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Up From Here	By : aliciakristine Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 3454 -:- 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
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03.

Tara had lived in a nice house in Boston, a completely
remodeled Victorian with an open floor plan and sweeping staircases and
gigantic picture windows. But it was a shack compared to the small mansion
Marshall owned. The subdivision he lived in had a security guard posted in
between the lanes of the wide avenue curling through the neighborhood, and
heavy steel arms were lowered to prevent anyone from getting in without
permission. Marshall rolled the window down and waved at the guard sitting
comfortably in his heated guardshack, and the arm raised to let him through.

She was still blazed, but even two blunts worth of
fantastic weed wasn't enough to dull the sheer richness of the houses they
passed. They were all set back from the road and most had high gates around
them, some with security cameras attached. Jaguars and Bentleys were parked in
the driveways; the yards were immaculately landscaped. No paint was peeling, no
porches sagged, and no stray dogs roamed the streets. It was suburbia in it's
classiest form, and she was enthralled.

A few blocks down the road, he slowed and turned into a
driveway blocked by an iron gate. She craned her neck to see the house, but the
gate and trees full of dead leaves blocked most of her view. He punched a
number into the security box and the gate opened soundlessly. He pulled forward
and she gasped.

The house wasn't huge, it was enormous. She couldn't
imagine Marshall living in a house like this, not the same Marshall who'd lived
in a one-bedroom apartment and slept on a mattress with no sheet. But he pushed
a button on the ceiling of the truck and a garage door opened. "Slow
down," she said. "Let me gawk."

The house - or mansion, rather - was made totally of grey
brick. Gigantic arcs of windows showed an impressive chandelier hanging above
the double front door. Thick sheets of stained glass flanked the front door.
The garage angled off the house, and on the other side, another squat wing of
the house branched off, this one with it's own set of doors. "What's that?"
she asked, pointing.

"My studio. Are you done gawking yet?" he asked,
trying to sound annoyed. He sounded a little proud instead.

"I guess," she said. "If this is the
outside, I can't wait to see the inside."

"Well, this is the outside," he teased,
and she blushed.

"I'm high, Marshall, don't make fun."

"I wouldn't be Marshall if I couldn't."

They pulled into the four-car garage between a sports car
and a Hummer H2. An ordinary sedan was parked on the other side of the Hummer,
and she looked at him with raised eyebrows. "It's for my maid when she
comes," he said. "She uses it to run errands for me, that way she
doesn't have to use her own car."

"You bought a car for your maid,
Marshall?"

"Sure," he said, "why not?"

They got out of the truck and she followed him through a
door into the house. They were standing in a wide hallway. It was dim, but she
could see that it opened up into what looked like a cavern a few yards away. He
flipped a few lights switches on, disarmed the security system, and locked the
door behind him. Lights flickered on down the length of the hallway and she saw
that doors opened up on either side.

He led her down the hall, pointing at each door as they
went by it. "Bathroom, storage, storage, the room the maid uses for
ironing." She looked into each room, surprised at how normal it all
looked. The room the hallway opened up into, however, was anything but normal.
A staircase hugged the wall and curved upwards to a second story. The ceiling
here was at least two stories high, and she looked up at what she could see of
the second floor. A bannister ran the length of the hallway that looked out
over the room they stood in, and while Marshall turned more lights on and the
hallway lights off with another set of switches, she could make out more doors
and more stairs leading upward.

The chandelier came on above her, showering them with light
that was somehow delicate and bright at once, and she looked up, squinting,
then looked around her. Framed pictures hung on the walls, some photographs of
the girls, a couple family portraits, but most of it was abstract art. Couches
were pushed against walls and a tile mosiac was underfoot. The walls were
cream-colored from the waist-up with a dark cherry oak chair-rail running along
the bottom. "You live here?" she asked, looking at the
pictures on the walls. Hailie was as beautiful as Tara expected her to be, and
so was Laney. They looked so happy together, but there was something in their
eyes that Tara recognized all too well. Maturity, a sad knowledge of the way
things were long before it was supposed to be there. Tara turned away from the
pictures.

"Where are the girls?"

"Probably upstairs," he said, and went to an
intercom on the wall I hadn't seen before. "Hailie, Laney, I'm home."

