Say Goodbye Hollywood
by Rabbit

This is not the fucking place he wants to be tonight, but Paul says it isn't negotiable. He's a fucking movie star now and he's got to peddle his ass like any other Hollywood whore. (Maybe not in those exact words.)

So he's here at the premiere after party, dressed all in black like he's going to his fucking funeral. No tux, cuz he ain't havin' any shit like that. Black rag on his head, Paul had known better than to comment on it, but Marshall had felt generous enough to wear the 'serious Marshall ' glasses. He's not unreasonable after all, just a smart ass .

Which is why this night is killing him, trying to be all polite. It's been at least two hours since he told anybody to fucking suck his cock, well, except for Obie...and that one guy who got off lucky with only that verbal sentiment. But he doesn't think he's going to make it through without really going off on somebody. Reporters and interviews...asking stupid ass questions. Everyone's fixated on just who he's shoving his dick into: Britney Murphy, Kim Bassinger, Mariah. Somebody from Face asked about Kim, and Obie had to step between them. It's hard to believe that just a few years ago he's a nobody loser, last year he's the antichrist...and now the same people who if he was on fire wouldn't piss on him to put it out, now have their noses shoved so far up his ass, they can taste what he fucking had for breakfast.

"Eminem!" Kelly Osbourne screeches, waving her arm over her head.

The sight of Osbourne's puffy spawn, white cartoon skunk stripe in her hair, wearing what must be an enormous black bag with purple striped stockings might be the very thing that gets the cell phone out of his pocket, screaming to the limo driver to bring the motherfucking car around...NOW!

"Damn. Bitch need somebody to dress her. What the fuck is that?"

Obie notices his fist clenching and can't help but get in a dig with a laugh and a- "Be cool dawg. Smile and nod like a good little fagg..."

"Ima rip you a new asshole, punk ass motherfucker."

Snort of disbelief. "Fuuuck. Don't make me go all Pac on your ass. Bitch, you mess with me, you better get ready for some serious ass fucking."

"Just cause you got a dick, don't mean ya ain't a pussy." And even that is more weary than heated.

Obie's the only thing keeping him from setting this shit on fire. Maybe they can cut out early. " Man, I should'a got stoned 'fore we came. Then I might be able to take this shit."

"Well then it's your lucky day, dawg. I came prepared for just this circumstance." Obie touches shoulders with him, slaps an arm around him, bumps fists and slips a blunt to him. "Hit it." The head tilt is signal enough, no words needed. They both know the place to go. Grazer has reserved a room, suspecting his newest star will need a little quiet time.

"Oh yeah. Now yo speakin' my language, bitch."

They don't make it though, turn around to stumble into America's favorite spoiled as fuck little shits surrounded by their own adoring throng of ass kissers... celebrity and non. Some are vaguely familiar like so many others he's already seen tonight, spikey eyelashes, dilated pupils, soft mouths, giggling and touching each other while gender lines blur. Two little faggots in the back are engrossed in each other, long white fingers tracing the pattern of an embroidered flower over a nipple. Marshall turns his head away when a slender wrist comes up to guide the hand in widening circles, pushing it down the belly, but catches a smirk that means they're not totally oblivious to the scene they present, or his discomfort with it. He blocks out the murmur of syllables that flow from curved lips, a seductive buzz that can't quite be discerned over the subtle clinking of ice in the drink the two of them share. He doesn't want to know what secrets they're sharing.

"Loved it man, that was off the hook!" Jack Osbourne moves his hands in a parody of street that just makes him look like a spastic retard.

Kelly bounces up and down, and he wonders if somebody's slipped her something. "You know what Em. I think we should do a duet! That would rock."

No. That's it. Marshall turns to Obie. "Dawg, I gotta get the fuck out of here before I beg someone to cut my balls off and run over 'em."

Obie coughs violently into his closed fist. His chest vibrates in staccato bursts of air, made worse when Marshall pounds him harder than is actually necessary. Once assured he's not going to bring up a lung, he manages a few breaths, then, "We gone."

"Wait, I'll call you later this week. We can get together and work on something."

It's her hand grabbing a handful of his shirt that has Marshall turning around elbow raised as his fist is ready to swing in a downward arc that will connect with her left cheek. He's ready to bust. "You got a mental disease? Stupid cunt, get yo hands off me."

Obie's expecting something though, once more steps between Marshall and another target of his anger, using all his weight to shove against his boy and send him back a step or two. "Oh, now. Uh, uh. What part of fucking probation don't you understand, Slim. ?

