Service dom Em is what gets me because like he had his slutty, overcompensating, "I'll fuck anything that walks" years. He's done and seen everything.
Younger Em fucked quick and dirty. There were so many things and so many people to do. He partied hard and fucked harder and everything was going on so so so fast.
Sex was the end goal of every night.
Sex was only a means of release.
Sex was power.
Power he felt deep in the pit of his stomach and at the tips of his curled toes.
Sex was power Em didn't quite understand.
And now he's older, more regimented, in and out of the studio like it's a 9 to 5, the sun rises and sets by his watch type shit. Now, he gets to take his time and take care of his partner.
Because he understands the power.
Dilf Em is so incredible because his partner gives him an outlet to exercise that power and that control we all know he fucking loves to have.
That power that means sex is no longer used as a means of release.
The control that allows him to keep sex from being a distraction.
Sex isn't the end goal anymore. His partner's pleasure is. And that's real power and control, isn't it?
i would want to see them both very vulnerable, crying during sex, both going through worse time, insecure messes needing each other not trying to top one another for once just craving loved one and making love.
!nsfw!
Colson can’t hold back anymore. He’s been keeping everything so close to himself for so long. Tonight, he hurts too much from everything outside of this to be careful.
His arms draw up and around Marshall’s neck as he thrusts into him.
His legs hook around his hips, locking at the ankle and bracketing the other man completely inside of him.
His limbs burn from the stretch, stifled for so long.
“I love you.” He says airily. Colson’s been trying to catch his breath since the moment Marshall dragged him in for their first kiss months ago. Only now, with those three little words punched out of him, he finally feels air in his lungs. He breathes freely as Em snaps his hips against his with a groan.
Colson rubs his face against Marshall’s beard and licks the shell of his ear and presses his heel into Marshall’s ass to keep him in as deep as possible and knots his fingers so tightly in his hair he feels his scalp lift. Colson does what he wants because he can no longer stop himself.
He’s lost control.
He’s lost the fight.
He’s given up the lead in their little dance.
He’s so tired of pretending he doesn’t want this, want Marshall. Exhausted to the point of madness, he gives in, in spite of whatever consequences will come.
Colson says it again, “I love you.” Because every time he does, it feels like another chain broken. He untethers himself from self-denial and revels in the freedom for a moment.
Only a moment.
Then, in the space left empty between both of their heavy breaths and the lewd slapping of skin, Colson realizes Marshall hasn’t said anything back.
He hasn’t said “I love you”, or “Me too”, or even “I know”. He’s gone silent.
Colson shrinks back in on himself.
His legs fall limply back to the bed, and Em falters in his movements, but doesn’t stop. Colson lays unresponsive, not unlike the sex doll he knows Marshall must see him as.
It surprises him, how good it feels even to be used by the man he loves.
In his last act of freedom, Colson allows himself to cry. The outside feelings he’d been trying to leave behind catch up with him. Marshall’s silence consumes him.
“Colson?” Marshall picks his head up from Colson’s shoulder and looks down at him. His face is red and blotchy. It’s then that Colson notices the wetness on his neck that is distinctly not sweat.
Colson reaches up and swipes his thumb underneath Marshall’s eye. Marshall winces and tries to pull away.
“You good?” He whispers the question around a building sob. Marshall reaches up and tangles their hands together. His own tears hold them together like glue.
“You said you love me.”
Colson nods.
“And you’re serious?”
He nods again.
Whatever cry Colson had been trying to swallow comes out through Marshall. Fat tears plop onto his chest and clean his heart of the shit that’s been weighing Colson down.
“I love you, too.”
Their tears mix at some point, both free and unabashed. Colson comes with his hand still locked onto Marshall’s, and Marshall comes with his hand locked onto Colson’s.
Bubblegum pink and painted nails, that’s his baby.
“What do you think?” Kells grins as he flashes his nails at Marshall. They’re not painted how men’s usually are. There’s no polish mess on his cuticles and they’ve even got fake tips to add length.
Marshall suppresses a shiver when he thinks of how that beautifully manicured hand will look wrapped around his dick.
He grins back at Kells and nods, “They’re cool.”
“Cool?” Colson scoffs. “They fuckin’ rock.”
Marshall rolls his eyes, but yeah, the nails fuckin’ rock, and so does his boyfriend.
Hair that can be pulled and eyelashes that bat too slow to be real, that’s his baby.
Marshall didn’t really start to pay attention to how long Colson’s hair had gotten until he was giving him head one day, and when Marshall went to grab a fistful of his hair to fuck Colson’s face, he found himself with a handful and then some.
Blonde hair filtered through Marshall’s hand, almost enough to hide his whole hand. Pretty soon, Marshall thought, it’d be enough to pull into a ponytail. Not that shitty ass manbun, but a true ponytail. Knowing Colson, he probably would pull it back like that, too.
