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“No.” Paul said emphatically for the tenth time in as many minutes to Richard who was following him through their house.
“But why not?” Richard complained. “It’s just one song.” He reasoned, not above nagging Paul into agreeing.
“In case it’s escaped your notice.” Paul said, turning to face his currently irritating husband. “I am not a singer.”
“You do realise I can hear you when you sing in the shower, right?” Richard asked, one eyebrow raised at Paul.
Paul flushed but stubbornly shook his head. “I don’t care.”
“You sang with Feeling B and you sing with Rammstein all the time.” Richard pointed out with disgusting logic and smiled lovingly at his flustered husband. “And when I hear you sing your voice sounds fucking good.”
“No, it doesn’t. I sound like a tortured cat.” Paul muttered.
Richard snorted at that obvious lie. “No, you sound better than Till.” He retorted.
Paul’s mouth dropped open in shock as he stared at his husband. “There is no way I sound better than Till.”
“I think you do.” Richard said.
“I think you’re also a tad bit biased.” Paul said affectionately.
Richard had to concede that one. “Ok so what if I am, you still have a good voice, love and I’d really, really love it if you’d do a duet with me.”
“Is this how you got Till to sing for Rammstein?” Paul asked trying desperately to deflect Richard from the subject. While he wasn’t adverse to singing a duet with Richard he was more worried about what type of song it was going to be. Yes he listened to Emigrate occasionally and especially the new tracks because it was a good a barometer of how Richard was feeling or what was troubling him, but their music wasn’t really his style, and he desperately didn’t want to offend him if he hated the song.
“What?” Richard asked confused by the question.
“Nagged him until he gave in and agreed just to shut you up?” Paul muttered.
“Fuck off and no. You have no idea just how much begging I did trying to convince him he was better in front of the drums.” Richard said rolling his eyes. “When that failed I resorted to bribery.” Richard admitted with a slightly embarrassed laugh.
“What on earth could you have possibly bribed our notoriously shy singer with?” Paul asked surprised.
“A year’s worth of vodka.” Richard admitted reluctantly.
“How could you afford that?” Paul asked knowing how dirt broke they all were when they were younger.
Richard blushed beet red. “I got very good at stealing.” He mumbled.
Paul doubled over laughing imagining Richard stealing bottles of vodka. With his blonde dreadlocks he would have stuck out like a sore thumb. “How did you get away with it?” Paul asked, fascinated.
When Richard willingly brought up the subject of his past he actively encouraged him to talk for as long as he could get him to. It was nearly impossible to get him to talk about it in any detail considering how painful most of it was and Paul understood which is why he always let Richard be the one to bring up the touchy subject.
“I used to get Till to distract the shop owners.” Richard confessed still blushing.
“You dragged Till into a life of crime?” Paul asked and wondered why he was so surprised. He really shouldn’t be in all honesty. The shit the band had gotten up to in the early days made his much older and hopefully wiser self cringe.
Richard snorted. “I’ve never met anyone that can straight up lie as good as he could.” He said sitting down at their kitchen table as Paul placed a glass of beer in front of him. “Thank you.”
Paul stared at Richard in shock. “Our Till? Lead singer of Rammstein, Till? That Till?” He asked just to make sure they were talking about the same softly spoken and bluntly honest man.
“Yup the one and only. He couldn’t lie straight in bed to save himself.” Richard snickered. “He’d literally lie them out of the vodka without them even realising it. Mind you it was that bad I’m pretty sure it could have been used as paint stripper. The hangovers were dreadful.” Richard said wincing at the memory.
“Till actually spoke long enough so you could pinch the bottle?” When Paul had first met Till getting a full sentence out of him was like pulling teeth.
Richard laughed happily at the memory. “Given the right motivation he could talk the leg off a table.”
“How long did you get away with this for?” Paul asked, incredulously.
“Nearly two years.” Richard admitted, thoroughly embarrassed again.
Paul shook his head, laughing. “My husband, the criminal.”
“I am not a criminal.” Richard denied hotly. “We never got caught.” He sniffed sticking his nose in the air.
Paul laughed at his husbands antics. “Stealing still makes you a criminal. Just how close did you come to getting caught?” Paul asked, hoping he wasn’t pushing Richard too much.
