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Whispers Two	By : Queenie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 6350 -:- 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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The morning sun wormed its painful way into my head, and I woke up groaning and blinking at the intrusion. Beside me, Marshall slept on; his full lips hanging slightly open like a child’s, his cheek ruddy where it pressed into the pillow. He had his right arm hooked around my waist, clutching at me tightly even in slumber. I felt my heart skip a beat at that revelation. It was the kind of proof of love that he found so hard to consciously give me.

I wanted to lie there and enjoy it, but something was pulling me away that was far stronger than any thoughts of love or companionship. I needed a hit. Already I could feel the sickness creeping up on me, the pain that started out as an insistent whisper but, I knew, would soon develop into an overwhelming scream. I wanted to be out of there before Marshall could see me like that.

Gently, I disentangled myself from him and slipped from the bed. He didn’t wake up, nor did he stir as I quietly dressed and made a pot of coffee. I brought it out on a tray, which I set on the bedside table, then I sat on the side of the bed, just watching him. It felt so strange to love someone, to want to see them, to want to be with them. It was something I’d never experienced before, I’d never had a boyfriend, never had any sexual partners that weren’t either tricks or one night stands. The closest thing I had to caring for someone was Vittorio, and even he felt more like a minder, or a protector at times. There was no one in my life who treated me like an equal.

Until now. Marshall didn’t seem to care about who I was. He didn’t care that I was a whore, he didn’t care that I was a junkie. He wanted me for me. He wanted me because he liked me. Torio took care of me out of a sweet sense of obligation. Marshall tried to take care of me because he felt something for me.

I knew it was too good to be true. I sat there, gazing at his face, wishing that it didn’t have to end, but knowing that it would. Marshall had his career. He had his fans. I knew enough about his music, and the hip-hop industry, to understand that him coming out would destroy him. The fans would see it as a betrayal. And Marshall cared about his fans. He wanted them. They were more important then I was.

Surprisingly, I didn’t feel any bitterness towards this faceless mass of teenagers. Teenagers, I reflected wryly, who would probably beat us both up if they knew what we’d been doing all night. But they had their own problems, they had their own shit in their lives. And the man sleeping naked next to me was their hero, their only anchor. I understood it and didn’t at the same time. Marshall was charismatic, witty, outspoken and, seemingly, confident to a fault. But in the hours and hours we’d talked last night, after making love for the second time, he’d confessed stuff to me that were more the insecurities of a little boy than the qualities of a super star. But I supposed these were the things those teenagers could relate to. They wouldn’t be able to relate to the fact that he was fucking a boy.

I wasn’t about to take it from him, or them. I wasn’t going to try to hold him with me, or try and force him to come out. I wasn’t g tog to go to any tabloids with our story. I couldn’t. What I would do, however, is make the most of what time we had, and cry quietly when it was over.

That was all superficial, though. At that moment, I was craving heroin above anything else. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t change the past, which had brought heroin into my life, any more than I could change the future which was going to take Marshall out of it. I had to play with the hand I was dealt with.

Leaning down, I softly kissed Marshall awake, pressing my mouth to his slack lips and teasing them until I got a response. He moaned, his hand coming up to twine in my hair as he kissed me back for the longest time, before finally opening his bright, intense blue eyes.

“Morning, sweetheart,” I smiled, pecking his nose, “I made some coffee.”

“Did I tell you that you were an angel, yet?” he asked sleepily, giving me a soft smile. I laughed and shook my head, moving back a little to give him room to sit up.

“No, not yet,” I murmured, pouring his coffee and handing it to him. He just sat there smelling it for a while, his eyes closed. I grinned as I watched him; I knew the feeling.

Eventually he took a sip, his eyes running over my body in slight disappointment. “You leaving so early?” he asked quietly, resigned. I nodded.

“Have to. I’m getting sick.” I answered simply. The night before, I’d gone into my addiction in detail. I didn’t feel as ashamed about admitting that as I had last time. Although I still didn’t want him to see me get sicker.

He nodded, pouting a little. I wonder if he understood the effect that petulant little pout had on people. He had to. He was too smart not to. But even the powers of his pout weren’t going to fight my heroin withdrawals.

I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to go,” I whispered.

“I understand,” he replied, stroking my hair. “Do you need a ride, anywhere? Or I could get you a taxi…”

“Taxi would be better. You don’t want to be seen at a drug dealers place,” I murmured into the warm skin of his chest.

