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Love Is Ǝvil

Summary:

It's September 2010, Marshall Mathers better known as Eminem is getting his life back together. He has been sober for two years now and two albums later his work is going fine as well. But the hardest is yet to come: How to find romance? Only thing he knows is being a dork and a slut. That ain't love.
But then he meets Nicolas, a man with a mean stare and a real sword. Perhaps the man with a hundred scars can tame Marshall?

Notes:

Disclaimer: I try to write with respect and compassion about all the things I don't know shit about, like what deaf people go through or how hard life with mental health problems can be. But I'm not part of either of these groups of people, so don't take any of this as real.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: This Type of Static

Summary:

At a random motel, Marshall hooks up with a stranger. It's just to relieve some urges, why else would he want to fuck another man?

Chapter Text

He shut the car door. Room 101, oddly fitting. All of this was rather new to him. Not that he hadn't had many one-night stands before, he was a pro at them. It also wasn't the first time - well, not the very first time at least - he had this kind of one-night stand, just … He didn't feel comfortable doing this. It felt wrong to drive to a motel like this, to sneak in one of the rooms and … to do it with another man.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Come on, Marshall, he told himself, don't get coy now.

In the window of 101 was light already. The guy was early. Or was he late? Didn't matter, it's not like he owed that guy anything.

Marshall's hand shook slightly, when he put it on the door handle. He murmured a curse under his breath. He clenched his fist a couple of times, to make the shaking go away. Maybe it worked? He opened the door.

The room was half lit and seemed clean enough on the first look. The bed was still made. And the guy stood next to it, already opening the buttons of his dress shirt. Dress shirt? Marshall blinked. Why was this guy wearing a suit? This was a seedy motel and they were about to engage in some fast, meaningless sex. Probably not even good sex, if Marshall's experience was anything to go by. And since all he did was one-night stands, that was a pretty safe bet.

Marshall shrugged mentally. "Hey man", he said and took off his jacket.

"Hm", was the answer.

Not one for talking, eh? Probably for the best. Marshall didn't like people, who were noisy during sex. The wrong kind of noisy. They usually ended up saying something wrong anyway. When he did this kind of meet up, he didn't really want to be recognized. And he really didn't want to be asked for an autograph, while his dick was inside another man's ass. Some people had no manners.

He took his shirt off, too, and started on his belt. The other guy was already down to his panties and Marshall couldn't help but look. Of course he had to, that was his sole reason for being here. 

The guy was small, even slightly smaller than Marshall, which was surprising. Usually he was the smallest in a room. Now with his suit off, he didn't look like a stuffy business person at all. The guy had broad shoulders and compact muscles. A couple of scars, a huge one across his hip. He obviously got into trouble quite often. The hands were also big for a guy his size. Marshall anticipated a strong grip, another shiver ran down his spine.

Marshall, you're way too into this. Get a grip on yourself, man.

He didn't care if people were gay or lesbian or trans or whatever. People could be who they wanted and people could have sex with whoever they wanted. But himself? There was strong resistance inside him. Understandably, he had a lot to lose if it ever came out. Every time he went out to a one-night stand like this, he raised the odds of it getting out. People loved gossip.

He intentionally ignored, that he always had this resistance. Even back in the day, when he hadn't had anything to lose and even his life had seemed worthless. Still, he had been fighting these … urges. Just biological urges. 

His eyes were still on the other man, the pale skin glowing in the half lit darkness. Muscles twitched invitingly and a tattoo smiled back from the shoulder blades. Marshall liked tattoos. The man's back was lean and his hips almost seemed fragile. A weird contrast to the well trained biceps. A feeling of familiarity welled up inside Marshall.

That ass was tight. He bit his lip. He would love to bite into those cheeks - and luckily, he would in just a couple of minutes.

He opened his belt fast, lost his pants. This wasn't a moment for patience. Just raw, sweaty sex, certainly fast and then he was out of here.


Marshall bit in the other man's navel. The muscles were hard and pronounced, just like he loved it. Just like he always had wished a body to be when he had been with a woman, back in the days … His dick was hard, itching to be inside this tasty ass. As he had thought: so worth biting into. His teeth marks would probably be there for a couple of days. A strange sense of pride washed over Marshall. This ass just needed teeth marks.

 He decided, the lube was enough now. With a condom on, he positioned himself between the other's legs, also with some scars and definitely not fitting for a ball gown. Where did all these scars come from? Sure, everyone had some, that was just life, but this seemed excessive. Marshall's hand ran down one of these legs, short and strong. He licked the inner thigh, sucking at the skin and feeling the muscles twitch beneath.

The tip of his penis knocked against the sweet, wet hole. "You okay?", he asked in a low voice. Some consideration for the other person should always be. At least Marshall tried. He had been much of an asshole most of his life, something he didn't want to be. Some people might be surprised to hear that.

"Hmm", and a nod.

Really not a big talker this guy. But his dick was just as hard and his moaning spoke for itself.