They heard a thunder of feet overhead and a door burst
open. Behind it, Tara heard the sounds of a TV blaring. "Daddy!"
Hailie shrieked, running down the stairs with Laney on her heels.

Marshall's face changed completely. He wasn't Marshall
Mathers, CEO of Aftermath, businessman, rapper, producer, mogul extraordinare.
He was Daddy, young and happy and so relaxed she barely recognized him. Hailie
threw her arms around him with Laney close behind, and he hugged both of them,
kissing the tops of their heads. "Hi, girls," he said. "I want
you to meet someone."

They noticed Tara for the first time, and she felt
incredibly vulnerable all of a sudden. They looked at her with dark, curious
eyes. Hailie, especially, hardened her face into something unreadable. Tara was
all too aware of her bloodshot eyes, chapped lips, and outdated parka.
"Hi," she said lamely.

"This is Tara," Marshall said.

Hailie's face lightened a bit. "Tara? The one you told
us about?"

Tara raised her eyebrows. "You've heard of me?"

"If you're the same one," Laney said, and looked
up at Marshall. "It's the same Tara, right, Emmy?"

"The one and only," he said. His eyes hadn't
moved off of Tara's face.

"Hopefully it wasn't all bad," she said.

"We found pictures of you," Hailie said.
"When we moved. There were pictures of you and Daddy together."

"Oh," she said, not sure what to say. Marshall
had pictures of her?

"They're upstairs," he said. "If you want to
see them. I don't think I got them developed until you left for Boston."

He still had them? "I'd like that," she finally
said.

"Daddy?" Hailie asked, turning and looking at him
again. "Are we gonna do something fun?"

"Sure," he said. "What do you want to
do?"

"Let's play a game," Laney said.

"What game?"

"Let's play Guesstures!" Hailie said excitedly,
but Laney shook her head.

"How about Pictionary?"

"Nooo. Let's go look."

"You got to pick last time, I want to play
Guesstures."

"No," Laney said firmly. "That's
stupid."

"It is not stupid, dope. Fine. I'll pick something
different. But I am picking."

"Only if I like it," Laney said, older and bossy.

"Girls," Marshall said, looking so in love with
both of them that his face softened. "Go pick. You can both agree
on something."

"But she picked last time," Hailie said,
pouting. "It's my turn."

"Hailie," Marshall said patiently. "That
wouldn't be fair. She picked a game that you liked last time, and we all had
fun. But if you pick a game she doesn't like, she won't have any fun, and none
of us will have any fun."

Hailie sighed, looked at Laney, and stuck her tongue out.
"Come on, Laney-Brainy, we'll pick something out together."

Tara watched the girls go upstairs and smiled.
"They're beautiful."

"They're brats," he said, but the affection in
his voice was unmistakeable. "You don't mind playing a game, do you?"

She was surprised. "Me?"

"Sure," he said. "It'll be fun."

"I don't want to intrude-"

"Shut the fuck up," he said, grinning at her.
"Come upstairs with me."

She followed him up the curling staircase, down the hall
that overlooked the first story, and into a bedroom bigger than the apartment
she'd lived in after her divorce. "This is your room?"

"Yeah," he said. "This is my room."

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed,
looking around, intimidated by the wealth displayed in just one room.
"This is amazing," she said softly. "I can't believe you live
here."

"You get used to it," he said. "And anyway,
wasn't Rob some hotshot attorney?"

"We never had money like this. I thought I was rich
because I drove a car that was bought and paid for."

He grinned. "Who said this was bought and paid
for?"

"It's not?"

"Nah. It is."

She threw a pillow at him. "You're an ass."

"Some things don't ever change." He locked the
door, pushed a button on the intercom, and told Hailie and Laney that he'd be
ready in a little while.

"Okay. Me and Hailie are going to play Uno Attack to
decide who gets to pick the game we all play."

Marshall laughed. "Okay. Have fun."

He turned the intercom off. "That could take hours.
They always want me to spend time with them, but I think just knowing I'm in
the house is enough sometimes."

"You must spend a lot of time away."

"Too much," he said. "I don't have the time
to take a shit without being interrupted." He sat on the edge of the bed
beside her, their shoulders touching. "How long do you plan on
staying?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," she said. She hadn't thought
things through that far. "I... I don't have a plan."

