Seduction

"Marshall Mathers!"

Earlier that evening your voice had been echoing to him from the bathroom. Now it was echoing from the top of the stairs, where the family room was located. What you were doing up and out of bed, he had no idea.

"(Y/F/M/L/N)!" He called back.

He heard your footsteps begin to descend the stairs down into the home studio, and he scratched at the ‪5 o'clock‬ shadow beginning to erupt on his chin.

"I think I'm in trouble," he muttered to himself.

The cracked studio door squeeked quietly as it opened, and then he felt your presence behind his chair. Two hands massaged his shoulders before slowly sliding down his chest, tickling his skin and bringing back that tingling sensation.

"Did you forget that you had a wife and two kids upstairs waiting for you?"

He smirked as your hands rested on his abdominals, and your face appeared next to his.

"Last I checked, my kids were snoring in their beds, and my wife was passed out."

"That might have been true earlier, but it isn't anymore. Maybe you should check more often."

He turned his head, meeting your happy gaze. You eyes sparkled in the low recessed lighting of the studio, and your strands -once up in a bun- now hung down in long wavy layers. It was the kind of bombshell hair even Victoria Secret models would envy.

Marshall leaned over, pressing a kiss against your lips. You tasted the same as you had when he'd first kissed you years ago. You pulled back and smiled, and he realized once again what he had already known for quite some time: he was going to be in love with you forever.

"So, what are you working on? It must be good; I could feel the bass thumping through the mattress."

He sighed, letting the moment go, and bringing his mind back into present time.

"Dre sent me a beat, and he asked me to collaborate with him; another Dre/Eminem production."

He picked up the lyrics sheet he'd been scribbling on and passed it over to you.

"Good old Dre," you said to herself. "The only person you spend more time with than me."

Marshall snorted. They both knew that statement was nowhere close to being true. The only people he was with more often than you were the two little ones upstairs. You read over the words on the paper, your expression turning skeptical.

"What was going through your mind when writing this Marshall?" You say in a surprised manner

Marshall scoffed, snatching the sheet back.

"I honestly don't even know. I just imagined a storyline that included you."

"Glad to know I'm the inspiration for this."

"Whatever. The point is, people are gonna fuck to this song, and that's all I care about. This is baby-making music for the 22nd century."

"Marshall, we're living in the 21st century, not the 22nd."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't argue anymore. You did kind of have a point.

"But, on the upside the beat is awesome."

"Of course it is," he said. "It's Dre."

"Ah, that's right, I forgot; the almighty Dre makes nothing but hits."

You laughed and stood up straight when he reached for the board. He twisted a few more knobs, cueing up the instrumental track. Then his head bent over the lyrics sheet while the song played softly in the background. You watched him for a moment as he counted measures in his head.