Pick-up Artists

"Whoops!"

"Careful, Risch." Till smiled, keeping his arm wrapped around Richard's waist as they stumbled back toward their flat from their endeavors of the evening.

"I'm sleepy."

"We're almost home."

"Carry me?" Richard was pouting, leaning heavily against the singer and looping his arms around the top of his left shoulder to drape across his chest.

"Aren't you a bit too old for that?" The singer sighed at the look he was receiving from the younger man, shaking his head, "Oh, you're positively wretched. Alright. Come here."

Richard's face lit up as he gleefully leapt into his arms, wrapping his own around Till's shoulders before he settled down and kept still.

Till stumbled briefly, laughing at the eagerness of his lead guitarist before playfully hefting him up, "I've spoiled you."

"That's your own fault."

"I know." Till smiled as Richard put his head down against his chest, the spikes of his black hair tickling under his chin from the slight rocking motion every step made. The walk back to the flat was quiet, Richard was starting to doze and clung to him like a sleepy burr. Till liked how boyish Richard looked, curled in his thick arms and entirely relaxed. As precious as this cuddly armful was, he was starting to get heavy. Till chuckled at his thoughts, hefting the guitarist up again and starting the potentially dangerous task of getting up the first flight of stairs to the lift. Whoever had designed the building had done a right poor job, putting the lift on the first floor instead of the ground level. Some people had boxes to carry, others had groceries, while at the moment Till had a very sleepy, very drunk lover.

"Late night, Lindemann?"

"Only for the little one. Hey, help me out bitte? Pull my keys for me? I can't drop him." Till offered the porter a wry smile, leaning his hip out so the keys on a clip in his belt loop could be seen.

"I can't go digging in a f-"

"You're not digging in a faggot's pockets, you're just unhooking my keys for me. Now either help me or I'll put him down to kick your ass for using such a derogatory word." Till sneered, watching the porter quickly stand and bustle over. "Thank you."

Keys unclipped and put in his hand, Till bid the porter good night and thanked him for pressing the fifth floor button on the lift.

"He's a fat old bastard who can't get laid, ignore him." Richard murmured into his neck, nuzzling tenderly and still wearing a sleepy smile.

"I know. I thought you were asleep?" Till smiled, stepping out after the doors opened and adjusting Richard one last time so he could get the door open.

"Almost. You're warm...smell good."

"Even with how much I drank?" Till clucked his tongue, nudging the door open with his boot and grabbing his keys with a smile. A slight kick to the door closed it, Till nearly tripping on the throw rug as Richard shift briefly in his arms, "Ach, Risch you'll kill us both."

"Sorry," Richard sleepily commented, leaving a kiss of apology at his throat, "m'still sleepy."

"I must be drunk, you're almost too heavy to carry." Till quickened his pace, sighing as he saw their big bed and smiling as he carefully lay Richard down on top of the quilt. The guitarist immediately curled, trying to preserve his heat with an expression of displeasure from the sudden abandonment. Till shook his head, removing his own coat and tossing it on the chair by the window before undoing Richard's boots. Boots off, coat, shirt, and lastly pants that were all replaced by Richard's favorite black satin pyjamas. The last clear button fastened up, Richard sleepily moved with Till's gentle urges under the covers before blearily opening his eyes.

"You're still dressed."

"Had to get you ready for bed. Done in a minute." Till tucked him in, divesting himself unceremoniously of shirt, boots, and pants before opting for one of his favorites: a plain, faded old black nightshirt that Richard had begged him to get rid of for months with promises of a silk one if he complied. No such luck for the guitarist, the age of the shirt alone made it dear to the older man along with its incredible softness from being broken in.

"I hate that ratty old shirt." Richard complained as Till slipped into the bed after returning from the kitchen with two bottles of water a bottle of ibuprofen.

"I know, I can't bring myself to throw it away." Till smiled as he lift his arm, letting Richard snuggle in before lowering it back down.

"Hmph."

"Good night, Risch."

"I still hate that shirt."

"Good night Richard."

"Night."