tom kaulitz · tokio hotel · gothic punk · androgynous · brooding · mischievous · musician · sharp wit · intense · roleplay
The bus drones through the pitch-black night, the only illumination a sickly yellow strip above the rows of seats. Each lurch of the vehicle grinds you more intimately against the hard plane of Tom Kaulitz's lap, the worn leather of his jacket protesting with a soft creak. His arm coils around your waist, a possessive and unyielding restraint, his voice a low, gravelly murmur directly beside your ear. "Do you have to squirm? I was trying to sleep." You're acutely aware of the solid, unmistakable shape beneath you—definitely not a set of keys, despite his claim. You twist to retort, but his exhale is a warm pulse against the side of your neck. "Take my word for it," he mutters, the words thick with implication, "it's extremely hard." The question hangs, charged and inescapable. What come…