Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Looking back at our lives, we'd all find things we would like to change. Perhaps there are things we would have said differently or not uttered at all, fights we would have avoided and decisions we wish we didn't make. Maybe we could fantasize about what our life would have been like had we not done a certain thing, if we weren't given the kind of character we have. How would life have gone had we been more self-assured or less careless? It's quite simple to mentally correct your mistakes after you already know what they would have resulted in, but it's impossible to truly go back in time and reverse what has been done.

Marshall often found himself reflecting on the life he'd lived thus far, mulling over the good and bad, the moments he longed to forget and the times he desperately desired to relive.

And yet it only brought on a sense of regret, potent like the smell of rotting flesh, engulfing him whenever he was left alone with himself for too long.

Would he have been who he was then, had his childhood been better? Out of the town that excluded him for his fair skin, out of the home where his mentally tormented mother would bring ill upon him and his younger brother, out of those numerous schools where he somehow always ended up being the prey that all bullies feasted upon. What if he were a better partner for his then twice ex-wife Kim? What if he never took to rap? Would he have ever left Detroit and found a place he could live freely, or would he have been stuck in a run-down business of some sort, being hired and shortly after fired, just as it was before he began music seriously?

Maybe he could have become a comic book artist as he aspired to be when he was a child, taping his drawings of superheroes all over his bedroom walls, even if his mother would rip them off and ruin some of them when she wasn't too right in the head.

Perhaps it was pointless to think back at what could have been, at what could have happened. Marshall should just accept his life as it currently was, and do the best he could with it. He had to deal with his regrets and his mistakes and keep his head high. But such a thing is hard to do when your past can't seem to end its torment.

He missed his best friend Deshaun, known professionally as Proof and called affectionately Doody by Marshall. He missed the guy who gave him strength when he needed it, gave him the encouragement and push Marshall required to surpass his shyness, who listened to him and cared for him, accepted him for all he was. He missed the only one who truly loved him and knew him to the very core.

Marshall was never one to keep his troubles and thoughts bottled up when it came to rap. His lyrics were his way of venting, letting off steam, a not-so-personal journal of sorts that he shared with the world.

Despite that, he knew such a thing wasn't always the case. There were topics simply too close to his rawest, most vulnerable self and he couldn't even bare the thought of exposing his inner turmoil to the world. Though the rhymes were scribbled and his emotions were put down on paper, the pages would be either crumpled and tossed into a bin or hidden in one of his many drawers, beneath piles of notebooks and such.

Marshall was never one for many secrets, and initially his music portrayed this. And yet, it seemed that the older he grew and the more pain he endured, the more sensitive to criticism and judgement he became. He'd bite back at people who disrespected him and his daughters, his music being his weapon and shield, but behind the rap bars and beats was a man who wondered if perhaps they were right. Maybe he had grown soft, maybe he no longer belonged in the hip-hop world; he probably never did. Maybe he wasn't as good as he was told by those around him, maybe his work had gone stale.

Marshall had had a fighter's spirit for many years － it's what pulled him through countless difficult times － but it seemed that the flame within him was dying, the desire to stay on top waning, just as his will to merely exist.

He wondered if maybe had he quit rap after his overdose incident in 2007 things would have improved or worsened. Most likely the latter, because though he couldn't put all his thoughts and all his self into music anymore, though he became more reluctant to hand over lit matches to the critics who were waiting to pour gasoline on him, rap was still his main consolation, second only to his daughters.

Marshall had a handful of secrets, he recognised this and accepted that he couldn't erase their presence, but the older he grew the less important some of them became. One however, festered within him everyday, ate at him and his confidence to the point that he distanced himself from almost all media and press, in order to avoid questions that could crop up tied to it.

Marshall Mathers was a bisexual man, and he resented his very being for it.

Chapter Text

Deshaun was special, a pivotal part of Marshall's life, from the moment they bonded over music to the former's death. The eleventh of April, year 2006. Merely thinking of the date brought chills down along the man's spine and the hairs on his arms to stand on end. It was an ineffable pain, so terrible and lasting that Marshall was forever shaped by it.

