Time Out
He was sitting in his dressing room alone on a forced time-out. He'd nearly stumbled off stage in a blind rage. He'd started shouting immediately, accusing everyone who looked at him of being in on the conspiracy to make Eminem look like a fool. In the midst of his tantrum, a flint-eyed man in a suit had come up to him and quietly informed him that no, MTV had not designed a plot against him and that the only person responsible for making Eminem look like a fool was Marshall himself. And then he'd been sent to his room like a hysterical child.
It was always the men in suits. MTV looked like it was run by hip young people who grooved on music, but it wasn't. It was run by stony businessmen who grooved on money and not much else and they didn't give a fuck at all about Eminem's diva fits because they knew that he needed MTV as much as they needed him. Marshall really hated being reminded of that fact. He hated being reminded of the reason he actually made himself show up at MTV award shows despite the fact that they made his gut clench. It was part of the deal. Show up and collect your prizes and we'll pretend we like and respect you. Fuck with our money and we'll fuck with yours. He could lash out about it all he wanted lyrically, but no one really got it, did they?
He sighed, sat back on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table before shoving a hand deep into his pocket. He pulled out a small amber vial, squinted at the contents and then shook it in his hand. His gaze settled on the pack of playing cards Proof had left on the table earlier. Reaching for it, he mumbled "fuck 'em, just fuck 'em," and snagged the pack of cards. He cut one from the middle of the deck and flipped it onto the table. Joker. Yep, that was his card all right.
"You're having a bad night."
Marshall looked up just as he was screwing the lid off the tiny bottle. "What the -- oh, it's you. Fuck off, Chavez, I'm not in the mood." Goddamn connecting doors. They should have been locked.
"It's Chasez. You ever not in a mood?"
Marshall shook his head, not looking up. "Nope."
The corridor door opened and Bizarre stuck his head in, looking straight at Chasez leaning against the connecting doorway. "Yo, Em, you need some help?"
Marshall kicked back on the table again, abandoning the cocaine. "Nah, s'cool, Bizzy, he was just gonna suck my dick."
Biz laughed and shut the door again. Marshall shot a grin at Chasez who was shaking his head and smiling as he walked over to the other couch. "I'd enjoy that more than you would --
"No shit," Marshall interrupted.
"-- right about the time I bit you."
Marshall scowled, flipped him the bird and went back to his task. While Marshall dumped a small pile of powder onto the table, JC changed direction and ended up sitting on the same couch. A little too close. Marshall shot him a look as he carefully spread the pile back and forth with the edge of the Joker. "I was kidding about the dick sucking."
"I wasn't."
Still playing it off like it was a joke, Marshall said, "I ain't getting my dick bit. Sorry."
JC rolled his head back on the couch and looked at Marshall from beneath a completely ridiculous hat. "Ask me nice and maybe I won't."
Marshall frowned and took extra care with the lines he was cutting. "You fucking with me?"
For a moment JC didn't say anything at all, then Marshall saw him roll his shoulders out the corner of his eye. JC sighed, "Yeah."
Marshall shook off the slight twinge of disappointment in his gut. Stupid. Just fucking stupid. He didn't want anyone sucking his dick anyway, but if someone were to suck it -- nah, don't even go there. He cut the powder into four neat lines. He considered offering Chasez two lines, but he shook that off quickly. Scooping two of the lines together, he swept the new pile back into the small vial with another playing card. JC gave a small annoyed snort which made Marshall smile. Best thing to happen all night.
Marshall leaned over and swiftly snorted the remaining lines with a rolled-up bill and then sunk back into the couch again. He ignored JC. For a minute they both sat there, arms nearly touching, but Marshall kept his eyes closed and waited for him to just go away. He didn't go away. Instead, JC leaned over Marshall. Marshall cracked open an eye and watched JC run a finger across the cocaine residue.
With a glance at Marshall, JC slowly ran his finger across the inside of his lower lip and then slid the tip of his tongue over the same path his finger had taken. Marshall was riveted, both eyes open now. JC looked at him and smiled slyly. When JC moved a little closer to him, Marshall stopped breathing. "You ever get a blowjob from someone with cocaine all over their lips and gums?"
His face was close, very close and Marshall found it difficult to take his eyes off JC's mouth. He licked his own lips, suddenly very dry, before he could manage to get an answer out. JC leaned a bit closer, obviously really interested in the response. "No."
"Mmmm," JC tilted in and brought his lips close to Marshall's ear. Marshall sat frozen in place while JC pressed a small kiss beside his earlobe. He felt JC's warm breath on him when he whispered, "That's too bad, 'cause you're not getting one tonight either."
"Hhhh," Marshall exhaled, anticipation deflating. JC was already halfway across the room before Marshall could even think of a suitable retort and he still hadn't thought of one when JC turned in the doorway, "Next time learn how to share," then the connecting door crashed shut and Marshall heard the bolt turn.
For a moment, Marshall just sat there, pulse racing. Then he leaped out of his seat and ran to the corridor door. He opened it to find Proof, Biz and one of his bodyguards passing a joint back and forth. "Whose fucking room is that next door?"
The bodyguard blew a stream of smoke at him and said, "Justin Timberlake's, I think."
Marshall just stared at the three of them. They looked back at him placidly until he snapped, "For fuck's sake, don't never let this happen again!" Then he slammed the door in their faces.
Proof looked at Biz who just shrugged and took another hit off the joint. "Don't look at me, man, dawg's rabid fuckin' crazy tonight."