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The other German - P6 - (Oneshot)

Title: The other German
Author: unspoiled
Rating: P6
Warnings / Genre: caption
Summary: Bill Kaulitz photographed by Karl Lagerfeld
Disclaimer: Kaulitz and Lagerfeld are among themselves
Comment: again incredibly timely contribution to Summer Challenge -.-



He arrives and is tired. His nose shines. The bangs are greasy. It smells like rain and sweat, but that's not bad. He is still young.

He is unsure whether to him or siezen name basis. He grins at her with his pearly whites white toothpaste and skin him the phrases around the ears, which are him running toward the road and following along. He is vulgar. But these two second pause before Karl these two centimeters, which he bends down to him, he graciously agreed. He is a child and he does grow up, what will be expected already.

lot. No, more. He has potential. He takes the patent leather cap with no fear, but with respect to the hand. He sweeps gently over the feathers on his face not a trace of arrogance. He is not like the ordinary boy, who carries the modification of a commercialized commercialized commercialized modification of a modification of New York, focusing considers trendy. He has no idea of art. He recognizes when he sees it.

His legs are so thin that they the contour have lost. Standing he is so it can accommodate only up to the hip. With legs like his is not one. You sit, flirts, bowing to pressure, if you have breasts. Man is not. He has a bum anyway. Moderately broad shoulders, muscles enough to dress up the bones, sehnigzarte hands, a long neck and narrow hips without waist. Unique wedge shape.

He was up to his neck in a silk shirt with turtle neck and allows him to lift his hands to the sides so that it extends across the chest. The sleeves are long, narrow and draped with pleats, side seam disappears even in the cool black color. A river that builds up between his shoulders before He glides silently down at him. No belt. The pants are just as black as the shirt, but the feel is quite another. The gloss is dull, the more points of light, the folds of soft. "Do not look at me," he says. "Look behind there. Imagine there is a mirror. "

He is a good model. He can straighten out like a doll and the more he gives him instructions, the more natural it looks. He poses en l'air those who rarely do anything else, and he is always very stealthy masculinity. He's not a boy, he is a boy, powdered and dressed in leather and silk. He is a chick with cockscomb and ancient simultaneously. Not awkward, not domineering not, shy and timid.
fashion, how to wear the chin. Pose is the art of letting anything look like anything. Twenty years of human Haute Couture, column-like upright, eyes wide open, and he has his thumb hooked invisibly through a belt loop. Freehand is not possible.

It leaves the lips gape, as he sat down must. Nothing but shadows between her legs, but bent the ankle. He balances on his heels as the catwalk girls if they want to numb their aching feet with pressure on the ball. He lets him take back the right elbow and the left forward until the hand over his thigh floats. An imaginary line between the fingertips. By the step. The same tendency in the shoulders, the feet, the cap and chain. Only the head to left, away from the center. "How much does a piece of butter?" He asked him and he relaxes the muscles for a moment, takes up one corner of his mouth and swallows.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asked afterward, and he nods and stands directly in front of him. He is warm, he breathes and his balance pulls him forward. Freshly moistened lips trying to smile and he presses his wet hand and can quickly release. Mr. Kaulitz has not yet understood that perfection can not access.