Marshall let out a quiet laugh. “Jason. It’s not as if I haven’t been linked with drugs in the past.”

“Not heroin,” I shot back, remembering one of the songs I’d listened to compulsively, “I listen to your CD’s now, Shady.” I closed my eyes and recited the lines that had made me laugh the first time I’d heard them. “I do take pills, don't do speed, don't do crack, don't do coke, I do smoke weed, don't do smack, I do do ‘shrooms, do drink beer, I just wanna make a few things clear…” I broke off and grinned, proud that I remembered the words. Marshall laughed again.

“Baby?”

“What?”

“Please don’t ever take up a career in hip-hop. For me.”

I whacked him half-heartedly. I knew very well I couldn’t sing, or rap, for that matter. “Fuck off. The point is, you don’t want to be seen hanging around with a gay junkie at a dealers flat in Brixton.”

Marshall sighed and gave me a hug. “Ok, I take your point. But I’m gonna be here for a week. Do I get to see you again?”

I looked up at him in surprise. I’d expected it to be another one nighter. “Of course. If you want to.”

“Don’t be a fuckin’ idiot, Jason. Yes, I want to.” The tenderness in his voice surprised me again. I smiled, my junkie-sickness temporarily pushed away.

“I love you,” I said, kissing the little dimple in his chin.

He grinned back. “I love you too. I’ll give you my cell phone number, aight? Ring me. Whenever you want me.”

I stood up and hunted round for some hotel stationary and a pen. “Mobile,” I mumbled absently.

“Huh?”

“You’re in England. We call them mobile phones, not cell phones.” I winked. “You’ve got to get a handle on the lingo. Guv’nah.”

Marshall rolled his eyes at me, and handed back the slip of paper with his number. “Whatever.”

I took the paper and slipped it into my pocket, then ran my fingers through my hair. I wasn’t surprised to notice that I was starting to sweat. The sickness was getting worse. Soon it was going to take over. Time to leave.

Bending down to where Marshall still laid in bed, I gave him another kiss. “I’ll call you this evening,” I promised, “Don’t let your phone out of sight.” He nodded and gestured to his jeans, lying halfway across the room.

“Money’s in my wallet’s in my pants,” he said casually, trying not to make a big deal out of it, “Take what you need. It ain’t like I can’t afford to throw the shit from rooftops.”

I gave him a tight smile, and extracted fifty pounds, holding up the note. “Just for the cab,” I promised, “You’re not paying for my addiction.”

Marshall looked away uncomfortably. “Aight. I’ll see you tonight. I hope.”

“You will,” I said, watching him until he met my eyes again. “Bye bye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Jase.”

My dealer only lived a few blocks from my flat. I went home, first, to grab a bit of money I had stashed away for just such an emergency, then walked quickly to Eric’s, struggling against the temptation to break into a run. I referred to Eric, only half joking, as the family dealer. Before me, he used to deal heroin to my mother, which was how I met him in the first place. He gave me my first hit when I was just fourteen and angry at my mother for always being to high to be a real mum. For all the attention she gave me, though, I may as well have not bothered. When I turned sixteen, and got on the game, Eric, who used to randomly fuck my mum, took to randomly fucking me. He’d accept sex for drugs from anyone good looking enough, me and my mother had both fit his standards. Some people would thi this bisexuality; I called it opportunistic screwing around, another way to make us junkies feel like trash. I tried not to think about it, and paid him in cash whenever I could.

When I got there, the usual assortment of androgynous waifs were scattered in various stages of inebriation around his lounge room. “Jason, lad!” Eric exclaimed, ushering me in, “How’s my boy?”

I fought back a wave of revulsion and gave him a smile. “Your boy’s good, love,” I said cheerfully, “How’s my favourite dealer?”

“Your only fucking dealer,” Eric corrected, raising an eyebrow. His tone of voice made me want to kill him. He had power over me, he knew it, and he’d exploit it as much as he could. It had been the same for four years, would probably be the same for another four. I nodded submissively and he continued. “I’m alright. Your mum just left.”

I groaned and sunk into the couch. I hadn’t spoken to her in months. “How is the old bitch?” I muttered, not really giving a shit. Eric sat opposite me and put a briefcase on the table between us.