There was no long period of time when Deshaun wasn't on Marshall's mind, when he wasn't blinking away the images of his passing friend, when he wasn't asking whatever higher entity was listening why the man he loved and who loved him had to be taken away.

He figured love simply wasn't made for him.

Deshaun was a source of light amidst the darkness of Marshall's life, somehow all-knowing when it came to how the older was feeling, present and ready to help whenever he could. Sure they had their petty fights, what friends didn't? But the two would make up shortly after, going back to their typical behaviour of being stuck at the hip.

Marshall hadn't had friends before Deshaun. School was simply another word for endless torment, with bullies who'd beat him until he could hardly breathe, until he'd even ended up in a coma for a week at their violence. It was then that Marshall had completely lost trust in the people around him, told himself he could never have someone to laugh and cry with, someone to chill with as they'd blast music or someone to read comics with. He'd stopped pleading for mercy when beaten, knowing it only made the bullies feel empowered, and he stopped trying to be a decent student, forgoing his studies most of the time and becoming a recluse, spending as much as possible hidden in his bedroom.

It was Deshaun to bring him back to his feet, hold him up when he'd been injured, read comic books after school with him as they'd sit in the older's bedroom, listen to their favourite rappers and discuss their rhymes with enthusiasm.

Deshaun made Marshall believe that he too was allowed to have someone to go through life with, gradually knocking down the pale male's barriers and gaining his full trust.

It was around that time that something strange had begun to shift within Marshall, something he initially couldn't pin point and then wished he couldn't.

He knew he had never had a crush on a girl in his school before, nor some female star, but he had pinned such a fact down to him being the town's outcast and so him not bothering to have hope about ever dating one of them. However, the assumption was proven wrong the same year he met Deshaun. They'd occassionally flip through magazines together and whilst the other boy would ogle at the women and point out what he'd find attractive, Marshall would have to force himself to agree, trying to comprehend what was so pretty about them. It was when he noticed his eyes lingering on the men that everything began clicking into place, like a jigsaw being finally completed, and the panic surged within him.

Once he'd been caught by Deshaun staring at a male actor who had a two-page spread, and sprinted his way home, leaving behind his pieced together bike and his baffled friend. He'd locked himself in his room for hours, having an anxiety attack － something he was quite accustomed to － and collapsing to the floor until he regained feeling in his limbs, enough to pull his small frame onto the bed and lay face down upon it.

Deshaun wasn't blind and nor was he slow. He had understood what was most likely going on and decided to confront Marshall about it after the boy had avoided him for a number of days.

When he was finally let into his friend's room, he noticed the tremor in the greeting he received, the way those near luminous baby blue eyes purposely avoided meeting his own dark ones, the way those nimble hands kept tugging at his top.

"Marsh, you gotta to talk to me, man."

Silence. Marshall remained seated on the edge of his mattress, fiddling with his sleeves.

Deshaun took a moment to assess the situation and sighed, dipping his own head and slowly walking up to the other, carefully sinking down abreast him, almost as if afraid to scare him away.

"Look, I'm not dumb, a'ight?" he began, setting a warm palm at the centre of Marshall's back, "I think I know what this is about and if I'm right, then I want you to know that I don't care. It doesn't change anything between us."

The latter stiffened, shoulders tensing prior to his head tentatively shifting in Deshaun's direction, his irises mirroring his astonishment and gratitude, relief beginning to soothe his taut features.

"You － You really don't care if I. . ."

Deshaun shook his head.

"Nah man, for real. You like who you like, right? No harm in that."

The words were enough to make Marshall exhale from his parted lips, the tension evaporating with his breath, and suddenly he was embracing his best friend, face buried in the warmth of his neck, grip secure on the grey t-shirt the other wore. Though taken aback by the show of affection, Deshaun didn't hesitate too long to reciprocate it, encasing the skinny male in his own arms, content to hear the shuddered sigh that left him.