He’d pout his lips and bat those lashes, not unlike he was doing then as he lowered and raised his mouth onto Marshall’s cock. And then would come the ponytail. Marshall’s boyfriend would pull a hair tie from his wrist and raise both arms over his head like a chick in a shitty movie, knowingly showing off a strip of skin like the slut he was as he tied his hair back.
Marshall came and imagined holding onto the ponytail while he did.
A boyfriend, a girlfriend, and a fucking bitch all in one, that’s his baby.
Colson is the worst boyfriend Marshall has ever had, and that’s not just because he hasn’t had a ton of them. No, Colson is the worst because he’s an inconsiderate prick sometimes with a victim complex and he always, always, finds a way to pick at exactly what’s bothering Marshall at that particular moment. It drives him crazy.
Sometimes, Marshall just wants to hit him like he would any other guy that was pissing him off that bad. But he doesn’t because he wouldn’t hit his girlfriend.
While Colson is the worst boyfriend, he might be the best girlfriend. He kisses Marshall like he’s never missed anyone as much as him and all but jumps into his arms every time they are reunited. His legs go on forever and wrap infinitely around Marshall’s waist as he fucks him. And best of all, in the same way she can pick out exactly what’s wrong with Marshall to poke fun at him, she can do it to help him feel better, too.
So yeah, Marshall loves his feminine boyfriend, even when he’s being an asshole, but especially when he let’s Marshall have a little upskirt action. That’s his baby.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Oh hey! It's Eminem's birthday and the last chapter of my pemgk fic is posted. what. a. coincidence. I wonder if those two things are related at all?
Chapter summary: it's Em's birthday, Pete overestimates Kells' jealousy, underestimates how down bad both he and em are for him, and em makes a very sexy birthday wish.
New tags of note: double penetration, excessive kissing
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Hey look! It's chapter 3 of my pemgk fic, You and Me and Him (Us)
rating: E
fic summary: Colson brings his boyfriend Em over to Pete's for a friendly visit, only he's sensing some not explicitly friendly vibes between the two of them.
Or, in the words of tumblr user cosmicbash, who requested Pete getting between Kells and Em...
"Em do be pretty cute, and Pete looks like he might be one who puts his foot in his mouth by flirting with people he shouldn't..."
chapter summary: it's the one with the threesome idk
um, @lemon-coke threw a subby Kells pic my way and expected me to Not be inspired to write subby kells? Wack. um chile... anyway, this is far from finished, so um, enjoy pt 1/2 b4 i go to sleep and forget to work on it ever again
Colson needed to be punished. It itched the back of his skull and dragged along his spine, that need. He’d earned it well enough.
From the moment Em picked him up from the studio, he’d been earning it. But Em wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t give Colson what he needed and deserved by just fucking punishing him already.
Colson started by slamming the car door shut, then ignoring Em when he tried to ask about his day. Em caught on right away, Colson could tell by the way his mouth set into a straight line.
He thought it would be easy to get what he wanted then, but Em must have known it was going to be a fight. Not for him, but for Colson.
When they started this, before it became full-time and before Colson realized that Em knew exactly what he needed hours before Colson did, Em made him promise something.
“Promise me…” He started, slow and serious. “Promise that if you need something, you’ll ask for it.” Back then, Colson had thought he meant a blow job, cash, or some other random shit. Back then, he hadn’t ever thought he’d like the punishment part of their dynamic, let alone ask for it.
“I promise.” He’s said back, smiling. He hadn’t known how hard that promise would be to keep.
The words sat on the tip of his tongue the entire ride home. Please tickled the back of his throat and when he coughed, I need to be punished came up with it. But they wouldn’t come out.
Em gave him space once they were back at his place, but Colson didn’t need space. He needed the opposite of space. He needed Em in him and around him and helping him by hurting him. Colson followed him to his office where he was playing music and turned it off, just to see what Em would do.
He only gave Colson an unimpressed look and turned it back on. Colson did it twice more and got a nonresponse each time. Only the look changed; it shifted from unimpressed to concerned to pitying. Em knew why Colson was acting out. He knew and he still didn’t give Colson what he needed.
Colson left the room in a huff. He slammed the door on the way out and hoped that would be the last straw.
He needed to be punished. Em knew that.
Why did he have to ask, then?
And why couldn’t he?
At dinner, Colson didn’t eat a single bite. He wasn’t hungry. Not for food, anyway.
That was breaking another of Em’s rules, and dishonoring his own word again. He was supposed to take care of himself, which meant eating better and getting fucked up less. He’d promised to always, at least, try.
“You’re not going to eat?” Em asked.
“Not hungry.” Colson mumbled from across the table. Em raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Colson pushed away from the table angrily.
Em’s eyes followed him out of the dining room. Just ask! They screamed.
Don’t make me! Colson shouted from his back.
After he walked away, Colson grabbed a lighter and a joint from one of his bags and went outside. He lit it and took a hit without closing the door he came out of. Em hated that, the smell of weed that would linger around the house for hours.