“Fucked up as ever. Out of rehab and high as a kite,” Eric said frankly, opening the case. I eyed the heroin within hungrily. I honestly couldn’t care less about my mother. Especially not when all that heaven awaited me.

Waving my hand in the air to tell him I didn’t want to talk about her, I sat up. “I’ve got your money for last time, Eric. And I want a couple of caps.”

“You know I’m happy to put you on a…payment plan,” Eric replied, leering at me. I shuddered, trying not to show how revolted he made me feel. I might be a whore, I’ve got no pretensions about that, but I did like to think I had a few standards.

“I know, sweetheart. But I hate the thought of cheating you out of your rightfully earned cash,” I said as diplomatically as possible, pulling out a couple of notes and setting them on the table. The sight of money wiped the thought of sex from Eric’s mind, he snatched it up quickly and, thank fuck, handed me my little baggies of drugs without any trouble. I immediately got up to leave.

“Oh, you’re ntayitaying, lad?” Eric asked with a smirk.

Shaking my head, I shot him a strained grin. “Nah. I got things to see, people to do,” I said lightly. We both knew I was going straight home to shoot up. It didn’t need to be said.

I opened the door, and was surprised to see Vittorio on the other side, his hand raised as if to knock. I almost fell over, Torio didn’t do drugs, at least, not the one Eric sold. “Tory? What the fuck?”

“Oh, Dios, thank heaven you’re here,” Torio whispered, his eyes closing briefly. “Jason, I have bad news. Something’s happened.”

I froze; I had no idea what could have happened to make Vittorio Sanches look so terrified. The man wasn’t afraid of anything. Immediately, Marshall’s face flashed before my eyes.

“Tory? It’s not…” I started in a soft voice, unable to go any further. Thankfully, he knew me well enough to know what I was thinking, and shook his head.

“It’s not Marshall, Jase. Come on, I want you out of this place. I’ll tell you in the car.” He looked over my shoulder, and I turned my head to see the random junkies, Eric included, staring at us intently. I shuddered, nodding and pushing out the door with a quick farewell to Eric thrown behind me.

When we got in the car, Torio didn’t start it straight away; instead, he sat staring ahead through the windshield for a minute, his face creased in a small frown.

“Vittorio, fucking hell, will you tell me what it is?” I asked finally, my voice raising in fear. Torio shook himself, as if freeing his mind of thoughts he didn’t want to have.

“You know Daniel Muir?” he asked quietly, and I nodded. He was a friend, or acquaintance, really, of ours. A prostitute. I’d shared a trick with him just the week before.

“What about him?” I asked, but I think I already knew.

“He’s dead, Jase. Found his body last night.”

I groaned and sunk back into the seat, closing my eyes. It wasn’t unusual, not in our circle, but every time one of us died, it made the rest of us realise exactly how close we were. “How?” I whispered, barely able to force the word out of my lips.

Torio took my hand. “Murdered. You don’t want details, babe. It…wasn’t pretty.” My hand flew to my mouth. Murder hunted us all, in a way, but it was usually drugs that caught us. I felt sick.

“Tory…take me home…” I mumbled, “I need to shoot. Badly.”

He sighed and started the car, driving the short distance to my flat. “Jase…there’s something else you should know,” he said suddenly. “I was the one who found Danny this morning. He was outside your apartment.”

Tory wouldn’t let me be by myself. He took my up to my flat, gently undressed me and set me in bed, then, at my insistence, started preparing me my hit.

“Behind my knee,” I told him weakly when he went to put the tourniquet around my arm. He shook his head grimly.

“No. Maybe if you’ve got a couple of fucking bruises where people can see them, you won’t go out selling yourself for a few days. Give this fucker time to get caught.” He pulled the strap tight, slapped my arm, and held up my needle. “This clean, Bexley?”

I glared at him. “Yes. It’s clean. Just do it, will you?”

For this I copped a withering glance, before he bent his head to the task of drawing the heroin up through the gauze and into the syringe. “You’re an idiot, Jason,” he sighed as he injected me, “An idiot. That kid could have been you.”

I winced, more from the sting of his words than the needle. It was true. Daniel *could* have been me. If I hadn’t been with Marshall last night…

“Tory?”

Torio set the needle aside and loosened the tourniquet. “What?”

I sat up and gestured to my pants, almost falling off the bed as the swoon hit me. “Call Marshall for me? Numbers in my pocket…oh, fuck…I’m scared, Tory.” Torio caught me and laid me back in bed.

