Ficlet: Em/Fiddy NC17
Em/Fiddy ficlet present for my darling violetsmiles. NC17, duh. *Holiday fists you*
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It goes the other way, too, sometimes, and Em gets it, knows it, understands it.
Fiddy can't hardly go nowhere without a dozen bodyguards, some Kevlar and--if he's in a major city--actual police. It's fucked up. Way more fucked up than Em's security is, and that's saying a lot. Fucking Stern won't have Fiddy back, which says even more, because Stern puts up with filthy drunks that shit themselves, and he'll have Sug Knight in, ask him ballsy questions, but he don't want to deal with the danger that might follow Fiddy.
Mostly it's phonecalls, because it hits Fiddy when he's out there, promoting and doing all that kind of shit.
"Get on your knees, bitch."
It's enough to get Em hard as steel and he curses, stumbles to the bed in the latest fucking hotel he's in, and he sits down, lays back, rubs himself through his jeans. He don't need to say a fucking word; Fiddy does all the talking.
Talks about fucking Em's mouth, pinning his head to a wall while he does it, grabbing handfuls of hair. Talks about how Em sucks him better than any bitch could, how Em takes it and loves it and fucking begs for it when Fiddy pulls out.
When Fiddy calls, talks, there ain't no condoms, no lube. Just Fiddy pushing Em down on his back like some ho, making him lift his legs in the air. There's just Fiddy shoving his dick right into Em, hard and dry, and Em squirming around, trying to get it faster and harder, liking the way it hurts and letting Fiddy pound into him. He always pulls out before he comes, does it on Em's face, and there ain't ever talk about Em coming; it don't take a shrink to know what that's about, why it goes that way.
Em gives it an hour, usually. Sometimes he'll wait as long as two. But eventually he picks up his cell, and when Fiddy answers he'll say something like, "So what happened?" or "Someone take a shot at you?" or, once, when he got three calls in five days, "Talk to me."
Same old shit, different fucking day, and there are times when Em thinks Fiddy might be right on his way out of the business, but most of the time Em knows that no mater how often shit goes down, gets to him, Fiddy ain't ever leaving any of this, and he wonders who Fiddy'll call when Em does.
.End
*
It goes the other way, too, sometimes, and Em gets it, knows it, understands it.
Fiddy can't hardly go nowhere without a dozen bodyguards, some Kevlar and--if he's in a major city--actual police. It's fucked up. Way more fucked up than Em's security is, and that's saying a lot. Fucking Stern won't have Fiddy back, which says even more, because Stern puts up with filthy drunks that shit themselves, and he'll have Sug Knight in, ask him ballsy questions, but he don't want to deal with the danger that might follow Fiddy.
Mostly it's phonecalls, because it hits Fiddy when he's out there, promoting and doing all that kind of shit.
"Get on your knees, bitch."
It's enough to get Em hard as steel and he curses, stumbles to the bed in the latest fucking hotel he's in, and he sits down, lays back, rubs himself through his jeans. He don't need to say a fucking word; Fiddy does all the talking.
Talks about fucking Em's mouth, pinning his head to a wall while he does it, grabbing handfuls of hair. Talks about how Em sucks him better than any bitch could, how Em takes it and loves it and fucking begs for it when Fiddy pulls out.
When Fiddy calls, talks, there ain't no condoms, no lube. Just Fiddy pushing Em down on his back like some ho, making him lift his legs in the air. There's just Fiddy shoving his dick right into Em, hard and dry, and Em squirming around, trying to get it faster and harder, liking the way it hurts and letting Fiddy pound into him. He always pulls out before he comes, does it on Em's face, and there ain't ever talk about Em coming; it don't take a shrink to know what that's about, why it goes that way.
Em gives it an hour, usually. Sometimes he'll wait as long as two. But eventually he picks up his cell, and when Fiddy answers he'll say something like, "So what happened?" or "Someone take a shot at you?" or, once, when he got three calls in five days, "Talk to me."
Same old shit, different fucking day, and there are times when Em thinks Fiddy might be right on his way out of the business, but most of the time Em knows that no mater how often shit goes down, gets to him, Fiddy ain't ever leaving any of this, and he wonders who Fiddy'll call when Em does.
.End