Beautiful (part 3, chris/eminem)
Beautiful
Part: 3/?
by jayaslash
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: chris kirkpatrick/eminem
Word Count: 4,318 so far
Summary: Is it possible to write a sappy Emslash story that is both fluffy, angsty and realistic? Why, yes, it is!
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Part 1 Part 2
3
April 8, 2002 - Orlando, Florida
Chris held the phone to his ear and listened to it ring for the fourth time as he watched Justin and Joey thrashing around on his sofa, squealing over his Tony Hawk Proskater game on his Playstation. Joey’s skater was doing backflips and ollies while Justin’s skirted a banister railing, the tinny sound of the game’s rock music making perfect background noise.
“Hello,” a gruff, familiar voice said and Chris’ lip curled, his heart jerking a bit.
“So, you’re gonna kick my ass now?” Chris asked.
“Who is this?” Marshall sounded bored.
“Chris Kirkpatrick,” Chris said at once.
Silence. Chris listened to Marshall breathing unsteadily on the other end of the line.
“I know you’re fucking divorced and miserable and a criminal and shit,” Chris said. “But you don’t have to drag me into it.”
“You said I should fuck with you,” Marshall reminded him smartly and Chris grinned slowly.
“Oh, you remember that, do you?” Chris asked.
“I’m just doing what you told me to do,” Marshall said lightly.
“Really?” Chris asked.
“Really,” Marshall agreed.
“Well, I didn’t take you for the obedient type,” Chris said, testing, his voice low and intimate.
Marshall breathed quietly for a long time.
“Well, then, you need to get to know me,” Marshall said finally and hung up with a decisive click. Chris listened to the dial tone for a few long, shaky breaths before he forced himself to hang up. His fingers itched to redial the number he’d begged, borrowed and stolen to obtain, but he didn’t do it. Instead, he stood there leaning against the doorjamb, staring off into space. Eminem. Marshall fucking Mathers had been flirting with him - flirting - over the phone.
“Who was that?” Joey asked, squeezing by him to get to the kitchen and snacks. Chris shook his head.
“Nobody,” he said and docked the cordless phone.
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May 15, 2002 - Chicago, Illinois
Chris groaned and slipped his cell phone out of his pocket, turning away from the sparse crowd of people scattered into VIP in the Hard Rock Café, speed-dialing his scheduler. The phone rang eight times before she picked up.
“What the fuck, Celeste?” he asked, voice pitched high with exasperation. The tinkling sound of silver on china played in the background and he knew that she was hard at work, wining and dining execs. His frustration lessened the slightest bit.
“Chris,” she hissed quietly.
“I don’t wanna fucking be here in Chicago in May,” Chris told her. “It’s fucking sixty degrees. And there’s nobody here. Tell me, again, why am I supposed to be here when I could be in Orlando?”
“Chris,” she said pleasantly. “It’s called networking. Justin’s got one more year in him at best and what is it you told me you wanted to do?”
“Sing in an indie rock band,” Chris intoned dutifully.
“Okay,” she said as if she was talking to a two-year-old. “Now, go play nice with the indie music crowd.”
“But there’s nobody fucking here,” he hissed, and then sighed. “Fuck it. Never mind. I’m going.”
“Goodbye, Chris,” she said in a singsong voice. Chris flipped his phone closed and turned back to the party. The least he could do was avail himself of the free booze and get rip-roaring drunk before crashing in his hotel room. That perked him up and he went in search of a free cocktail.
He was holding something red and bubbly when a familiar bleached blond head made him come up short. He blinked, sure his eyes were lying, but he still spotted Eminem walking toward him from the other side of the room. Chris swallowed and then tipped up his fruity drink and downed it in one go, setting the glass aside.
Marshall stood beside him in a few strides and Chris was careful not to look at the other man. He hoped fervently that the flirting thing they’d done on the phone five weeks before was a precursor for something wild and fantastic instead of, say, an intricate plot to kick his ass.