“You want him to come over?” he asked, brushing my hair out of my face. I nodded. “You don’t mind that he sees you like this?”

“He knows, Tory. I don’t hide it from him,” I murmured, “I don’t hide anything from him.”

Torio stood above me for a minute, looking down with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally he held up his hands. “Ok, I’ll get him over here. But I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“Jason, when it comes to you, I don’t trust anyone. You’re too fucking fragile.”

I couldn’t respond. I didn’t want to, the heroin flowing through my veins had become the most important part of my life, now. Torio’s words didn’t even make sense.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew I was being gently kissed awake, the same way I’d kissed Marshall that morning. I reached up without opening my eyes and drew him down to me. “Hey, baby.”

“Vittorio told me what happened,” Marshall said softy, “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” I sighed, and opened my eyes, “I’m doing better than poor Danny Muir.”

Marshall bit his lower lip. “I’m so fuckin’ scared for you, Jason,” he said, “If anything happened to you…If I knew anyone who hurt you I’d fuckin’ kill them. I don’t give a shit.”

I just smiled and shook my head at the fierce expression on his face. He’d have to stand in line behind Torio for that. Speaking of whom…

“Is Vittorio still here?”

Marshall nodded. “He’s in the kitchen,” he said, “He wouldn’t leave ‘till you woke up.”

I sighed. “He means well. But he doesn’t realise that I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“You’re lucky you’ve got someone to take care of you,” Marshall said, raising an eyebrow. I had the feeling I was being a brat.

At that moment Torio walked in, a relieved smile lighting up his face. “Oh good. You’re awake. I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

He came and sat on the other side of the bed to Marshall. I felt like a little kid. “Doze off straight after shooting up. I always think you’ve OD’d.”

I laughed a bit, before realising he was serious. They were both sitting there, looking down at me, like I was some terminally ill hospital patient. “I didn’t OD,” I said gently, “I’m ok. Jesus. I just went to sleep.”

We sat there making awkward conversation for a while, until eventually the tension in the room got too much for me. “Coffee?” I asked, crawling out of bed and heading towards the kitchen. Marshall nodded, and Torio started to until I gave him a look.

“Erm…no. No, thanks. I’d better be going, actually,” he said, rolling his eyes at me. “But Jase?”

“Yeah?”

He frowned a bit, glancing at Marshall, then back at me. “Danny was found outside your apartment. I…*I* found him outside your apartment. I don’t really know how these things work, but the police are probably going to want to question you at some point.”

I winced; I hated the police, for obvious reasons. For obvious reasons, they tended to hate me, too. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, “I’ve got an alibi, d I? I? I wasn’t here last night.”

Torio raised an eyebrow, and exchanged another glance with Marshall. “I hope you’ve got an alibi,” he said, “I really do.” I stared at him, not getting where he was coming from. Marshall was my alibi; I’d been with him all…

Oh. I spun around, gazing at Marshall wide-eyed. “Shit. What am I…”

“It’ll be ok, Jase,” he said, but he didn’t look too convinced. His face was white as realisation dawned on him.

“Fuck that! How am I gonna tell the police I was with you all night? It’ll be in the fucking press three minutes later!”

Marshall shrugged. I noticed he was shaking a little. “You don’t really have much choice,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow, “You have to have been somewhere.”

I turned to Torio, but, as always, he’d read my mind. “No way. I’d love to help you, chico, but I’ve already spoken to them, they know exactly who I was with last night.” He gave me a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll let you two talk, ok? I’ve gotta go.”

We said our good byes, then I went into the kitchen to start on the coffee, using the opportunity to try and clear my head. I had to have an alibi. I knew I’d be a suspect; I didn’t exactly have a clean record. Unless it could be proven that I was with someone else…and the only way to do that would be to get Marshall, and probably the hotel staff, to tell the police that I’d been in that room all night. And there wasn’t really much two men could be doing in a hotel room for twelve hours *apart* from fucking each other’s brains out.

I was scared for Marshall. This kind of thing could practically ruin him. But an evil little part of me, a part I was trying to ignore, was almost happy. Because, unless we could find a way out of this, there was no choice but for it to be out. And then, there was a tiny possibility that we could actually be together…no secrecy, no hiding. Just us.

“You ok?” Marshall’s voice behind me made me jump, spilling sugar all over the bench. He laughed, a tight, strained sound, and helped me clean it up.