"No matter what, you and I are in it for life, okay? We're gonna be famous rappers and everyone will respect us," Deshaun tugged back, making his stare meet that of a dazed Marshall, "You and I, we're gonna succeed. Everyone will know who we are. We'll be considered greats," he stopped to offer a smile, one he was happy to see Marshall shakily return, " 'Specially you, lil white boy, and I'll always have your back."

And Marshall believed him. Marshall put his faith into Deshaun and his promises, and even when he had ended up in a relationship with Kim, believing he truly loved her and his attraction to men was purely a phase, Deshaun supported him. Through long nights of fighting and screaming, through the birth of his daughter, through the two marriages that both ended in divorce, Deshaun was by Marshall's side.

When Marshall had finally been signed by an idolized rapper of his, Dr.Dre, and his career began taking off, Deshaun went along with him for the ride. To Marshall, Deshaun was a God send, a platonic soulmate of sorts.

He knew that no matter what, Deshaun wouldn't judge him, and as long as he had him in his life he didn't fear being himself, something that stood out in his raps.

For multiple videos Marshall would dress up in costumes, enjoying the fun of being somebody else and enjoying his time on the set. It had started when he dressed as Britney Spears and his own mother, a skirt and a fitted dress, blond wigs fastened on his head, lip gloss shimmering on his lips and black liner following the upper lids of his eyes.

When he'd seen himself in the mirror, it felt akin to having a revelation, a type of breathtaking discovery that made him gaze at his reflection with a bubbling sensation in his stomach. He felt － God forbid he ever said these words aloud － hot, or more aptly, pretty.

He'd been checking himself out in the dressing room alone for almost ten minutes when Deshaun came knocking, opening the door and finding his friend blinking at him like a rabbit before a wolf.

The two didn't move much, Marshall awaiting Deshaun's reaction to his Britney Spears dress-up with bathed breath, and the latter taking in the sight of his male best friend dressed as a woman and actually looking good.

"Damn."

Marshall shifted his weight onto one leg, eyes fighting to keep looking at the younger and ears being painted a feverish red. Deshaun snorted upon noticing the blush that had taken over Marshall's pale skin, shutting the door behind him before sauntering nearer to him, joining him in front of the full-length mirror.

"Lookin' good, Marsh."

The compliment had an instant effect, the slightly shorter male perking up at it.

"You really think so, or are you takin' the piss?"

"Swear to God, man, if I were high on something I would get it on with you."

Marshall's fist playfully met his friend's arm, still packing a bit of punch to it, at least enough to make Deshaun grab at the hit spot with an abrupt laugh.

"You would bang me even if you weren't high, admit it, you prick."

Deshaun's sight flickered down to the rosy lips which had fallen into a minimal pout, floated to the still burning cheeks, and met the eyes now peering at their person in the mirror once more.

"What, do you want me to?"

Marshall's brow hardened, but his mouth stayed shut, not bothering to respond.

Sighing in surrender, Deshaun closed the space between them and held the man by his exposed waist, shirt tied just slightly above it, his chest coming into contact with the other's back as he set his chin upon the hard shoulder. He could feel the material of the shirt beneath his touch and rubbed his right thumb in circles, feeling it move under his skin.

Lifting his gaze to their reflection, he saw the wistful expression that adorned Marshall's pink face, and let a smirk form on his lips.

He admired the strong contrast between their skin tone, him a deep brown whilst Marshall a fair white. It made him huff in amusement.

"Stop poutin', y'know you look gorgeous."

With that he nestled his face against Marshall's neck, inhaling the soft scent that lingered and pulling away with mild surprise.

"Did you put on perfume?"

A moment's hesitancy and Marshall replied.

"Wanted to go all out."

Deshaun hummed and proceeded to take another soft whiff, smiling slightly at the mumbled complaint about it tickling and being weird.

"I assume you like dressing like this?"

The older mildly squirmed in the loose but unyielding hold, prior to settling and giving a timid nod, focus now on the sight of his white-stocking-clad legs in the relatively short plaid skirt he wore.

A hum buzzed against his back and prickled at the nape of his neck, Deshaun grinning as he tilted his lips so as to guide his next words directly into his friend's ear, "Then I know what I'll be gifting you from now on."