Clicks and sudden flashes of light bring him back to where they are-reporters. Now he gets to see his face on the news again. "Cocksuckers, can't you get off my dick for 5 minutes!"

Obie offers him the only option available. "Go...go!"

He easily makes it past the cordoned area that restricts media access, slips into quiet ambiance, and shuts the door against further scrutiny. That was really fucking stupid, bitch like that couldn't be bought off-or intimidated. And he has no desire to be on his knees in cuffs again, no matter how much he would have enjoyed just shutting her the fuck up.

Damn, he needs a full time handler. Dre wasn't blowing smoke up his ass with that. Pacing soon proves that this space is small, and he can't burn off any energy. What's worse, he's got a fucking joint that he can't smoke because he has no fucking lighter. Shit!


Marshall swings around, wondering how the fuck they got past the security that was under strict orders to stop all media. But that's not the case here. He can see now that they aren't flowers, but blue dragonflies against sheer black. If she sent her little faggot minion in here to ride his balls...the memory of being fingerprinted is coming back strong.

"We kind of met out there earlier, before you went all gansta thug on Kellie " A soft giggle, and dimples that belong on a girl. He takes a delicate sip of the drink in his hand "My name is Elijah."

Something clicks, and recognition comes instantly. Elijah Wood. "You were in that ring movie. Hailie liked that." She'd been scared of those black horse guys though, hiding her eyes and begging to sleep with her daddy for a week. Of course he let her.

"Really? She did?" he looks extremely pleased, smile growing broader. Blue eyes are wide, sparkling with something that might be alcohol induced, but all bets are on a white line of coke on the ride over, with none left to share.

"I tried to read that book once, but fuck...20 fucking pages of fairies singing shit that don't make sense." Marshall makes a face at the unlit joint he's rolling between his fingers.

"Uh, elves actually." Wood leans to the side, and slides a hand into his pocket, which takes a few thrusts to get past hipbones encased in denim. He comes up with a lighter, and takes a step towards Marshall. " You know, Tolkein was Merton Professor of English at Oxford. He was a brilliant linguist, invented his own alphabets and two Elvish languages."

"You don't fucking say."

The kid's got short nails, perfectly shaped. Clicks a two-inch flame into life, adjusts it down with his thumb so that it shrinks back down into the yellow plastic. He leans in and waves it in Marshall's face. "Here, let me."

Whatever he's taken, it's catching up with him right fucking now. Wood's hands aren't very steady, and Marshall grabs the hand with the open flame because he doesn't necessarily want to test the theory that hair gel is non flammable. The paper catches instantly, coils of red spiraling up, melding into a deep scar of fire before settling into a strong ember. He flicks the thumb holding the lever down with his index finger and the pressure immediately lets up, extinguishing the flame. He removes his hand once the arson threat is over. "Man, you are lit. Whatthefuck you on?"

Elijah finds that hilarious, cackling while he scrapes the top of his tongue against his two front teeth, when it can't extend anymore, he whips it back in his mouth. Eyes close, and he shakes his head back and forth. "I have no idea. Dominic gave it to me. It was purple. What's that?"

Was Dominic the one...fingers teasing nipples hidden underneath a dragonflies wing? Marshall takes a hit, pulls the smoke deep into his lungs, keeps it confined until he can't hold it any longer. It comes out in a rush. "Rat poison, bitch. You betta make a will."

Eyes snap open "Yeeeaahhhh! Last will and testament. You want a condo in Hawaii?"

Elijah returns the lighter to his pocket, ignoring his glass, which tips dangerously to the side and Marshall resists the urge to snatch it from him before he makes a mess. Must be daddy instinct kicking in, which annoys him because he doesn't want to associate his little girl with this bullshit. " Listen, I ain't inna mood for no industry cock sucking right now."

"Can I?"

The fuck? The question startles him and the bluntness of it makes his balls tighten because he can't block out his own pants twisted around his knees, blue eyes staring up at him, lips stretched over the purple head of his cock, the groan he can't bite back when those same blue eyes dare him not to grab a handful of hair and increase a tempo willfully controlled by a boy with dimples like a girl. Shit ain't right, and he blames that little faggot buddy with his homo show earlier. What'd Elijah say his name was...Dominic?

Elijah's nodding to the joint in Marshall's hand, and the question makes a little more sense now. He wants a hit. Marshall sighs, hopes this night ends soon because he must be going out of his fucking mind. "Why the fuck not?" before he hands it over with a line of intoxicating smoke drifting between them. " Make the 911 call as interesting as possible."