“We came close quite a few times when a couple of the shop owners turned around at the wrong time or another customer would come in and Till would lose their attention but for whatever reason it never happened. I’m still not sure how to be honest because we were certainly pushing our luck.” Richard said, smiling softly at the memory.
“So, what made you stop?”
“A couple of kids that lived near me got arrested, no-one knew what for, and were found a few days later beaten black and blue. Till and I decided we didn’t need the paint stripper than badly but by then he was already singing so it was moot at that point.” Richard said starting to look uncomfortable with the subject.
“Hey, speaking of past things. Do you still have those LIFAD tour belts?” Paul asked, changing the subject with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Richard inhaled his mouthful of beer and choked on it. “Yes.” He eventually spluttered. He raised an eyebrow at Paul silently questioning him suspiciously, while coughing up the beer, the bubbles making his eyes water.
Paul looked at Richard who was coughing badly while struggling to breath. “And where did your mind go just then?” Paul asked with the most innocent expression on his face Richard had ever seen. Not that he was fooled for a second.
“You’re going to choke on your halo.” Richard wheezed between attempts to take a decent breath while trying to stem the flow of tears the coughing fit and bubbles had produced to no avail.
Paul got up and came around to stand behind Richard and gently rubbed his back getting slightly concerned at how red his husbands face was going.
“I know where your mind lives.” He wheezed again as he continued to cough.
Amused, Paul said. “You do, do you?”
“Yes.” Richard said emphatically when he could finally breathe again. “I do and no I’m not wearing them when we have sex.”
Paul snickered as he went and sat back down opposite Richard. “I was going to ask if you’d wear them again this tour, but you can wear them then too if you like.”
“Bullshit you were.” Richard scoffed knowing exactly what Paul was thinking. They might have been together for a short while in relative terms of how long they’d known each other, but he’d known the man for over thirty years, so he was well versed in Paul’s thinking process and his rather dirty mind. Especially when it was directed at him.
Paul regarded his husband with an impish smile. “Now that you mention it you would look good in nothing but those belts.”
“Now I mentioned it, my arse.” Richard snorted then instantly thought better of his choice of words. “No.” He added sternly before Paul could so much as think of anything never mind say it.
“Oh, come on.” Paul all but whined.
“I’ll wear them on stage but nowhere else.” Richard said still talking in that prim tone he knew would drive his husband nuts. He smirked when Paul crossed his legs uncomfortably under the table and practically wriggled on his seat.
“Spoilsport.” Paul eventually grumbled but his eyes were twinkling merrily.
Richard knew better than anyone that he couldn’t trust Paul as far as he could kick a 747 and he had no doubt the belts would make an appearance in their bedroom at some point in the future whether he wanted them to or not. He was also well aware that Paul knew he would be able to convince Richard to wear them.
He also knew what his husband was up to. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re trying to distract me from my question either.”
“Damn.” Paul muttered.
“What are you worried about?” Richard asked.
For a second Paul contemplated lying to Richard but ultimately he didn’t want to even If it meant offending his husband. “That I won’t like the song and then you’ll be disappointed with me.” He admitted reluctantly.
“How about you listen to it then decide if you actually want to do the duet?” Richard smiled softly at Paul. Was it possible to fall even more in love with a person because Richard swore blind he just fell in love with Paul even more than he already was? Even if Paul didn’t like the song Richard could never be disappointed with him for that.
“Ok.” Paul agreed, still reluctant but he really couldn’t see any way out. He just hoped like hell he did actually like the song.
“I won’t be offended if you don’t like it, love.” Richard reassured Paul.
“Logically I know that it’s just that Emigrate isn’t really my type of music. I know you and Till are happy to do lighter music but it’s not really my style.” Paul said, not looking at Richard.
“I know that Liebchen.” Richard reassured him patiently. “That’s why this song is about as un-Emigrate as it’s possible to get while not sounding like Rammstein.”
Paul jerked his gaze back up to his husband. “Just how un-Emigrate are we talking here?” He asked cautiously hopeful.
“Lemmy level un-Emigrate.” Richard said.
Pauls eyes widened because that song was fucking brilliant. He’d been wonderfully surprised when he first heard Rock City. It was the closest he’d ever heard Richard get to a punk slash thrash metal sound and knew musically he’d pushed himself well outside his comfort zone to work with Lemmy. “Why didn’t you say that before?” He said standing quickly and practically dragged a laughing Richard into their studio demanding to hear the rough draft of the song.