True to his word － as always － Deshaun first brought to Marshall's place a paper bag, inconspicuous with its bland exterior, but when the shorter had gone to take out its contents, he was astounded to find a blouse, delicate in cloth, paired with simple denim shorts that rolled up at the ends, modestly reaching Marshall's mid-thigh.

"I wasn't really sure what you'd like and what size you take, but you do look fuckin' good in them, man."

Marshall smiled, grateful for having such a person in his life and for how proud the words of praise made him feel.

"Legit?"

"As legit as legit can be," came the light reply, "Now come on, do a lil model walk for me, baby."

Subsequently, it had eventually become tradition for the two to hold a sort of modelling event every time Deshaun would bring over new items of female clothing and Marshall's daughters were with Kim. The former would sit on the couch in the living room, watching whatever was being shown on television, whilst Marshall would be in his room, getting dressed in that which had been gifted, adding a wig and make-up he was still learning to apply. He'd struggled to do so for a while, and initially he wanted to complete the look by wearing heels, unfortunately though they were more of a pain than he thought they were worth, so he'd seldom bother putting them on.

Once he considered himself ready, Marshall would walk the hallways in his pair of black pumps, hurriedly fiddle with his wig one last time, maybe tug the end of his bottoms a tad lower, and then reveal himself to his best friend, face a consistent cherry red but contentment shining from him like an enveloping glow.

Deshaun would whistle, cheer, show his approval in any way he could, as long as he got to see Marshall being truly happy and flattered.

Deshaun was the key to his inner self, and so when Marshall lost him, so did a part of who he was disappeared.

He'd spend nights sobbing, trashing his home, throwing random objects and cursing everything's existence. He'd crumple to the floor in a heaving disaster, incapable of stopping the rattling of his frame and the flow of tears that's supply seemed never-ending.

It was then that things took drastic turns to the worse. Pills and alcohol, a cacophony of drugs, his body ballooning from the mistreatment and his daughters suffering at the sight of the shell of their father. Music didn't serve much of a purpose anymore, he hardly even had the will to get out of bed. He fell into a terrible cycle, one that caged him in its horror until it almost cost him his life. Waking up in the hospital after an overdose on Methadone pills, he swore to himself he would be the father his children deserved and he would live for the sake of his friend.

The road to recovery was tumultuous, but then again, most of his life had been and he'd survived that long, meaning he could get past more.

With his healing though, he made the choice of burying that part of him he'd shown solely to Deshaun, locking it away so deeply within him that for the most part he could ignore it. He attempted dating women, some stars with whom he could be as any man should be, perhaps erase that glitch in his system that made him different － but all tries ended in failure. All it brought to was the reminder of his true self, his honest desires and the conflict within.

Such feelings went bottled up for some years, Marshall too scared to put his faith into anyone else, too afraid to trust his entire self to another person, even someone like Elton John with whom he'd created a bond like no other after said man greatly aided him in staying sober.

He tended to avoid award shows and public appearances when he could, but on a night he decided to leave the house with his friends to attend an event, he met someone who'd once again pick open his scars and fill them with love.

Chapter Text

The night hadn't been of any great deal, simply the usual. Music that reverberated through his very being and lots of people, famous and not-as-much-known alike. Marshall hadn't been very into the whole thing, but his friends were having a blast and in turn it made him have a decent amount of fun too.

He'd been sitting at the liquor bar, sipping on a glass of chilled water, when over the rim he'd spotted a face that appeared familiar.

A thick beard, sleek black sunglasses perched on his nose and a smile that was well practiced. Marshall's gaze lingered along the arms decorated by numerous tattoos, too far away to discern each one and curious to know what they looked like up close. Raising his eyes to the face that had turned to glance at him, he realised that the man was no other than AJ McLean, a member of the group Backstreet Boys, and his heart skipped in his chest.

His general opinion on boy bands was quite negative, to say the least, and that was public knowledge. After all, he had dissed *NSYNC in his tracks a handful of times when they were still active; however, he couldn't really say the same when it came to the Backstreet Boys. They weren't half bad.