“Nice party,” Marshall said lightly.
Chris eyed the waning crowd and pursed his lips.
“Not exactly your scene,” Chris noted.
“I wanted to be sure that I wouldn’t be seen,” Marshall admitted.
“But I see you,” Chris pointed out and Marshall’s lips quirked into a quick, fleeting grin.
“I wanted to be sure that you saw me,” Marshall said. Chris nodded. Scratched his head. Nodded some more.
“So, that’s why I’m here?” he asked.
“A friend of a friend knows Celeste,” Marshall said quietly. “Planted a little bug in her ear about this fucking indie rock bullshit. Stir and mix. And you’re here.”
“You, sir, are one crafty motherfucker,” Chris pointed out. Marshall laughed lightly.
“This celebrity bullshit has fucked up my reality,” Marshall told him. “Now, I’m used to getting what I want.”
“And that’s supposed to mean that you want something from me,” Chris said, quirking his eyebrow. Marshall shifted slightly, looked at Chris head on for the first time. His lips quirked. Chris grinned.
“You, sir, are one weird motherfucker,” Chris pointed out. Marshall laughed again. And then his hand moved in the quickest motion. Chris felt Marshall’s hand slip into his back pocket, warm and fluid and then Marshall was stepping away from him, without a backward glance. Chris watched him walk away, shifting from one foot to the other before digging into his back pocket and pulling out a keycard. Room 872. Chris hissed out a noisy breath.
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Marshall’s fingers were shaking as he slid the keycard through the reader, waiting for the green light before stepping into the room. He barely had time to get the door closed before he was pressed back against the door, a surge of expensive cologne and Chris’s oddly long fingers fisting in his shirt.
Lips. Marshall stifled a moan as Chris’s lips locked onto his and there it was. His first kiss with another guy. It was rough and stubbly and perfect and Marshall opened his mouth, sliding his tongue against Chris’s and lifting his arms to wrap around the shorter, slighter man. Marshall pulled him up close and they stood there, pressed back against the door, kissing for so long that Marshall’s knees quaked and his lips ached, but he didn’t want to stop. It was Chris who pulled back, who shifted away the slightest bit, those deep, dark eyes flashing up at him fiercely, wantonly. Marshall tried to shift closer to him.
“You’re shaking,” Chris said and Marshall moved closer, mouthing the skin on Chris’s throat.
“I know,” Marshall admitted.
“Why are you shaking?” Chris asked, but Marshall held on. He didn’t answer. Chris tried to take a step back.
“You haven’t ever-“ Chris started, but Marshall kissed him, smoothing the words away with his tongue until Chris was silent again, until they were both lost in sensation, tongues sliding against each other and rigid cocks seeking out friction. Marshall humped against Chris’s hip unsteadily.
“What do you want?” Chris asked.
“Please,” Marshall gasped.
“Anything you want.” Chris’s voice was reverent. Marshall swallowed hard, quivery.
“Suck it,” he whispered hopefully and Chris went down to his knees, fingers working, mouth hot and open against the fabric of Marshall’s jeans, yanking everything away until he was staring at pale flesh. Marshall stared down at Chris and shook, vibrating with want and need and fear and aching desire. Chris licked him, the flat of his tongue moving firmly from the base of Marshall’s cock up to the head. Marshall whimpered as Chris swallowed him down.
Marshall couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t look away from sharp-featured Chris on his knees in front of him. This what he wanted. This was what he had dreamt of for the last two years and it took the breath from his lungs when he realized that it was better. It was better than anything that he had ever envisioned.
Chris’s mouth moved over him, hot and tight, suctioning and humming. Marshall thrust his hips wildly, shaking as he fed Chris his dick and suddenly, without warning, he came apart in Chris’s mouth, jerking and moaning.
His knees gave out and he slithered onto the carpeted floor in front of Chris, shaking and breathing hard. There were tears on his cheeks. Chris licked his lips, his fingers moving up to slide through the tracks of Marshall’s tears.
Continued...