Title: Restricted Freedom
Universe: Tokio Hotel (Real Person Fiction).
Theme/Topic: Total Power Exchange, a close examination.
Characters: Bill and Tom focused.
Warnings/Spoilers: Incest, BDSM, punishment, spanking, total power exchange.
Word Count: WIP - constantly expanding.
Time: WIP - the clock is still ticking, people.
Summary: To both Bill and Tom, control is key; it's how they work together. Bill takes it, without or without permission, over everything from clothes to food to songs to bedtime. Tom gives it, freely and wholehearted to his brother - what Bill thinks is best for him is best; whether it is girls, outfits, where they eat or sleep. How they have sex. He is not Master, he is not Sir. He is Bill, and Tom loves him.
Dedication: Nobody in particular - for a anon kink meme prompt which requested this:
I'd love Tom to be fully mentally under Bill's control.
They'd look outside like we see them, but behind the scenes Bill controls everything in Tom's life and Tom is happy about that. You can choose how far or in which things you want to focus on in this fic, but basically total control over everything (like Tom's looks, clothes, using bathroom, everything). Bill also controls Tom's relationships and sex life (chooses Tom's gf's, random sex partners...) and in their own not-so-platonic relationship. Tom is happy to give all his control to Bill and it makes him feel safe. Sometimes Bill plays with Tom's OCD (messes things up, re-arrange things like Tom's need to color match) and it causes Tom anxiety, but in the end they are really happy together like this.
This is not about an abusive relationship, but very loving and caring one.here for list of distribution places. Previous Chapter can be found here.
Bathrooms and Frustration
The next day is hell on earth.
Tom is so horny, he can barely remember his own name, he struggled with the rehearsals and when they were waiting in the car to get to the next interview, he could barely stop himself from crying from frustration running into pain as his dick rubbed against his jeans.
Bill’s hand on his was the only thing that stopped him from reaching into his boxers and jacking off.
They’re now waiting for the photographer to set up for the photo shoot and Tom is left lurking in a make-up room, trying to avoid talking to people because he’s so damn horny he’s likely to start humping random stranger’s legs or something.
He sits on a couch, his PSP thrown beside him on the cushion because he can’t focus on it long enough to actually play anything and he has to resist the urge to start rocking to get some gentle relief that way. His knees are as wide apart as they will go - he’s trying to minimize the amount of contact his cock gets in the vain hope it will stop him from getting hard again. It’s not working and he’s got a raging hard on like there’s no tomorrow.
He already kicked out half a dozen people from the room, claiming he needed quiet time because he wasn’t feeling well and his pale face and dark circles made them agree to it; even David told him to get some rest before he keels over.
It’s not enough to keep his brother away though.
“How are you doing?”
Bill shuts the door softly behind him, his face made-up and ready for the camera; his clothes are brand new, safety pinned all in the back to make them fit better.
Tom doesn’t answer, choosing to look away from the door. He’s angry and frustrated at the situation and he refuses to even acknowledge Bill’s arrival into the room. He knows he’s being rude and bad but he doesn’t care. He gets a sigh for his actions.
“Don’t be like that.” Bill says, walking over to him, but Tom keeps his face turned away. He doesn’t want to talk to Bill - partly out of a childish sense of revenge at the person who is the apparent cause of his aching groin, and partly because if he looks at Bill, he’ll probably do something really embarrassing like start apologising again, or even crying out of desperation. He might even go to his knees and he is nowhere near okay for that. He’s not at the point of losing it all quite yet, thanks very much.
When Bill doesn’t leave him alone, lingering in front of the mirror to adjust his hair with a careful hand, Tom tries a different tack to get away from Bill, “Can I go to the bathroom, please?” He demands, and Bill snorts in disbelief.
“Not until you answer me properly.”
“Fuck you, Bill. I need to piss.” He does - he’s been avoiding talking to Bill pretty much all morning, at least since after breakfast and consequently, he hasn’t been able to ask to go to the toilet.