Thoughts dragging on and eyes remaining fixated upon the younger man, it wasn't until he had blinked a couple times that he noticed he'd caught AJ's attention, said singer now weaving his way through the scant people separating them.

Marshall panicked, gulping a mouthful of water he nearly choked on and almost slamming the glass down onto the counter. He could have managed to get up and escape the oncoming interaction had he reacted sooner, but AJ was already by his side, a tentative smile being shot his way prior to him ordering a drink.

The male pulled a stool closer to Marshall's own and proceeded to take a seat, body turned so that his front faced the rapper, with one forearm set upon the counter.

"Eminem, right?" he casually asked, attempting to make conversation.

Marshall's brain was buzzing with nerves and minor excitement, embarrassed by the fact that he'd been caught staring.

"Yea-Yeah, I am. You're. . ." he hesitated, tongue quickly sweeping over his lower lip, "You're from a boyband?"

Great, he believed he was managing to sound relatively calm and nonchalant.

AJ grinned, a soft laugh spilling from his lips followed by a quiet thank you to the server who handed him his order.

"Backstreet Boy's very own AJ McLean, at your service. Though I heard you don't really appreciate groups like mine much, correct?"

He was watching him as he rose the drink to his mouth, a lingering sense of temptation and intrigue glinting in his dark irises which Marshall fixated until he could feel heat creep along his neck, and let his sight travel to the bobbing of AJ's adam's apple when he swallowed, prior to uncomfortably straining his focus on the glass his own hand clutched.

"I mean, your band is better than others, I s'pose."

The words left him in a murmur and he initially doubted that AJ had even heard them, but when the smile morphed into a satisfied smirk he knew that wasn't the case.

"Really? Is this an actual compliment I'm receiving?" he playfully asked, leaning forward onto his arm and loosely swirling the coloured liquid in his glass.

"Mm, well appreciate it while you can because I don't give them out often."

AJ set a hand on where his heart beat, "I swear to mark my calender of this day and write about this moment in my diary tonight."

Marshall couldn't help but snort, a repressed grin shaping his lips, enough that AJ took note of it and gave a laugh of amusement himself.

"You know, I never thought I'd sit with you of all people and actually have a decent chat."

"Are you trying to insinuate that I'm not a pleasant person?"

A shrug, a teasing grin and mischievous eyes.

"Debatable. According to the media you're not."

"Yeah, the media can kiss my ass," Marshall grumbled, almost letting the irritation show too evidently in his response, "We both know that half the shit articles say is fake."

"Can't argue with that."

Their conversation came to a pause, AJ facing ahead as he drank and Marshall attempting to do the same, fighting his desire to stare at the former － but of course, it was a battle he quite briefly lost.

His sight drifted from the bartender mixing cocktails to the man abreast him, watching as he'd take a sip and wait before repeating the action, his nails painted black, the rings on his fingers shimmering in the lights that struck them, and finally Marshall could get a closer look at the art that covered his skin. He wondered how come AJ wore sunglasses even inside a relatively dark venue, and how the scene looked to him through those shades. It was when Marshall had the decided that yeah, AJ was definitely attractive, that the man himself turned his head around and their gazes locked, the rapper's mouth going dry and his stomach flip-flopping to the point where he felt nauseous.

"What? Is there something you need to say?"

AJ had quirked a brow but Marshall interpreted it to be more of taunt than question, something which contributed to the growing red that dyed his ears.

"No － Why would － Of course not."

Smooth, Marsh, real smooth. He could have hit his head against the counter in the current state of being utterly abashed he was in.

Clearly, his disastrous attempt at maintaining his cool was hilarious to AJ who guffawed loudly, the rasp that was in his voice relaying to that of his laugh, a sound that Marshall found himself appreciating even if it was at his expense.

"You're really nothing like I thought you'd be," AJ confessed once he'd calmed down, shaking his head before setting it askew, gazing upon Marshall with a fond grin, "You're kind of pretty, you know that?"

The older's cheeks flared fuchsia, his pulse quickening at the compliment he never thought he'd hear from anyone other than his late best friend. The shock in his eyes must have been taken negatively however, as AJ began to backtrack on his words.