"Do you want to go back to Boston?"

No,
she thought. I want to stay here. With you. But she didn't say it.
Instead she said, "I don't know. I don't know if I can go back."

"Why can't you?"

You're not there. Nobody is there. I'm so, so alone there,
and I'm so sick of being alone. "Rob is there."

"Tara? Can I ask you a question without hurting your
feelings?"

She nodded, though she doubted it.

"What did you think would happen once you got here?"

"I don't know."

"I'll help you however I can but... but Tara, you...
you gotta understand, I don't know what you want from me, but I don't have much
to give. I'm spread thin right now."

She understood what he was getting at, and it stung.
"I didn't mean... I mean, I didn't plan on-"

"Don't get me wrong, Tara, it's great to see you. But
I don't think things can be how they used to be."

"But I didn't-"

"No, let me talk. I kinda feel like you showed up here
expecting me to welcome you back with open arms, and that's cool, you can crash
here, you can stay here if you need to, I'll help you out with money. But I'm
busy, Tara. I don't have time for-"

"Give me a little credit, Marshall," she said,
frowning. "I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not stupid, but I didn't know what you
expected."

She stood up. "This was a bad idea. I'm going to
go."

He grinned, cocky as always. "Slow down there, Hoss.
You're so fucked up right now you don't even know what state you're in, and you
think you're going to make it back to your car - on foot?"

"If I have to," she said, angry now.

"Sit down, Tara," he said, and pulled her back
down beside him. "Calm down. I'm not trying to be a dick."

"You don't have to try."

"That hurt. Really." His eyes twinkled.

"I'm glad you're amused."

"Take your hat and coat off, stay awhile," he
said, grinning again. Before she could stop him, he reached over and pulled the
beanie from her head.

Her hair was full of static, but it was long and beautiful.
He nearly groaned just seeing it; her hair had always been the one thing about
her that drove him the wildest. He remembered the way it fell across his face
when she was on top of him, the way he tangled it in his fingers when he was on
top of her. It was hard to resist the urge to smell it. He couldn't resist the
urge to touch it.

Soft, as silky as he remembered. It was a deep brown with a
warm honey glow to it, thick and long and healthy. He twisted it around his
fingers, mesmorized. Her eyes, huge and rimmed red below thick black lashes,
looked at him hesitantly. He missed her. God, he fucking missed her. "I'm
so glad you didn't cut your hair," he finally said, his voice husky and
low.

When she left for Detroit, she never imagined he'd look at
her this way again. But good God, was he looking at her. His eyes were low, his
pupils dilated not from weed but from lust. Her own breath came faster,
something pulled deep within her belly. It had been so long since she'd been
alone with him that she'd forgotten the effect they had on each other. It was
uncontrollable, though neither of them had ever wanted to control it.

"Marshall?" she whispered, and his lips were on
hers.

She felt as though a thousand moths were fluttering around
her body excitedly, awakened by the light of arousal that speared her the
moment his mouth touched hers. His lips were slow, patient, and she had no idea
how he kept them that way. She hadn't felt so needy in years; if his arms
wouldn't have been holding her up, she thought she might slip right off of the
bed and onto the floor. But he held her against his strong chest and she leaned
into him, a part of her that hadn't been allowed out of it's cage in years
roaring to be released.

"You taste so fuckin' good," he said, holding her
face in both hands.

"I taste like your weed," she said, smiling.

"Like I said," he growled, and dipped his head
again. There was a sense of urgency now in his kisses, in the hands that
unzipped her parka and pushed it roughly off of her shoulders. "Didn't I
tell you to take this fuckin' thing off?"

"I can't remember," she said because she
couldn't. All she was aware of was his body against hers, pushing her
backwards, pressing into her. His arousal was harder than she'd felt a man's
arousal in years and her hips lifted instinctively when he fumbled with the
zipper of her pants. He pulled them down, never one for modesty or romance. She
didn't care. Romance was the furthest thing from her mind. She wanted only
release, his body pressing down into hers, his lips against her skin. His own
pants were heavier denim and harder to get down without him moving off the bed,
but they wiggled and pushed at them with two pairs of hands until he was able
to kick them off.

