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24 hour party people

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on your knees, got you under siege


Alex looked up as Izzy sank into the booth beside him. The club was boring, boring and full of people goggling up at them from the non-VIP section. Detroit sucked. "What's up, cupcake?"

"You're chipper," Alex said. There was a little red mark on the corner of Izzy's jaw, like someone had bitten down there while they were fucking him. Alex knew that Izzy was that flexible. "Where's Rick?"

Izzy had his legs swung out into the world, and his back to Alex utterly. He bent his head around, back towards Alex, neck tipped out and eyes. "Rick?" he asked lazily, and licked salt off his lip.

Alex gulped. "Whatever."

Izzy continued to stare at Alex his face tipped over his shoulder. Looking backwards. "Have you seen Marshall anywhere?"

"Don't tell me you've--"

"The trick, Alex," Izzy said, "is to know when to slap back." He pulled himself upright again, and hopped back out of the booth. The muscles in his back were tensed and showed visibly, corded and taut, under the mesh of his shirt.


Izzy stuffed an Eminem tour teeshirt into his duffle when they got onto the plane to New York. "What's that?" Rick said, concerned.

He pulled it out, in response, and held it up appraisingly. "The lettering's fading," he said, and suddenly leaned over to hold it up against Rick's chest. His fingers lingered just a little too long, and Rick ducked away from him. "You have it," Izzy said suddenly, uninterested in the shirt and dropping it casually.


Izzy shrugged, grabbing his duffle and throwing it over his shoulder. His arms bulged with muscles most people didn't see. "Knock yourself out."


"so I'm rimming him right into the mattress, right, and he's struggling to get his head up - because," Iz said reasonably, "he's got his face half-mashed into the pillow, he can't breathe." Izzy's eyes lit up. "It's like his neck's gone crazy, and it's all slippery, and I'm trying to hold him down but he's struggling enough that I have to stop for a minute, and--"

Cassie was giggling uncontrollably. Alex leaned against the doorframe heavily. He could envision it, the way Izzy would have one whole arm stretched out along whoever's back, right along their spine as they arched it, knobs digging into his forearm as he made sure to hold their neck steady - other hand reaching around their waist, tucked around hipbones and gripping cock and --

"I can't believe you've rimmed Eminem," she said, still giggling. "Does his mother know about this?"

Alex exhaled maybe a little too loudly, and the two of them looked up. "You!" Izzy crowed. "What's up?"

"Uh," Alex answered. He didn't really want to talk about that, mind still furiously panting along with - Marshall. Suddenly his brain started working in technicolor, and Izzy's legs, splayed against a hotel comforter, Eminem's calloused hands on the headboard, Izzy's pink tongue. Everything was sweaty and Izzy's arm holding Marshall's waist in place, elbow locked firmly.

Izzy was already halfway towards him when he gulped again. "You need to get laid," he told Alex, and smacked his cheek lightly, bouncing out of the room.

Cassie said, "Eminem. Dude, that's like," and she shook her head again.

Alex reached up, and felt his flushed cheek carefully for any sign of fire.


"At the Grammy afterparty?" Rick said. "Really?"

Iz nodded, flipping his mic in the air carelessly. "The bathrooms are really big."

Rick's eyes widened. "Isn't he kinda, y'know."

Izzy said, "worried about someone finding out?" He shrugged. "Would you believe it if I hadn't told you?"

Rick muttered, "I don't know if I believe it anyway."


"It's just weird," Alex muttered to Cassie. "That he--" and then they carelessly ducked into a side-room, that was supposed to be empty except that no, Izzy was laying on his back, knees cocked to either side as Eminem - fully clothed still - sucked on his cock.

Eminem - Marshall - tried to turn around, and Izzy glanced up at the two of them. "Hey," he muttered. He actually had his head pillowed on an arm, and his legs weren't involuntarily trying to push the rhythm faster, always faster - Alex thought, good, we haven't interrupted too far in - "how's the party?"

Cassie had probably walked in on various stages of gay sex in her life; it was odd, they never really spoke about it any more. Izzy was un-self-conscious and Eminem was like an afterthought, refusing to look at either of them, probably because Izzy was holding his head firmly, like he was saying well, get on with it then, ignore them. Cassie just said, "why don't I ever get laid at parties?"

"Colin Farrell asked if you'd do him earlier," Izzy said helpfully, then puffed a little air out of his cheeks. "hey, a little slower?" Eminem ducked his head, kissing Izzy's hip instead.

Alex was transfixed, not by either of them in particular but just by the bed clothes, the rumpled comforter tossed aside and hanging limply off the foot of the bed; their shoes, dumped hap-hazardly across the room. Marshall was leaning over, carefully kissing - Izzy, Alex thought stupidly - and his teeshirt was rumpled up just enough so you could see a bit of his back above the waistband of his track pants. Everyone was turned on by that, Alex thought stupidly, it was just some stupid bit of skin, a little fringe of hair, and Izzy's toes curling, eyes closed suddenly and mouth hanging open.

"I didn't even know he was here!" Cassie was saying, already starting to duck out of the room. She had Alex by the elbow, was dragging him after her. "I love MTV," he heard her say from far away.

Izzy opened his eyes to watch them as they left. Alex, rebelliously, didn't close the door all the way, left a little crack for light and noise to seep through.


"So what do you say to each other?"

Izzy looked up, stopped trying to get the cuffs of his jacket to sit right. "Who?"

"You and Marshall. Eminem?" Rick said. "Aren't you hooking up with him tonight?"

"Probably." Izzy looked across the floor; the awards show circuit was usually their least favorite time of year. A thousand red carpet interviews about the same cd, over and over and over. Eminem was up for a Billboard or four, and he was parked in a back row, arms crossed and hat pulled low. A bunch of his friends were hanging out, smoking. Izzy looked back at Rick. "Talk?"

"You've slept with him at least half a dozen times," Rick said. "How did it even happen? what did you say?"

"Looking for pointers?" and Rick smacked him. Izzy glanced at his watch. In two and a half hours, the show would start, and then in six and a half hours, they'd be sipping vodka and lime at one of many private functions. "Nice party," he said.


"That's what we say mostly. Nice party." He sighed, and sipped his tonic water. At least they were performing first. "Vodka shots. Tequila shots. Sometimes wanna get out of here." Rick was looking at him, completely uncomprehending. Izzy said, "what can I say, I like to party."