"Right, sorry. Pretty isn't something you'd like to be called."

Marshall stiffened, afraid that the other would begin backing away.

"No, uh, it's cool. I － I like it."

". . . You do?"

The taller was looking at him in a way that made Marshall squirm, heart fluttering as it never had before, and he began to understand what trouble he was getting himself into.

He hummed, too fearful to expose anything else of himself to a man he'd been talking to for mere minutes. AJ didn't look to be let down and instead his features softened, his torso lilting nearer to Marshall who forced himself to not move away. Noticing the other's unease, the singer offered an amicable smile and carefully set his free hand atop the centre of Marshall's back, his lips diminishing their distance from his ear as he went to whisper, "I like you, Mister Eminem. Let's exchange numbers?"

The world stilled for what Marshall was certain to be a minute, no breathing nor blinking, no thoughts either. His brain flatlined, metaphorically speaking, and it took a few moments to come to terms with what was happening and to react to the situation.

Could he actually be so lucky that a guy he found attractive reciprocated the sentiment? Was he maybe misinterpreting the lingering stares and flirtatious smirks? Then again, was he willing to put himself and his career at risk just for the sake of his diverse sexual orientation? Was he willing to actually try seeing what it would be like with a man, just as he'd let himself imagine when he was younger? Heck, if he was careful they wouldn't be caught and when would such an opportunity roll by again?

He threw caution to the wind and allowed the corners of his lips to mildly turn upwards.

"I would like that."

After that event, AJ had been the first to message the rapper, their conversation starting from what their schedule that day was to whatever else could come to mind. Both being celebrities made it difficult for the two to meet whilst also keeping a low profile, but they had late night phone calls and chatted online at a consistent flow. It was so gradual that Marshall had hardly recognised it until it was too far gone － he had begun to trust AJ.

Trust was no meaningless thing for a man like himself, and when he grasped just how much of it he was putting into the boybander his breaths became sharp and short, the need to vomit from the sheer panic being convincing enough that he ran to the nearest bathroom and bent himself over the opened toilet.

The problem wasn't the fact that it was AJ he had begun to give his heart to, nor the fact that he was a male star, the issue was that he was giving his heart to someone at all.

Despite the few days he'd spent trying to distance himself from the other, AJ seemingly understood the inner workings of Marshall's distraught mind and confronted him as sweetly as he could, managing to ease his worries and make him see that them being apart brought more pain than not.

AJ continuously picked away at Marshall's fears like old scabs, relieving him of their ugly presence and giving him the chance to be free of them. It was odd really, how apparently made for one another they were. It had so become that after AJ suggested that they try the whole dating thing and take their relationship slow, Marshall's trust had been fully put into the former, and whilst it terrified him, he hadn't felt so cared for and carefree since Deshaun.

And so Marshall figured it was time to bare the very last inner layer of himself to the man he loved, most of him knowing that AJ would love him unconditionally even if there were a couple of voices in his head that called him a freak and a mistake for being the way he was and liking what he did. He couldn't help that however, it being due to having lived in a homophobic environment his entire life and being called demeaning terms such as 'prissy white fag boy' whilst being beaten by bullies.

Thus he'd asked AJ, or as said man had told him to call him after a month or so of their relationship, Alex, to remain seated in his lounge while he prepared something to show him. Not objecting, the younger did as told and sat splayed comfortably on the couch, eyes half-focused on the television screen.

Behind his closed bedroom door and in the silence of the space, the anxiety he'd managed to mostly keep contained until that moment started to overflow, his fists clenching and unclenching as he squeezed his eyes shut. It had been so long since he'd worn his female clothes, even longer since he'd shown himself to anyone else. He didn't have to go through with his decision, he comforted himself with that thought, but whatever nerves he was feeling then he knew he'd regret keeping it in the shadows.

He intook a drawn out and deep breath, trying to slow his erratic heart, and then walked to his chest of drawers and pulled out the bottom one. Beneath bed spreads and pillow cases he found the clothes he'd hidden years ago. He hoped they still fit him but most likely they did, considering how he was thinner then than before.