Marshall pushed in. He moaned and sighed. So hot and tight and just … awesome. It still fazed him how this could feel just great and erotic, but sex with a woman didn't. Wasn't it the same? Between the other's legs, squeezing into a tight, wet hole. Somehow this was different - and much, much better, even with a bad one-night stand.

The other guy rocked his hips, gripped the sheets and had a fine film of sweat on his well-defined body. He reached for his hard dick, some pre-cum on it.

At the same time, Marshall was reaching for it, too. Like in a romantic comedy where the two soon-to-be lovebirds were reaching for the same book or cup of coffee. Just this was a porn movie.

He smirked about this silly thought of his. Like usual, his brain was somewhere else. But nevertheless, he stroked the other man's penis. Not just to be considerate, but also because he really liked the feeling of a dick between his fingers.

In a sober moment, he would call himself crazy for a thought like this. He should like the tender curve of a female hip and the soft feeling of her breasts underneath his fingertips … But he didn't. He wanted to feel the hard flesh of a penis ready to burst in his hands and a low, husky voice moaning his name. Some muscles and sharp angles were like a cherry on top. 

His therapist said, there was nothing wrong with him. He just liked what he liked. Sometimes he believed her. Because you're a romantic and an idiot.

Currently he enjoyed, no, savored the moment. He pushed himself into this sweet hole, groaned, a rush in his body, lust coursing through his limbs. He had a tight grip on the other dick, stroking it, pumping it, loving the feeling of this hot hard piece of flesh in his hand.

He came. Panting he still stroked the other man, till he also came. Didn't take long. Then he collapsed onto the bed and relished this feeling of contentment, with a side of satisfaction. 

This had been better than he anticipated. Quickly he threw the condom away and found a more cushy position on the bed. Just a moment longer before he had to go.

When his breathing was normal again, he dared a quick look to the guy next to him. The face was a bit square, the jaw bone's had an edge and the nose small. Some shadows under his eyes, or was that just the dim light? The short black hair was a mess.

"Hm?" Marshall rolled onto his side to have a better look. There was a gadget behind the man's ear. A hearing aid? That explained his closed off nature. If you couldn't hear, talking probably wasn't much fun.

The guy opened his eyes and looked back.

Oops. He probably shouldn't stare. And he usually didn't! Not at some one-night stand he didn't care anything about. But also not at handicapped people, at least he hoped so. They were people, too, and being stared at was a really shitty feeling. He knew that from experience.

"Uhm … Are you deaf?", he asked and gestured to his ear. He rather faced a situation head on, even embarrassing ones.

The guy made a measured gesture. "Mostly." The voice was deep and full, a bass sound that vibrated through Marshall's nerves. His ears were too sensitive for this shit. The guy spoke in a strange accent, even though he only said one word. Probably, so Marshall assumed, because he couldn't hear himself well but also wouldn't know how it properly sounded like in the first place.

"Does that help, the thingy in your ear?"

"Bit", was the monosyllabic answer. 

Well, this wasn't going to be much of a conversation. Marshall didn't feel like prying about this. After all, just because there was something obvious about you, didn't mean, that was something to talk about. Also something he knew from experience. He got pretty pissed at people, when they couldn't come up with something else to talk about than how fucking famous he was. 

Fuck conversation, it's just a one-night stand, fag! Sometimes his brain was really stupid. He rolled back on his back. Just a couple more moments of relaxation, then he'd drive home. He closed his eyes again.


"More?", asked a deep voice right next to his ear. 

His ear tingled from the puff of air this small word caused. Marshall opened his eyes again and stared into small, dark eyes with shadows under them, a rogue strand of hair was caught on their lashes. "More?", he repeated. Well, he usually didn't do that. It usually wasn't good enough for that, so after he got his orgasm he just went. What else was there?

Now he shrugged. Then nodded. "Yeah, sounds good." It had been better than he thought initially. So why not make the most of it? 

The man already bit into his clavicle, a hand stroked Marshall's body. He really had strong hands with a firm grip. The skin was a little rough, not in a bad way.

Marshall's hand found its way into the black hair. It was short and spiky, but somehow it felt really warm to the touch. The other man just radiated warmth.

Then they kissed. 

They didn't kiss before. That wasn't always sexy, in Marshall's experience. Not every tongue felt good in your mouth, that's just the truth. 

But now they kissed. A hot jolt rushed through his loins. The thin lips felt good on his own and the tongue ravished his mouth. This was more than sexy. His breathing stumbled while they kissed, his arms held tight around the tattooed shoulders. His mind was unable to concentrate on anything else than their tongues intertwined with each other.

This time, they explored more of each other. Not just with those thrilling kisses. Their hands stroked and fondled each other's bodies, discovered how sensitive Marshall's neck was and scraped teasingly against the other man's butt cheeks. Their tongues licking and exploring their muscular bodies, biting into hard flesh and kissing apologetically but without any remorse. Their bodies always close together. All the senses were hot and their arousal was obvious.