Elijah inhales, squints his eyes as he tries not to cough. He's not successful as he purses his lips around the puffs of smoke escaping, hacking. He's emptied his lungs and tries again, licking his lips so the paper won't stick to them this time. He takes a smaller hit, and keeps it in for twenty seconds before he exhales.

" It's all good dawg, that's some hard core shit. No shame in it. Obie's got a supplier that gets weed'll have you crawling on the floor by the lips, forget ya own name and wake up on top of some skeez turns out to be ya cousin."

"Good, my cousin's very attractive, and pot makes me extremely horny." Elijah offers the joint back with a maniacal smile.

He wasn't talking shit neither about Obie's connection. Marshall's starting to feel a little buzzed himself. He takes the blunt, and can't stop his other hand from flicking in time to a bass beat that keeps repeating in his head.

"Nervous huh?" Elijah misinterprets his actions. "I still get nervous at a premiere. But man, don't worry. You were great."

Paul, had assured him of the same thing just this morning, but it was different coming from someone he wasn't paying, someone who understood because they'd felt the same feelings. "I just don't want anyone laughing at me. "Cuz then I gotta kill 'em." It's a little too close to the truth. Subject change. "What the hell is that?" He draws attention to the neon green contents of Elijah's glass, not prepared to dissect his own securities tonight with someone he's just met.

Elijah holds the glass up in front of his face, studying it intently as if he's forgotten. There's a five second pause before he decides, "It's a Midori Sour."

"The fuck is that?"

"Melon liqueur. It's my absolute favorite. Want to try it?" Those eyes aren't daring him at all.

Man, Marshall can feel bags already forming under his eyes. He's gonna be seriously stoned in about another minute. He probably already is, because he agrees, "Why not." Elijah takes a mouthful, and Marshall puts out his hand to take the glass. But that's not what he gets.

Elijah steps up to him, takes Marshall's chin in hand and sloppily mashes their lips together in a moist seal. His tongue pushes past Marshall's lips squirting sweet liquid that makes the taste buds in the very back of his jaw ache until he has to swallow or choke. Marshall starts to move back, but Elijah's fingers tighten, and a foot tangles between his, he's not sure that they won't both fall if he moves at all. Wet tongue, slick and insistent. Exploring feverishly, and freaking him out so much that he's ready to risk landing in a tangled heap on the floor, as long as he can stop the sensation.

Hesitation is the wrong choice, because the hand floats down, spanning his throat, lingers over a nipple. Already elastic is starting to cut into him, dick reacting. It's uncomfortable, physically and emotionally since he should be doing whatever he can to get another man's hands off him, and he doesn't know why he isn't. He tries to shift to relieve pressure, swivels his hips and Elijah's hand is instantly right there palm rubbing, then rotating so fingers slide over the bulge of his cock, shove between the juncture of his thighs and follow the seam with a bold index finger.

Both freeze. Marshall, because he's pistol-whipped people for less, Elijah, judging if he's about to join the ranks of Slim Shady's victims.

Marshall's jerks his head away slightly, warning quiet and low, "You don't wanna fuck with me."

Elijah stares at him, mouth open for three seconds before he answers. "I think I do." Wary, but ready to take whatever consequences he's stumbled into. Even violence if it comes to that... the proverbial playing with fire. "Haven't you ever been curious?"

"No." But Marshall's still standing there.

Elijah takes that at face value, frowns slightly. "I'm disappointed, but undaunted."

Another finger joins the first, tickling the soft mass of Marshall's testicles, pushing harder as they continue up the underside of his cock, layers of cotton do nothing to muffle the primal need that touch induces. At the involuntary gasp his actions produce, Elijah breaks contact, curves his hand up and underneath the waistband of loose, black Adidas pants. "These are a good call, you can't imagine how hard it is to get jeans off. Especially in a tight space, when there's a time or discovery factor in play."

Marshall doesn't know if he can keep breathing as a palm wraps around his already weeping shaft, and his ribs feel frozen, unable to accommodate an expansion of his lungs. He should feel embarrassed that it's taken so little to get him jacked up, but forgets that thought as Elijah's palm slicks up with pre come, and shoots down Marshall's cock in one, swift motion until the pinky slaps against his balls.

"Guhhhhh!" Escapes him as a perfectly logical response while he wills himself not the ejaculate.

"But they hide everything," Elijah complains as he loosens the circle of his thumb and index finger, just enough, reversing his previous motion. "I mean, I had no idea." Fingers release entirely and the vein running along the underside of Marshall's dick rolls into the direct midpoint of Elijah's palm as it bows into a curve. He holds it thoughtfully for a moment, then presses the entire length of the erection against Marshall's belly and swishes it across the skin leaving a trail of sticky fluid behind. The contrast of the coolness of that flesh compared to the heat that lives under Elijah's hands starts a twitching that could spell trouble.

