“Here we are again… It’s been a year. I brought you some flowers. I didn’t remember which kind were your favorite. So I just brought the um… fuck… what’d they call it? Oh. Spring Bouquet. It’s got um.. daisies… um.. some purple flowers… some pink flowers.. yellow flowers- daffodils I think. A bunch of stuff. I think you’d like them. They’re all.. I don’t know.” Eminem sat down heavily in the chair next to the bed.
Lance stretched languidly out of the limo. He smoothed his suit down and looked up the red carpet and around at his bandmates.
Eminem saw them arrive. Light shining off them as if they stole it from the sun itself. Momentarily he thought to himself how much heat he radiated tonight. It varied with how turned on he was. Em smiled to himself. When Lance was hot, his flesh was burning. Then he noticed who got out of the limo after him. Blond girl. ‘Die,’ he thought. He saw him wrap his arm around her waist and smile for a picture. Just last night that arm had been wrapped around his waist, bringing his hips down to … Eminem shuddered involuntarily.
*NOTE: This story does not seek to pass judgement whatsoever. There is a fine line where kink can evolve into abuse. This is a story about that fine line.
Eminem cursed as he got out of the limo. “Fucking paparazzi. Fucking award shows. Fucking everything.” He ran his hands down his shirt. He looked over at Dre who nudged him forward. Slowly he made his way down the red carpet, answering questions of the reporters, nodding in all the right places. Funny how being a rebel still means fitting between the lines. Running his hands down his face he walked through the front doors of whatever the hell building they were in this time. `Fuck they all run together,’ he sighed. The young girl led him and Dre and the four other large black men to their seats. He slumped down into his seat. He let out another sigh and Dre looked down at him. “Dude, think about it this way: this is research for future albums.”
Em laughed. “Good point, but fuck Dre, I hate these damn things. They’re all fucking rigged anyways.” Dre flicked him in the head and leaned over to talk to the man on the other side of Em. Continue reading
Marshall stared across the bar, the Crown and Coke being watered down by the melting ice from the heat of his hand. His eyes were fixed on the two men leaning too close, smiling too much, blushing, touching. Jealousy and rage sung through his veins.
Oh god, I wanna be that
Marshall ordered another Crown and Coke after determining the last one was lost to the cause. Dre came over and sat down. Tired, guarded conversation between the two men. Dre nudged him. Marshall grunted, “Don’t worry about it, Dre.” The older man just nodded and left the bar stool. Marshall sat and drank, still staring at the two men across the room.
‘Cause I hate to be alone
And if you’re out there with him
somewhere and just about to kiss
JC came up to the bar right next to Marshall and ordered a drink. He glanced over at the rapper and nodded in acknowledgment. Marshall grunted and shifted his gaze back to his prey. Nick sat in the corner still, waiting for JC to come back with the drinks. Continue reading
JC was throwing shirts and pants in his suitcase when Justin walked into the room, cursing himself every time he missed. “C..,” Justin started.
JC stopped midmotion and his shoulders slumped. “Justin don’t, please. Just don’t.”
There’s no one quite as blind
As a victim of the game
A Songfic (Em/Justin)
Eminem sat in the waiting room at the hospital in LA. Clenching and unclenching his fist in front of him as he leaned forward on his knees, he cursed to himself.
I want to take his eyes out
Just for looking at you
Em looked across the waiting area at Justin’s friends. Only two had come clubbing with him- JC and Joey. Both looked distraught and upset. Both also kept throwing confused glances his way. He scowled at them. They weren’t there for Justin either. They were his fucking friends. They should have had his back. He knew if some guy had tried to knife him in a club Dre and 50 would be right there.
Lance stumbled out of the back of the bar, his fifteenth beer of the night still in his hand. He sighed and rested his sweaty back against the brick wall, closing his eyes, feeling the sweat drip off his eyelashes. He felt rather than heard someone near him. “Dude, you ok?” the person asked.
The voice was deep with a slight melodic quality. Slowly Lance lifted one eyelid, trying to focus on the blurry face in front of him. All it did was make him dizzy and feel like he was going to throw up. He reeled forward, doubling in half, causing the beer bottle in his hand to crash on the concrete. The last three beers he drank came up and landed on the pavement. A cool hand was placed on his back. “You need a ride home?” the voice asked.