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Wings to Fly, Eyes that Burn
By : Zilo
Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers
Views: 6381 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: 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-Split
- 2-Claims
- 3-Knuckled Fists
- 4-Chicken Potpie
- 5-Needless Embarrassment
- 6-Attached
- 7-Hailie
- 8-Conflicted
- 9-Half Truths & Dreams
- 10-Undeniable
- 11-Training
- 12-Bruised Ribs
- 13-Nicknames
- 14-The New Race
- 15-Weapon of Choice
- 16-Those Forgotten
- 17-Betrayed
- 18-The Snow
- 19-Tiny Girl Hands
- 20-Mother's Wings
- 21-Lies of Protection
They were in the library, Maleto had given Marshall the message of where to meet and when.
He found Remy in the back near the encyclopedias lounging casually, body draped easily in an uncomfortable looking wooden chair. His head was tilted slightly away and his eyes were staring off into nothingness, giving Marshall a chance to observe him without his knowing. The man was danger, a red energy seemed almost to radiate off of him. Even with his attention elsewhere he had the presence of someone who was always alert and just a bit faster then expected. Marshall was glad to not call this man an enemy, and with that in mind he slowly ran his eyes up and down his form. He had a long lanky body, with a firm athletic build. Perfect for a thief Marshall thought, strong yet quick and light on his feet. His jaw was smooth and angular with movie star hair that even when messy looked perfectly placed. This was the kinda guy that made 'bed head' look fashionable. Sex hair.
As if thoughts were words Remy suddenly turned his head to look in his direction, a smile playing at his lips, as if saying 'do you like what you see?' Marshall felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he realized Remy had known he was there nearly the entire time and probably seen him checking him out. Sex hair? Why'd he even think of that?
Remy gestured to the seat across from him, Marshall sat and soon found himself under the inspection of the Cajun's red on black eyes. Devil eyes everyone called them. Marshall found them to be frighteningly beautiful, hypnotizing.
Remy looked him over very carefully and then said; "How y' heal'n up? I sent Riggs some medicine t' give t' y' an' tol' him t' be nice t' y'. How y' been hold'n up? No one messes wit y' now, neh?"
Marshall was staring at him trying not to look too surprised as to the extent that Remy had gone to, too help him. It worried him that the more help he gave the bigger the price of pay back he would ask for. He'd been worrying about it all week, so now the pleasantries of 'how are you feeling?' were only delaying in the knowing of that information. He fidgeted nervously.
"It's better. Yeah um, it healed up alright." He swallowed. "Um… thanks." He waited, watching Remy's eyes crinkle and smile at him. He knew what he was doing. That smile said it all. He was dragging it out on purpose, he liked watching him sweat.
Marshall felt like a little mouse caught under the paw of a large cat, toying with him, unsure if he should eat him now or simply play with him some more. Marshall hated being fucked with. In the span of a few minutes the guy had caught him off guard twice. It was about power, he knew he was out of his league but that didn't mean he was going to just roll over and take it. His eyes narrowed; "So let's cut the bullshit then huh?" Remy's eyebrows raised slightly and Marshall felt a small victory in surprising him. "What exactly do you want from me?" He was sure he knew the answer. He just wanted it spelled out instead of danced around.
Remy paused as if thinking it out. "De usual I guess, protection and safety in exchange for sex. Y' give me y're body wherever, whenever I want it an' in exchange I make sure no'ne messes wit y'." Remy's foot toed Marshall's legs apart under the table, "So basically boy, what I'm say'n is," His foot slid up past knees and nestled somewhat roughly against his crotch, pining his cock and balls down as he whispered; "I own y'." Marshall whimpered softly as Remy rocked his foot against him.
"Fuck." He panted out. What else was there to say? That one word seemed to cover it all.
"Oh baby don' y' worry, we defin'ly be do'n some o' dat."- You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
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