The guy, whose name he still didn't know, licked his ear and bit into it. Marshall moaned breathlessly. His head let go of his thoughts. What was a name anyway? He needed nothing else than those hot lips on his earlobe.

Then the low voice whispered: "Make 'em wet." His accent made the command sound serious. Or was that just his nature? While speaking those words, he stuck two of his fingers between Marshall's lips. Not with force, but with determination.

And Marshall did as ordered.

When he was a kid, he'd had problems with authority and people telling him what to do. He still had a bad temper sometimes, if somebody told him what to do and he didn't like doing that. But he also knew that at times other people were right. Which usually made his anger worse. 

Why he now just did what was asked of him? 

It felt … right. 

The arms around him, the hands on his body, the hot skin touching his and the thin lips kissing him. There was a lot of tension in his limbs and mind, a sizzling anticipation of what was about to come. And how lustful everything was. So he dedicated his attention to those fingers and licked them, sucked at them, swallowing them as far into his throat as he could manage. He wanted to prove something, but he wasn't really sure what. How could he think now? He had a job to do: sucking these fingers. So he did and the taste of this man's skin would stay with him for days.

He sighed, when the fingers were pulled out of his mouth. But the short pang he felt, had no time to linger.

The man pushed one of those sweet, wet fingers into Marshall's ass.

"He-hey", he stuttered and propped himself up on an elbow. He didn't do that! He might be a little gay, but he wasn't that gay. "Pull it out."

Dark eyes looked at him. Even though he was deaf, Marshall was certain that the man had understood his objection. But he just grinned, and not in a comforting way.

Not that Marshall needed any comfort. He was a grown man, he didn't need comfort when he was fucking some other dude. He was perfectly fine doing that. Since when? You have panic attacks, homo. Well, not perfectly fine but fine enough. The pleasure it gave him was usually great at silencing the voices in his head that knew him better. The other way around though? An absolute no-go.

"Pull it out", he repeated. He could feel the finger inside him. How could he not? His muscle clenched around it. The heat was still soaring through his veins. He bit his lip, a habit he wasn't always aware of. A sign of nervousness and insecurity. But right now he was fully fucking aware of it and what he was nervous and unsure about: He might like this. He might be that kind of gay, too. Something he barely dared thinking about. There was this resistance again and angst like some lousy teenager too scared to kiss. He knew at some point he had to face this. You always had to.

But not now. He just wanted to fuck, have a good night for once and hopefully fall asleep in his bed later. Getting fucked in his own ass was not on the menu!

The dark eyes were still looking intensely at him, right down to his soul. That sounded corny. Think so? It's straight from a cheesy romance novel. Their black seemed to know no light. All of Marshall's shadows just disappeared inside them. Did these black holes for eyes already know, what Marshall was too afraid to admit to himself?

The two of them were still holding in place, unmoving and barely breathing, just looking into each other's eyes. Black against blue, a fierce battle. Marshall wasn't one to back down. He always fought. He had to or else he wouldn't have had much of a life in the first place. And he was determined to never lose. This time was no exception. He had a rule: his ass ain't gonna get fucked. This dumb suit would follow his rules or else he … 

Or else you what? Would he just get up and leave? Ending this with some sad masturbation at home? That seemed like too great a loss. These black eyes so close, knowing, maybe even caring … No, that was just arrogance. The thin lips showed only the slightest hint of a smile, but the provocation was palpable, as was his defeat.

With a snort Marshall finally broke. He didn't want to end this alone, just his hand for pleasure. This had been great sex so far, better than he had had in months. What was a little gay extra, if it felt this good? Let future Marshall deal with that. 

He kissed the other man again, dug his fingers into the black hair and pressed his body against his. Then, the finger moved deeper inside him and Marshall felt it. The finger got company and Marshall felt that, too. It felt a little weird, but not in a bad way, just in a new way. He heard himself pant and moan, as the fingers moved more. He didn't know if he liked it, but his body certainly did. The traitor!

Not for long, the fingers were replaced by the man's erection. Pushed hard and deep into Marshall. He screamed with pleasure and a hint of pain. That felt really big … Again his muscles clenched around it, he would have liked to think because his ass wanted to push this goddamn dick out like it should, but a shiver ran through his body, again telling him otherwise. His hips moved all on their own and towards the body above him and he moaned even more. The guy chuckled softly.

You're such a fag, Marshall.

Marshall gripped the sheets hard, but that didn't help. He wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders above him, that helped a little. His insides seemed to burn with lust and digging his nails into the man's back seemed to release some of that. Not enough of it. When was the last time he had been this overwhelmed? Another thing for future Marshall to figure out.

The wave of his orgasm broke over him. Broke was a particularly good word. He felt exhausted in the best of ways. His limbs were heavy and his breathing too, his heart beat itself right out of his chest. Just bliss. Something he didn't have much of in his life.

However, he also felt like crying. He had broken his rule and it hadn't been disgusting at all. He wasn't just a little gay because women were bitches no sane person could live with, he was totally gay. Fuck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smirk.