Bill made that rule when they were twelve – long before their relationship turned fully sexual but long after Tom realised Bill’s claim of authority over him. He’s so dependent on Bill for even the smallest things, and normally he’d love it, take relief and comfort in the fact that Bill cares enough to know what’s going on with him even when it comes to something so… basic. But it’s times like these that makes him so frustrated and determined to be bad because he’d like one day to go have a piss without having to ask permission like Georg and Gustav can. He has to ask and sometimes, like now, he’s desperate and his bladder is full and he’d like to go. And Bill is being an asshat.
“So answer the question.” Bill stands in front of him, grabs his chin and makes him look into eyes that are identical to his own. “How are you feeling?”
“I hurt.” It does - it aches and there’s a growing feeling of desperation rising but he’s okay on that front for the moment. The need to piss is far more urgent.
But Bill won’t let him get away with that - “How do you hurt?” He asks, already dropping one hand to rest on Tom’s knee and Tom knows he’s one step away from marching Tom off to the bathroom, locking them both in a cubicle and having a look himself. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.
“Balls ache. I need to piss. I keep getting hard.” He keeps it short, concise, but honest.
“I see.” Stepping between Tom’s spread legs, Bill reaches for his caps, lifting his heavy dreads off his shoulders as he pulls them off. Bill’s the only person in the world allowed to do that, the only person who is permitted to remove Tom’s headgear and it’s at times like this that Tom wishes he could revoke that privilege because he feels even more naked without them.
He’s face to face with Bill’s belly, and he leans forward, wanting to rest his head on it but he’s pushed back.
“Don’t want to.” He mumbles but he’s already moving, rising to his feet to stand in front of his brother, who encourages him to lean forward, puts his arms around him and Tom sighs. A hug. Great. Not what he needs but he takes it, wrapping his arms around Bill. “It hurts, Bill.” he moans when he feels a hand pressing into his groin, clinically squeezing at the prominent bulge there.
Bill nods, strokes his fingers down the back of his neck. “Maybe you’ll listen to me next time when I tell you no, hmm?” He says and Tom sighs, drops his head to rest on Bill’s shoulder. “It’s only ten days, Tom. You’ll make it.”
His hands reach out without his permission, grabbing onto Bill’s belt, wrapping in the loops there to pull his brother even closer and Tom moans a little. “It hurts, Bill. I hurt.” He does. Between his legs has been one nonstop hurt all day, aching and throbbing and it’s the fact that he’s responsible for it all on his own - if only he’d fucking waited another thirty seconds - that makes the pain all the sharper.
“You’re on punishment, Tom. It’s not meant to be nice.” But Bill’s hands are tracing down his neck, around his ears, and Tom knows that Bill will keep on doing this as long as he needs it. He settles into the embrace, breathing in the scent of Bill and just letting it wash over him. It feels good, he feels safe, and he can’t help sighing and feeling some of the tension drain out of him. He’s tired, and horny as fuck but Bill’s scent is enough to take the edge off of both for now.
Soon, almost without realising it, he’s shifting, rocking from foot to foot, back and forth as his bladder starts protesting. “I need to go, Bill.” He whispers, hoping that Bill will let him out of this hug sometime soon.
Tom starts, tries to draw back but Bill’s arms are stronger than they look. “Yes. I do.” What the hell - when he says he has to go, he has to fucking go and he’s this close to losing it.
“Come on then.” Bill’s got a hand in his, pulling him along, and they’re nearly at the door before Tom realises what’s going.
“I can find them myself, you know....”
“I can’t trust you.” Bill says, flatly. “You want the bathroom, you get an escort.”
Great. That’s just great.
Bill holds his hand the entire way, and thank God they don’t meet anyone, but Tom is constantly aware of the feeling of being escorted. Bill is one step ahead of him and moving quickly, and Tom is left shuffling his feet to catch up, and it feels like nothing more than being a naughty school boy. The bathroom is a unisex disabled one two floors down, with a thick wood door and Bill ushers him inside quickly. When the door slams behind them both, Tom realises that when Bill says escort he means precisely that. Apparently, he fully intends to escort his brother right to the porcelain throne itself.
“Do what you need to do.” Bill commands, propping himself against the door.
Tom colours, shifting from side to side. They’ve never done this before - he’s never done this before, peeing with Bill in the room.
