I (slurp) don't (slurp) do this for (hic) anyone, (hic) ever (slurp)

Let Me (slurp)

"Did you see Kendrick's dancers?", Marshall asked excited and slightly out of breath. He rubbed a towel across his face, his body sweaty all over from rehearsals. "Mind - blown!", and he pulled a fist back from his temple to sign an explosion.

Nicolas smirked amused, »Looked good.«

"Good?", Marshall asked incredulously at this display of indifference. How could one act so cool and careless about an artistic display that excellent? Unbelievable! "Good? It was great! Awesome! Fucking incredible!" His boyfriend and husband might be turning blind now as well, what a shame.

Curtly Nicolas shook his head, »You're exaggerating. It was just a dance routine.«

"Pff", Marshall waved the words away unaccepted. "You don't get it, clearly." Not new information that his boyfriend didn't care much for music but this was a new low. He might need to stage an intervention.

A shrug, Nicolas didn't get it and didn't care that he didn't. Which was the entire problem in a nutshell, wasn't it. Music was of no interest to him but perhaps Marshall had always hoped just a little bit that his chosen profession and his passion for music would eventually rub off on Nicolas. Apparently it hadn't yet and after this many years there was no reason to assume that magic moment was right around the corner.

Marshall fell down onto the couch and put his feet up to rest on the low table. "I don't even get one dancer, much less a whole horde as awesome as his." He chewed on the inside of his cheeks. Of course Kendrick deserved the choreography, his song was great and should make as huge an impression on the audience as the other songs and performers. Kendrick deserved the attention and the applause as much as them, even if his song didn't have a decade or two of history to carry it. This dance routine was certainly going to achieve a lasting impression. And yet, Marshall felt envious. Rationally he knew his song didn't invite dancing of most sorts, and only maybe moshing could be good to it. Not what this performance asked for. Lose Yourself wasn't a dance anthem and this had never bothered him before. A grumble.

»It's better without«, Nicolas signed and sat down next to him. »Yours is a powerful song, let it stand on its own.«

"What do you know", muttered Marshall. He leaned his head back and draped the towel over his face. He didn't want to feel this pinch. Last he had performed this song, no dancer had been there as well. An important and meaningful performance, a certain milestone for his career he had finally made up for and Marshall had fucked it up big time. He couldn't even watch the video, all cringe and awful. A dance routine as breathtaking as Kendrick's could've hid his slip-up.

A soft shove against his shoulder, the towel was pulled away from his eyes. »You're just nervous«, Nicolas pointed out the obvious. »Don't overthink it.«

"How can I not!", Marshall asked back, voice jumping high from the tension. "It's the fucking Super Bowl, everyone's gonna watch it!" Live performances were always stressful and this historic moment in rap music even more so. He was going to be part of something this massive and momentous, nervousness didn't cut it. He pushed the towel in his face and screamed into the terry cloth.

Nicolas smirked at him again, this time with a mean and knowing hint. Almost a comforting gesture, one of normalcy and everyday life. »I know exactly what you need.«

Marshall knitted his eyebrows skeptical. His boyfriend's expression and words had only one meaning, the opening to a sexy adventure. His husband and Master orchestrated a night so hot and messy that Marshall needed the whole next day to recover. Their favorite pastime. Once he couldn't do nothing else but beg his Master to fuck him, Marshall was the most happy. "Not now", he shook his head. Tomorrow was the oh so important live performance, the stadium would be a mass of tens of thousands of people and all of them screaming and cheering and partying, not to mention the millions of people watching through the TV. He couldn't be out of commission in any way, not even for the best sex in the world. Especially not after his lofty promise on the matter.