I turned around and leaned against the bench, staring at my feet as Marshall stepped in front of me and wrapped his arms around my back. “Were you good friends with him? Danny?” he asked softly, kissing the top of my head.

“Not really,” I sighed, “I don’t have many good friends, none really except Tory. None of us do. But I knew him. He was a good kid…only sixteen.”

Marshall drew in a long breath. “Fuuuuck,” he hissed, “Sixteen?”

“Yeah. Same age I was when I started this…shit.”

Marshall hugged me tighter. “You were lucky,” he murmured into my hair, “You’re still lucky.”

“For how much longer? Every day I’m risking my life. It’s getting too much, Marshall.” I noticed I was shaking, and clutched at his shirt to try and hide it. “And now…this is gonna fuck you up. You probably wish you’d never met me, right?” I gave him a bitter smile, and hated myself for it. I was deliberately manipulating him. I wanted him to feel sorry for me, simply so he wouldn’t hate me for what was happening. I would hate me.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, “I’m still glad I met you, Jase. I still love you.”

“So, what am I gonna tell the police?”

Marshall looked down into my eyes, took my chin in his hand and tilted my face up to his. “The truth,” he said, “Easy.”

“And what about you? What’s this gonna do to you?” I asked, chewing on my lip. Marshall shook his head.

“I don’t know. But that’s what my PR people are for, they’ll sort it out. You, on the other hand, aren’t going to have anyone there for you. You staying out of prison is more important then my fuckin’ face being in a few tabloids.”

I was about to reach up and kiss him when his mobile phone went off, making us both jump. He gave me an apologetic smile, and grabbed it, leaving me in the kitchen to finish the coffee.

“Yo, whattup?” I grinned to myself; I thought it was funny that around me he unconsciously didn’t use as much slang, but as soon as his phone rang he was straight back in to it. “Who? Speak up, I can’t hardly hear you…Donna? That you?”

I felt like I’d been shot. I’d managed to forget that she existed; Marshall hadn’t mentioned her all night. I cursed my naivety. Of course she was going to pop up at some point. Of course I was going to have to give Marshall back to her.

“What? What do you mean you’re in London? Fucking hell, Donna, I thought you were staying in New York…oh. Right….No, I can’t, I’m busy…I’m just busy, Jesus…Do you have to know every fucking thing that I do?…Oh, I’m sorry baby…no, don’t cry, it’s ok…Alright, I’ll see you tonight. What hotel you at? Aight, babe…You too. Bye.” Marshall hung up, and I swear, threw his phone across the room. Taking a deep breath I took our cups and entered the room.

He was sitting on my couch, his head in his hands, staring angrily at the carpet. I silently put the cups on the table and knelt on the floor next to him, resting my cheek on his knee.

“I’m sorry, Jase.”

“Me too.”

Marshall sighed and ran his fingers through my hair. “I’m breaking up with her tonight,” he saI leI let out a short laugh.

“Whatever, Marshall. You need her.”

“I don’t give a fuck. It’s not fair what I’m doing, not to either of you.”

I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not, and I didn’t want to get into an argument.

Instead, I raised my head and kissed his thigh, giving him a quick smile as I moved around until I was kneeling between his legs.

“What are you doing?” Marshall asked, sounding slightly amused, as I ran my hands up his calves.

I winked. “Giving you an incentive to break up with Donna,” I said cheekily, my hands slipping to the buttons of his jeans and flicking them open.

“What, you think Donna wouldn’t give me head?” The note of amusement was more pronounced. I leant forwards and licked at his lower stomach, lightly tracing along his Rot in Pieces tattoo.

“Not like me,” I said in a soft, husky voice, whispering into his skin and causing goose bumps to raise up on his flesh. “Never, ever like me.”

He lifted his hips and I eased his pants and boxers down, following their path down his leg with a little trail of kisses that ended at his ankle. I sucked on his skin for a moment, then made my way back up his leg, pressing my face against his inner thigh and blinking up at him.

“Do you love me?” I asked, surprising myself slightly. I had no idea where the question had come from.

Marshall nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then show me,” I whispered, standing up. “Make love to me.” I bent down and kissed him, then pressed at his chest to let him know I wanted him where he was, before rushing out of the room and grabbing a condom from my bedside drawer. I paused in my room, and slowly stripped, watching myself in the mirror. I still thought I was too thin. I still thought my hair was too long, and that I looked too sick. But that didn’t seem to matter nearly as much. Because Marshall wanted me how I was. Marshall wanted me.