He feels relief and disappointment when Elijah leaves his cock bouncing against his stomach, slips his hand out of Marshall's pants. But it's worse. Elijah brings his hand up, and sticks one glistening finger in his own mouth, tasting Marshall with a loud suckling, as the digit disappears up to the knuckle between cherry lips. It's lewd and fascinating. Marshall's eyes are locked and he feels- harder- than-he-ever-has.

" do that to him?"

"Him who?" Elijah asks distractedly around his finger as he extracts it. It disappears again into Marshall's pants, and rubs its glossy wetness against the very tip of the neglected dick.

Marshall's head flops back, and he feels a little bit dizzy. It lolls on his neck, rolls to the side until his crown is pointing in the general direction of the door, more by luck than control. "Out there."

Elijah looks up, eyes unfocused for a moment while his hand stops its motion. He answers, "Oh." Finger now circles around the opening of Marshall's prick, rest its fingerprint in the dip, which is seeping his excitement. "Sometimes. I think there's nothing in the world he likes more than getting sucked off."

The words effect him so much that Marshall's head snaps up, all concentration on the man in front of him.

"Do you like that too?" Elijah asks with bemusement, seeing the effect five little words have.

Marshall doesn't trust his voice, just nods the affirmative.

"Do you want me to do that to you?" Eyes search Marshall's face for any indication of acceptance or rejection. "You can say it. Go ahead, say it. Ask me to do it."

"Suck..." He can't seem to get any more words past his teeth.

"Huh, what? You want...?" Elijah's expression can only be described as impish, with possibly a dash of mischievous. "Say it after me: succkkk..." He waits for the answering sounds, but is satisfied with Marshall's lips forming the syllable.

"Myyyyyy..." This answer is verbal, but not more than the barest whisper.

"Cockkkk!" Both of their voices are raised to equal levels of volume. "I thought you'd never ask." Elijah giggles, tugs at the waist, and slides the pant legs down Marshall's thighs. The brunette's tongue sweeps around the inside of his mouth and over his teeth, wetting with his own saliva before he sinks his lips over Marshall's prick.

And Marshall's earlier daydream isn't far off, complete with groan. He is able to keep his hands frozen at his sides, but only by gripping the roll of fabric bunched halfway down his thighs. He doesn't need to encourage Elijah anyway, because that boy is very skilled. Within forty five seconds, Marshall's cock gives a series of violent spasms, dying down before Elijah stands, flipping up the elastic band so Marshall's groin is covered again.

Marshall jerks his head away though, when Elijah leans toward him, afraid he's going to be kissed.

Elijah swallows reflexively. "Maybe you're not ready for that?" He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then rests his palm lightly against Marshall's stomach, flexing his fingers lazily.

"Are you insane?" A voice asks from behind them.

Elijah's previous admirer. Marshall's earlier question is answered when he greets their interruption, "Dominic." There's a guilty, hasty termination of intimate contact now that they've been discovered.

"You are kissing the dictionary definition of homophobic. He's probably lured you back here so he can kick the shit out of you."

"I followed him, Dominic." No mention that it's already significantly more than a kiss.

"Only because you trust people, Elijah. You're either high, or you've got a death wish."

Elijah raises an arm, swipes the back of his neck with his hand as he moves a few paces away from Marshall. "Well, he does have some amazing pot. I think I'm really fucked up."

Marshall adjusts himself, shifting his balls, and trying to ignore the wetness still on his belly while Elijah and Dominic's eyes are on each other. He's done by the time Dominic looks back to him. Marshall holds up the joint. The paper was rolled too tight, and it's gone out since no one's nursed the cherry. Luckily, or there'd be some burns to deal with now. It's slightly bent as well, where Marshall has crushed it in his fist. "It's the shit," he agrees lamely.

"Slim, dawg. You in here?" Obie cranes his neck around the door. Paul, Marshall's manager is right behind him looking stern, so he knows the Kellie incident must have already reached him. Paul's suspicious glance at all occupants of the room proves he's worried. He relaxes when he sees no one lying on the floor, not even a bruise.

"You ready to go?" Paul offers the question reasonably, knowing that Marshall is a stubborn asshole if he feels pressured. "Maybe we can end this night without any lawsuits." Pointed glance to Elijah and Dominic.

"Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here." Marshall thinks he really hates these premiere things. Maybe he isn't cut out to be a movie star. Unless someone wants to pay him 10 million to flip the bird for and hour and a half onscreen.


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