Studio Time

When he called, he only said that he wanted to see you. Just for a few minutes, he'd pleaded, with that soft whine in his voice that he knew would make you do whatever he wanted. Which explained the nondescript dvd he kept locked in the safe in his closet, that no one but the two of you had seen.

You remind yourself of that fact as you drive to the studio, where he spends all of his days and half his nights. Working on an album was never easy, you understand that, and when he drags himself into the house past midnight, you always wait up for him. You always greet him with a Diet Coke and a kiss. You never ignore his need for companionship. And you always pay attention to whatever he has to tell you about the track he was working on. Not only because you truly care and are interested, not only because he always does the same for you, but because you've learned how he feels when you ignore him. You learned that lesson the hard way just last week.

Of course you'd never forget that. If asked, you'd swear that your ass still stung from his spanking and probably still had his handprint. And, squirming in the seat of the car as you park, you realize the very memory of it makes you want him.

"This better be important," you mutter under your breath. Showing your credentials to the receptionist who always looked tired and overworked, you wait as she got permission to let you back. There had been something in his voice, aside from that whine you really hated, that had made you drop everything to do his bidding. True, you always did, but this time quicker than ever before. He'd sounded almost panicked...

Finally, you're deemed worthy of entry, and you walk down the plain corridors, having to stop and remember a turn more than once. You never were able to keep track of a left or a right, and on more than one occasion had interrupted recordings in your search for Marshall. This time though, perhaps because you're excited, perhaps because you're in a hurry, you find the right door without mistakes. You mentally pat yourself on the back, because it's a well known fact that you have trouble navigating the parking lot at Wal-Mart without getting confused.

Your knock is answered with a soft "Yeah", and when you enter you brace yourself for the usual excitement. Assistants rushing around, techs talking over each other and playbacks going as someone in the booth raps or waits or is making beats.

You're surprised to find the room's empty. The lights are dim, only a lamp on the table in the corner is at full brightness, and the booth is completely dark. It's as silent as a tomb, and when you see him sprawled on the couch, you smile.

He looks so tired, his feet propped on the coffee table, and he's slouched down, holding a pillow under his head and simply staring at his knee. He doesn't acknowledge your presence vocally, but you see him motion to the couch with his elbow. Shutting the door you cross over and sit down, instinctively curling next to him.

"You okay?" you ask, because it's the usual thing to ask when he looks as though he's just lost his confidence. You worry, gasping softly, "Has something happened?"

"Tired," he mumbles.

"No kidding," you say, lightly running your hand over his arm. You feel his muscles tense, and before you can take a breath he's moving on the couch, resting his head in your lap, pulling your hand between his and holding it over his chest. Smiling, you run your other hand through his hair, carefully lifting your feet so they can rest on the coffee table. "How much more do you have to do?"

"One more verse and I can't lay it out on paper the same way I hear it in my head," he murmurs. His thumb is lightly tracing your palm, something he does without thinking about it. You smile again because that's one small way he shows his love. He says the words every day, leaves them on little notes throughout the house, but you love when he does the little things. Tracing your palm. Rubbing your shoulders when you're at the computer and working hard and he knows you don't want to be bothered. The little smile he gives you first thing in the morning, as soon as your eyes open, because somehow he always wakes up before you do.