“Jason?” Yes, Marshall wanted me, and he was getting impatient. I shot myself a grin in the mirror before turning on my heels and sauntering back out there, approaching the couch in long, slow steps, making my whole body writhe seductively.

It was working, apparently. Marshall let out a soft moan and slid down further on the couch, his legs spread and his cock hard against his tight stomach. “Take off your shirt,” I whispered, straddling his legs and sinking down onto his lap. He did as bidden, and I ran my hands up his chest as his skin was revealed to me, dipping my head to lick and nibble at his nipples, listening to his small gasps of pleasure. His hands came up to stroke through my hair, down mck ack and encircle my waist. “Make love to me,” I said again, “Please, Marshall. Show me you love me.”

We kissed, slow, sensual, dripping with passion. We’d had sex before, obviously, but never with this element of slow seduction, never with this deliberate emphasis on touch, taste, sensation.

I dragged my tongue across his chest, tasting his skin, licking at the sheen of sweat he already had. I could feel his cock throbbing against my thigh, could feel how much he wanted me already. I rocked forward, pressing my own erection against his stomach, desperately seeking the friction that I was denying him.

“Jase…” he moaned, his hands now roaming over my body, trying to touch every single inch of flesh. “Christ, I want you.”

“You’ve got me,” I replied, tearing open the condom and slipping it over him. He bucked his hips up into my hand, groaning at the touch. “Easy, babe,” I whispered with a grin, “We can’t have you coming too soon.”

“You’ fuc fucking tease, kid,” he said, pouting. I raised myself up a little, pressing his cock to my entrance and willing myself to relax around it. With a deep breath, I sunk down, tears springing to my eyes as I felt him fill me up, possess me completely. It hurt me, yes, but the pain wasn’t nearly as pronounced as the pleasure.

“A tease? Oh, really?” I murmured, licking my lips as Marshall threw back his head, pressing it into the pillows of the couch. “I don’t think so…”

“Shut up,” he hissed, his arms tightening around my waist, “And fuck me.”

I was only too happy to oblige him. Bracing myself against the couch, I started slowly bouncing up and down on his cock, impaling myself on him again and again. He met my every movement with a thrust of his own, pounding up into me even as his hands on my shoulders forced me down to him. We built up a rhythm, taking our time getting into it, just concentrating on each other and the pleasure coursing through our veins.

I don’t know how long we lasted like that, longer than ever before, lonthanthan eternity. We whispered things to each other, incoherent, filthy nothings, begging for more, faster, harder, hotter, deeper…we kissed until we ran out of energy for anything but fucking. Eventually, I had to resort to letting him take over, my forehead resting on his shoulder, my body, reduced to nothing but a boneless mass of pure pleasure, slumped against his chest. I was weak as a rag doll against him, a slave to his movements, a slave to his pleasure.

“Marsh…I can’t last much longer…” I finally gasped out. I wasn’t exaggerating. I was positive that if I didn’t come soon I was going to either explode or pass out, or both. Marshall grunted in agreement, and took my cock in his hand, pumping it quickly, bringing me to orgasm with a harsh scream, my come spraying all over our stomachs and chests, creating a hot, sticky mess between us. I could feel myself blacking out, feel coherence starting to slip away just as Marshall came too, exploding inside me with a long, low moan.

As he twisted us around on the couch, drawing me into his arms as we stretched out, I happened to glance at the clock. I nearly burst out laughing; we’d been going for over an hour.

We’d only been lying there, recovering, for about ten minutes, before there was a knock on the door. I groaned in irritation, not wanting to get up and answer it. Marshall had the same idea, whispering in my ear to let it go.

Sadly, it wasn’t that easy. The next knock was harder, and accompanied by an impatient voice calling my name. “Jason Bexley? This is the police. If you’re home, could you please open the door?”

I stared at Marshall in panic, my eyes wide. Now was the moment, now was the barrier that our relationship was going to have to pass if we wanted even the slightest chance of it working.

“What am I going to *tell* them?” I whispered, sitting up and running my hands through my hair.

Marshall was silent for a moment, those intense blue eyes staring out my window. Finally, he turned back to me.

“The truth, Jason. Tell them the truth.”
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