On his next three hits, Colson blew the smoke straight over the threshold. Puff after puff drafted into the house.
Before he could take another, Em came and stood at the doorway. They looked at each other.
Colson opened his mouth to finally ask, loosened slightly by the weed and exhausted by the game he seemed to be losing even though Em pretended he wasn’t even playing.
When he exhaled the last of his weed, though, the words wafted out, too. Colson’s mouth opened and closed around nothing.
He threw the joint on the ground and walked back inside angrily, making sure to bump Em’s shoulder as he walked past.
Each step up to their bedroom felt like dragging lead uphill. He would never sleep wound up this tightly. He hoped Em wouldn’t let him.
“You know you don’t have to do this.” Em said when Colson bumped him again at their bathroom sink. A slap in the face would have felt better. A soft, dad-like, reminder wasn’t what Colson needed.
“Fuck you.” He spat, toothpaste hit the mirror as he threw his toothbrush down. His hands shook as he wiped them on a towel. The itch from earlier became a heat and the heat became a burn. He was burning from the inside out and Em knew it. Still, he wouldn’t smother the fucking flames.
For the first time that night, Em touched him. Gently, he grabbed Colson’s wrist and brought it back so that his fingertips were half on Em’s skin, and half on the waistband of his sweatpants.
“You can still have it, baby.” Em said from behind him. Colson’s chest contracted. He could get on his knees right now and suck Em off. He could choke himself on his cock and Em would stand there passively, but they both knew that wasn’t what he wanted. That wasn’t what the needed.
“All you gotta do…” Em trailed off when Colson curled his fingers, fisting them into Em’s sweats.
Ask. All he had to do was ask.
Instead, Colson turned around to face Em.
“I’ve been a dick all night.” He reminded around the ball forming in his throat.
Em nodded. “Real fucking asshole.”
“I broke my promise.”
“A few, actually.” Em corrected.
Sometimes, it was easy to ask for what he needed. He could walk right up to Em, bat his eyelashes, and say pretty please like the good boy he so rarely was. Mostly, it was like this. It was a battle, fought mainly against himself.
He tried to convince himself that he didn’t deserve kindness or compassion or a kiss. He only deserved punishment. It was all he ever would deserve.
Colson swallowed and let go of Em. His eyes fell to the floor.
“You can still have it, though.” Em said, and reached out to hold Colson’s cheek. Colson’s shoulders sagged from the instant relief of Em’s touch. “Just ask.”
Em’s hand smelled like their bathroom soap. Colson nuzzled further into his palm and let out a shuddering breath. Everything about him was so comforting. He didn’t deserve it.
“You can have it.” Em repeated and something in Colson broke. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. From there, he wrapped his arms around Em’s midsection and laid his head against his warm belly.
He breathed in for ten seconds, held it, and then blew out for ten more.
them getting caught on the kiss cam during a sports game?👀
"Oh, come on." Em rolls his eyes and points at the jumbotron, ignoring the popcorn that spills out of the cup in his hand. His fingers, covered in butter, twitch around the cup.
Kells looks at the screen, then back at Em with a smile. The two of them are on camera with a large pink border around them. Even in baseball caps pulled down to their noses, and Em's usual nondescript clothing, they've been recognized. And thus singled out, and if Em is right, mocked. It's such a fucking joke to put them on the—
"Kiss cam?" Kells' teeth shine brighter than his eyes at the thought of them kissing on the big screen. Em hopes his scowl is enough to make him look unkissable.
Em's buttery fingers slip around the popcorn cup again, but before it falls completely out his grasp, Kells grabs it from under him.
"What, you nervous or something?" Or something, definitely. There are people clapping and yelling at them, and the announcers over the speakers are saying something not about the game, and definitely about the 'unexpected pair' sitting behind first base. It's everything Em didn't want to happen on his and Kells' first outing.
"This is so fucking stupid." Em says, somewhere between a pout and a sneer. Hopefully, they'll be able to wait it out. He's seen it before, the awkward waiting period where a couple, or two strangers ignore the call of the kiss cam, even as it drags on for just over a minute. That minute is starting to feel like an eternity.
"So, you're not going to kiss me in front of tens of thousands of people and all of the Detroit Tigers?" Kells laughs as he places the popcorn back in Em's hand. Em hopes the camera doesn't pick up on the way Kells' pinky strokes over his as he pulls back.
"Abso-fuckin-lutely not." Em looks at Kells, then looks away when his eyes droop with disappointment. Everywhere else he looks, people are looking back at him, expectantly waiting for the kiss. He should tell them to fuck off.
"Oh," Kells starts, and Em has less than a second to look back at him and recognize the mischievous glint in his eyes, "then I'll kiss you."
He barely has time to react before Kells' lips are on his, and Em, left with no other option, lets his eyes flutter closed. He allows himself a moment to forget about their audience, the jumbotron, the popcorn in his hand, the baseball cap that fell off his head before their mouths touched. For just a moment, he allows himself a buttery kiss from his boyfriend.