Still wearing their shirts, he rolled so that he was half
on top of her and hesitated for only a second before finding the soft, hot
wetness between her thighs with his soft musician fingers. She gasped. She
wanted to watch him, wanted to see his beautiful face as he watched hers, but
her eyes were too heavy with the pleasure. "You're so fuckin' wet,
Tara," he said, and another finger slid inside of her. "How long has
it been for you, Tara? You're so tight, so fuckin' wet."

"Too long," she whispered, opening her eyes
enough to see his. They were clear, the darkness that usually swirled in the
depths of his eyes gone. His pupils were still dilated, but his eyes were no
longer rimmed with red. His finger bent inside of her and pressed against the
thin rough patch of flesh deep within. She shuddered, crying out, fisting a
handful of his shirt and biting it to keep from screaming. Oh, God, this was
new. This was new. He hadn't known this before. Oh, God-

"Don't stop," she cried, reaching for his hand as
he pulled it away. "Please, Em, please, Marshall, please don't stop."
She felt so empty without him, and so cold when his body lifted from the bed.
Her eyes snapped open in a panic. "Where are you going?"

"Shh, Tara, I'm just taking my shirt off. I'm not goin'
anywhere, Tara, I'm right here." He pulled his shirt off and threw it off
the bed. "Take yours off. I want to see you. Let me see you."

She took her shirt and bra off, feeling his eyes on her.
She was usually self conscious of her breasts, but not with Marshall. She laid
before him completely naked and soaked up the velvet weight of his gaze,
feeling sexier and more desireable than she could stand. "Why'd you come
back?" Marshall asked as he crawled over her. His voice was throaty and
rough.

"I wanted to see you," she said, lifting her hips
for him.

He didn't tease her. He never had. With one thrust, he was
buried inside of her, and while they lay there not moving, he whispered in her
ear, "I was fine without you, you know. Everything was okay. Why'd you
come back?"

"Oh, Marshall," she cried. "Please don't
ruin this."

"You already ruined everything," he said as he
began to move. "And I'm so fuckin' glad you did."

"Everything was ruined-" she said, her works
broken, "-long time... ago. Oh, Marshall, like that. Like that, please,
like that."

The satin sheets were hard to keep leverage on, and he
finally cursed in frustration and jumped off of her without warning. "Come
on," he said, dragging her by her ankle to the end of the bed and picking
her up. She wrapped her legs around him, kissing his neck and shoulderblade and
chin as he carried her to the leather couch. She remembered how he liked it,
with her back pressed to his chest, her thighs stretched as far apart as they
went. He reached around her and held her breasts while she grinded against him.

"You haven't forgotten," he said, sounding
pleased.

"No," she said. "I remember
everything."

She slid off of him and down to the floor, knelt between
his legs, and took him in her mouth. He groaned once, long and rough. His dick
was long but not too thick, and she took as much as she could in her mouth
without gagging. She massaged him with her tongue, cupped his balls in one hand
and massaged gently, used her other hand to rub the base of his cock in rhythm
with the strokes of her tongue. His fingers tightened over the back of her
head, pushing her head now, and she knew he was close. Hungry for him, her
mouth tightened around him and she sucked, massaged with her tongue, sucked
again. And then, just when she felt the tip of his dick throb in her mouth, she
ran a finger over the patch of skin just below his balls gently.

It still worked.

He came into her mouth violently, his body shuddering.
"Tara," he moaned, and she waited until the orgasm passed before
softly kissing the head of his cock and climbed back on, facing him this time.
"Tara," he said again, his eyes still closed, as she sank onto him.

She grinded against him with all of her might, pushing
hard, feeling him deep inside of her. "Come," he whispered, looking
up at her. "Come, Tara, let me watch you." He pushed her back gently
so that he could reach her clit. "I love that your pussy is shaved
now," he said, and hearing the word on his lips was enough. She was a
sucker for dirty talk - being married to a lawyer had deprived her of that. She
came almost as violently as he did, biting again to keep from screaming, this
time the couch behind him. He chuckled deep in his throat. "Feel better,
Tara?"

"Oh, God," she sighed. "Fuck, God,
oh..." Her ears were ringing, her body was covered in sweat, her mouth and
lips were salty. She clung to him. "Marshall, did I really ruin
everything? Do you hate me for coming back?"

"No," he said. "I hate you for waiting so
long."
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