answers Bill, when Grandma asks him later how he was doing.

I tell them about the U.S., from our private plane, and the American fans. Bill is silent and sludgy around with his vegetables. Grandma makes a worried face, Mom ignores him and Gordon tells her for the sake of nothing. I'm thinking a long time whether I will miss him under the table a kick in the shins, and when I finally to the resolution, a soft caress it.

°

He sits down beside me at the little table and pushes the tray with the fine sparkling mineral water and glasses to the side of the hotel. We are 24, we are world famous, we have seen everything.

"Tired?" I asked softly as he leans back and yawned absently out the window looks.

He nods. "Do not you?"

break.

"Yes."

break.

"Good."

silence.

crawl outside high shadow of the skyscrapers. Up here on the eighth floor is still sunlight, but not for long. We have produced five albums and released last month, a best-of-drive. Much of the fans that we have until an hour later in the lobby still signing autographs, has cried for the first day in kindergarten when we started by are.

Those who have long supported study, now. Some of them have checked off as youthful indiscretion, they smile and they are ashamed and blush it neat, if a potential Lebensabschittsgefährte they respond to it. Others hear us now and then, just as they look at the photos from the final drive and think that they have in school but had a really cool time. But they all
study - business administration or law or medicine. Biology, Mathematics. French and chemistry teacher, anything. Very few do what they wanted to become as children: an astronaut or a veterinarian or a pop star. You want to earn enough money to to eventually afford a house may leave once a year and riding lessons and the membership fee for the football club for the children. This requires a reasonable job with prospects, the one just bores ideally not too much.
I hope they all make it.

The crowds in the halls, sit still as together as the first concert: female 90%, too old for dolls, too young for sex, swollen from crying and hysterical. A couple of parents, security personnel and occasionally fans in an age in which one can not be sure if you cry, laugh or throw up to. Everywhere are lovingly home-made posters about the sweaty heads and kept thousands of grotesque smear streaks of eyeliner tattoo. One might think that the time had stood still for us.

Also on stage, nothing has changed. Not really. Bill is once in a erblondet, but only briefly. It was his idea in the wrong track until he has a frightening enthusiasm to then in long, tough battle against the hand-wringing ends objections Nathan and David - in fact of all - to defend and eventually on its own to implement. The fans thought it was an understatement crappy words and "What did you want to achieve by that?" Has been a solid part of the list of standard questions.

Bill can not impress them, but sat down in front of the mirror, hineingestarrt and asked me for a while whether I should believe that people could change.
I did not think a week later he was back hair as black as ever.

My Dreads had never stops, just like my baggies and shirts and baseball caps. I tear still the same adolescent jokes and have given up on me so to occur even funny. Does nothing but yes.

Had Bill and I have a pair, I would say we have less and less sex. Our night out is very little and yet we keep our hands otherwise most of us. When she noticed me, I thought I would miss it, but I have not. It has not bothered me, just as it has me terrified only briefly, as a mom, my cuddle pillow in the attic to disappear.

I catch myself sometimes in how I'm hanging in clubs, other mid-twenties watch the celebrations and I wonder if you have not pushed myself too early in the party scene. Or if there is a fixed period of time in the life of every man, give in, he finds it cool, have fun with brightly colored cocktails and mediocre beats on crowded dance floors, a wolf, and my time - because dawned too early - already used up.
If there is this rule, must belong to George but to the exceptions. Gustav only right, he always turns to the more, the older he gets. Sometimes I watch them in how they sink into a lush cleavage grinning drunk, and I try not to think that my listlessness could also be because of my brother, sucking the expression with a grave next to me in a glass of grenadine.

I miss the thrill that we had before, when we do not yet know whether and how this or that works. Do we get the price that we can make it number one? Glad to no longer have the stress, I still am. I really do not know what I want, but that's OK. I'm Bill. He pursued his goals straight and without batting an eyelash. The "Wings of the decade it was called New Year's Eve 2010 in various formats, and he pulled up between band practice and fashion shoot the shoulders, and meant" course. "

He does not say more when he is tired. Now and then you can watch him, if one is sitting in the same boat as him, but also guarantees a free view no. He has even begun with the people from the inside to select whom he shows his little Abgeschminkt eyes in the non-imaging bathroom light and who not.

Bill typed minutes on a monotonous rhythm on the water glasses, before he turns around and one introduces each of us. He must have his make-up revisited while I'm here just sat around and did nothing. His face radiates beauty and dusted before formally perfectly curled symmetry.
with a glass clacking he sets up a bottle of vodka on the table, screwed them carefully and fill the glasses to the brim. Then he screwed it just as carefully again, places it next to the water bottle and turns both so that their labels show exactly forward.

He bends sideways and reaches into his purse, standing next to his chair. What he encourages them to light, I know, before it on the Table sets and pulls out with immaculate nails sizzling right corner. There are two cardboard boxes of pills, the first sealed clean. The pills in the second box, which are declared as aspirin, are located separately in small plastic bags and do not look as if they would only help against headaches.

Bill pushes the tablet through the foil and reeled it from the plastic before it is distributed alternately on our glasses. The more I see him here, the calmer I become. When he is finished, I feel so left like it was a long time.

"What do you want?" He asks. As before. Our mother taught us to be equitably shared, by taking a break from us the biscuit apart, and the other half has to choose,.

silence I reach for his glass and he smiles and nods. We share the same vodka to his lips and throw the head back in sync. The many to swallow tablets gradually and suddenly, an uncomfortable feeling and the alcohol burns and increases the scratch rather than that he was stunned.

When I again feel the eyes slide open and the last pill of my esophagus, Bill puts his arms left and right on the back and sighs.

"I'm tired," he mutters.

"sleep well", I whisper back.

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