Sure, he’s always asked to go because that’s just how they work; he asks Bill somehow - sometimes he has to text if they’ve got company or it’s a brush of his hand on Bill’s that lets him know what Tom needs because interviewers and stage managers and outsiders wouldn’t understand. Although Bill’s never said no outright, he sometimes makes Tom wait, or makes a note of it if he thinks that Tom’s not going enough/too often because if there’s one thing they’ve learnt when touring it’s that it’s really fucking easy to get sick. But he’s always told Tom to never wait until he’s desperate because there might come a time when Bill says no for more than just a five minute wait; the day that that happens, Tom is officially going to fucking cry because the thought of struggling not piss his oversized jeans is a terrifying one.
But to do it with Bill in the fucking room? No. No. He can’t do this.
“Tom, what?” Bill drags a nail file out of his pocket, starts buffing at the acrylics on his nails. “Hurry up and go or are you just pissing me about? Pun not intended.”
“I... I can’t.” Tom’s holding onto the metal hand bar on the wall with one hand, trying not to panic. His other hand is wound up in his t-shirt and he’s feeling sick. He’s not ready for this - this next step in their ...their kind of relationship.
“You’re okay, Tom. Seriously.” Bill smiles at him, “Just... think of waterfalls. Rivers. Swimming pools.”
“It’s not that, Bill. It’s...”
“It’s me. I know. Just... turn around, drop ‘em a little bit and relax. Pretend I’m not here.” Bill shrugs. “Go on. We do actually have a job to do today...”
“I can’t.” He can’t just drop his trousers and whizz on cue. He’s not a fucking performing monkey.
“Tom.” Bill clicks his fingers, makes him look up. “You can either go now, in that toilet, or you can wait until after the shoot, the interview, and the van ride back to the hotel for a pee in the hotel bathroom .. Three, maybe four hours, if you’re lucky.”
“You’re either going in that toilet, or you can wait but either way, I’m going to be in there with you.”
“Because you want to jack off and since I can’t trust you, you get an escort.”
“Just… Leave me alone.” Tom’s rocking from foot to foot, his bladder one giant ball of desperation in his belly but Bill shakes his head.
“Either you can pee here, or at the hotel in a few hours. Can you wait that long?”
“Yes,” Tom says mutinously.
“Really?” Bill raises his eyebrow and Tom knows he’s hardly a convincing liar at the best of times, and this is not the best of times.
“No.” He sighs.
“So turn around, drop your pants, and piss. Pretend I’m not here.”
Tom huffs, turns on his heel, faces the toilet. His hands shake as he reaches down to pull up his shirts in order to find his fly and button, and it takes him two tries to pull them apart. He’s not sure why he’s damn scared but he is - it means something, this, because it’s one less thing he hides from Bill and he hesitates with his hand reaching into his boxers for his dick.
“You’re okay, Tom.” Bill reassures from behind him and Tom takes a deep breath. It’s nothing. They’ve shared baths, showers, beds... this is just one step further. He can do this.
Even with Bill’s reassurance, it takes him nearly ten minutes to actually calm down enough to piss. Bill stays quiet, letting him deal with it in his own time, and his own way and just carries on buffing his nails as Tom finally breathes out and releases his bladder. He doesn’t even comment on the moan of relief.
“Good boy,” he says when Tom is finished, refastening his zip but Bill’s suddenly wrapped against his back and reaching around him to do up the two buttons of his flies before he gets to it. “I’m pleased with you.” He presses a kiss to Tom’s neck and it takes an incredible amount of will power to not turn around and grab onto Bill, pressing his hips into Bill’s to get some nice frot going.
He’s a good boy though, and not just because Bill said so; he likes to be good for Bill and this is just another way of being that. He rests his head on Bill’s shoulder, waits for the hands on his waistband to disappear and hopes that Bill doesn’t intend to make this a regular thing.
Bill spins him around, smooths Tom’s shirts back down over his jeans, and points him over to the sink. Tom obediently scuffs his way over, and begins the long process of cleaning his hands.
Five minutes later, they’re ready to step outside again but not before Bill delivers a soft kiss to Tom’s lips, licking at his lip ring and then shooing him out the door into the corridor and towards the photoshoot with Georg and Gustav.
His dick goes from barely on his radar to front and centre faster than he has time to breathe.
Fuck you, Bill.