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Blunts & Big Dicks	By : Zilo Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 4157 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Eminem (Marshall Mathers). I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Peanut
- 1
Title: Blunts & Big Dicks
Author: Zilo
Summary: 50 Cent and Eminem smoke up and hang out.
Rating: R to maybe NC-17 (sex, drug use, language)
Pairing(s): 50/Eminem
Author’s notes: Just for shits and giggels.
*Disclaimer*:50 Cent and Eminem own themselves I make no profit off this story. Their sexual preference is there own and I'm not trying to offend anyone. If this isn't your thing, read no further.

Em's sprawled out diagonally on the hotel bed staring up at the ceiling like it holds all the answers of the world. Fifty lies next to him taking another hit off a massive blunt.

"Good shiiit." He mutters as he hands it back to Em. They both stare at the ceiling some more. Em finishes the blunt and then slowly tilts his head to the side, a look of concentration on his face. Fifty nudges his arm. "Whatchu think'n bout?" He asks because he knows Em is a crazy motherfucker and who knows what he'll say next.

"The light." Em says. His face contorted in deep concentration. Fifty's eyes track over to the light fixture attached to the ceiling. He tries to study it the way Marshall seems to be. It's really very ugly he finally decides. If light fixtures could be hideous then this one with it's bulging milky glass and strange brass knobs, definitely was.

"It looks sorta like Kim when she's pissed." Em's fingers point and start tracing some imaginary Kim face against the fixture. "Right there... Like how her nose flares out... An' her eyebrow does that... that thing." He waits a minute more before his hand tiers of moving and just limply falls against his face, fingers still in pointing position. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes.

Fifty knows the signs. He's seen it all before. Em is on the verge of slipping into what he has termed as; 'sad Marshall mode.' The second the word "Kim" slipped from his lips Fifty was on alert. The heavy drama queen sigh and the closed eyes were just going to be icing on the sad cake. The challenge is formed in his mind now; save Em from impending doom of sadness. What better method then random distraction?

He pulls Em's hand away from his face and lays it palm up across his chest. He lets his head turn to the side, eyes locking with Em's as he speaks. "Say ya hadda choose 'tween only do'n music or be'n able to fuck, what would ya choose? God comes down to ya and is like 'yo bitch choose one...' What would ya do?"

The look Em is giving him is priceless and Fifty tries not to bust out laughing. Em's brow knits together in obvious confusion, his mouth drops open and he takes a breath to ask but seems to change his mind. After a long moment he asks; "Do I still getta keep my dick?"

Fifty grins. "Yea ya still got it. Ya juss can't fuck wit' it."

Em is quiet, thinking deeply. "Can I still jack off an' shit?"

Fifty thinks for a moment. "Sure."

Em nods slowly and then says; "What about blowjobs?"

Fifty laughs and grabs Em's wrist and pins it over his head. "What about blowjobs?" He asks with a leering grin as he hovers above Em's body. "Try'n ta avoid the question huh? You'd choose music ova' sex wouldn't ya?"

"Nooo..." Em says. His eyes blink slowly as he stares back at him.

Fifty shakes his head hard, smile splitting open his whole face with bright white teeth. "Ya tell shit to your gurl wit a face like dat? Fuck'n liar... Damn Marsh! Ya one crazy fucker!" He pauses and traces his fingers down clothed washboard abs, drawing circles around his nipples. "Ya know why that is though right?" He asks, thumb slipping under the fabric of his beater and dipping into his bellybutton. "It's cause we done neva had sex dawg! Once ya've had sex wit me... Ya life juss be different, I'm betta then crack yo. I go all night"

Em smirks at him and watches with unconcealed desire as Fifty pulls his own beater off and tosses it on the floor. He slides off Em's torso and kneels between his legs, hands splayed across his upper thighs. He watches Em's face closely as he runs his thumb firmly up the inside seam of his sweatpants and over his crotch. Em is hot for him already, dick hard under his hand, breath short and ragged. He looks watchful though, eyes half open starring at him carefully under dark lashes. He still doesn't want to fuck. Fifty knows this and it frustrates him to no end.

"It'll be good." He says firmly, trying to sell the idea with confidence in his performance. He pushes Em's beater up to his chin and holds the fabric there as he dips his face down and licks a wet trail down his chest. "We can go real slow. I'll treat ya like a sixteen year old virgin on yo' birf-day." Fifty tilts his head up and half smiles, eyes glinting.

Em laughs. "Hell no bitch. You're fucking ginormus dawg, you ain't gonna stick that thing in me!" He's laughing and smiling, but totally serious. "Sixteen year old virgin my ass, shiiit..." He mutters.

Fifty frowns, feigning hurt. "Come on baby I'll be careful. Don' ya trust me?" He bats his eyelashes and tries to look cute and unassuming. Marshall cracks up in giggles because he's high as shit and the thought of Fifty in a poka-dot dress just crossed his mind. He's hiccupping and still gasping for air as Fifty presses his lips against his. They kiss for a while, Em letting Fifty do all the work as he humps up against him. After a while big hands wander down to waistbands and start pulling off clothes like there's no tomorrow.

"Nah man... No fucking. You'll break me." Marshall pants out, arms flailing around wildly to animate his point.

"Damn it Slim. Stop be'n such a fucking girl. Juss put out already" Fifty frowns and twists Em's nipple in frustration.

Em gasps out loudly, after a long moment he says; "Look dawg, it's like common... geometry... like spatial math and shit. You're shit just don't fit. You're just like... fucking insanely, freakishly humongous and-"

"Anyone would look humongous in comparison to your peanut dick!" Fifty interrupts him, annoyed at being called 'freakish.'

"And I have a little peanut asshole to go with it!" Em pauses, calms down a little. "I'm not a huge guy. I have a little frame..."

Fifty apologizes by licking the abused nipple. "I like your lil' peanut dick." He tells him as he wraps hist ast around it and tugs gently.

Em's mind wanders off as he groans at the contact and ends up muttering; "I think you'd look good in poka-dots." Wet lips suction against the head of his cock and all thoughts of designer poka-dot dresses fly out of his head.

Fifty's mouth is something else and Em starts thinking about spaceships and galaxies full of stars. His mind sidetracks again and a horrible episode of Star Trek leaps into his brain and won't go away. He'd watched an episode one night when he had a case of killer insomnia and nothing else was on. He wasn't proud, but these things happened. An audio of that bald guy saying "Warp speed Data!" Was on a track loop in his head. Why did these things have to happen during good sex?

"Warp speed huh? Ya got somewhere betta to be bitch? And who da fuck is Data?" Fifty's still jacking him off with his hand, fast nearly violent strokes to his dick. His brain cells have all completely leaked out his dick and he can't remember how to talk. He ends up cumming all over himself and Fifty before he even has time to wonder if he really said that shit out loud or not.

As if an afterthought, that Fifty just pictured, he randomly says; "Poka-dots huh?"

"Mmm. Defiantly." Marshall agrees.

--End
- 1
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Blunts & Big Dicks