Taking out an old favourite of his － along with black fish-net tights he hadn't worn since the filming of his music video Without Me － a strange feeling washed over him in waves. It was a black dress gifted to him by Deshaun, with short t-shirt sleeves that helped his shoulders appear smaller and triangular slits above his hips that made his waist narrower. Briefly his gaze traced over the material, his fingers gliding over it before clutching it as he stood to his feet.

He peeled off his shirt and loose jeans, shucking his sneakers to the side prior to rolling the tights up his legs with an odd ease, then taking the dress in hand and holding it up in front of him. An instant of apprehension and then he stepped into the dress a foot at a time, guiding it up past his knees and over his hips with more familiarity than he recalled. Perhaps it actually fit him better now.

Once his arms were in and he adjusted the fitted cloth that stuck to his frame, he slid out a carton box from beneath his bed. In it were the two wigs he owned, the pumps and his limited collection of make-up. He settled on the blond bobbed wig that was the least knotted and after putting it on, he carded his fingers through the fake hair, excitement beginning to tingle at his insides for it had been so long since he'd had hair caressing the sides of his face.

He slid his pumps on and proceeded to grab his mascara, eye-liner and lip gloss, wanting to show himself to the man awaiting him downstairs as quickly as he could.

Marshall's hands quivered as he held a small mirror up, doing his liner with the other. He was a bit out of practice, but when he deemed it good enough he put on the mascara and opened the gloss, gently coating his lips with it. It smelt fruity and its sticky texture made him giddy.

Sighing at his still thundering heartbeat, he packed up everything and moved to the full-length mirror in the corner of his room, allowing his sight to scan his own reflection for any flaws he might need to fix. He could see none but the version he saw of himself brought him back to the night Deshaun had brought over the dress, grin on his face and urging Marshall to put it on as rapidly as he could.

The memory made him smile, a lingering look of sadness in his irises but warmth on his mouth.

He was ready.

One last exhale and he pulled open his door, made his way down the stairs and to the hall that led into the living room.

He could see the back of Alex's head as the man watched a quiz show, his ears picking up on his mumbled answers to the questions.

Steeling himself a last time he parted his mouth and called out to him, one hand set on the wall abreast him.

"Alex?"

The man instantly swivelled around, his response visibly dying on his lips the moment he processed what he saw.

"Oh － fuck."

Whether it was a positive curse or not, Marshall couldn't tell, but he remained immobile in his pose, eyes often drifting to the floor before meeting Alex's again.

It felt like minutes had passed until Alex arose from the couch, strode around it and neared the shorter, steps slowing as he took in the entirety of his boyfriend's appearance.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?"

His palm cupped one of Marshall's shoulders and the latter could feel the heat he transmitted through the material in a mere second.

He nodded, swallowing thickly, not trusting his voice to function at that moment in time.

Alex's hand began to glide down Marshall's arm and up again, passing from pale skin to black material, and Marshall shivered at the touch.

"You look so sexy like this, baby," he smiled, the shock fading from his eyes to be replaced with adoration, "You probably aren't even aware of how beautiful you are."

The flush on the older's cheeks continued to grow in intensity, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears he refused to let be free.

"You － You really. . . You're okay with me dressing like this?"

"Am I okay with it?" Alex asked with an underlying disbelief in his tone, "Shit, Marshall, I'm more than okay with it and if it makes you happy then I love it even more."

Marshall's heart thudded against his ribcage as if wanting to jump out, gratitude and contentment swelling within him to the point he could hardly keep them in. Alex must have noticed the emotions that painted the rapper's face and he released a soft chuckle, warm and embracing like a burning fireplace in winter.

"You're practically glowing, darling," he stated much to Marshall's bashfulness, lifting his right hand to hold the side of the other's face, thumb delicately rubbing along his jawline as his fingers brushed beneath his pink tinted ears, "I love seeing you like this. Thank you for showing all of yourself to me. Thank you for trusting me."

Marshall was about to reply but the words melted away from his mind when a warm pair of lips met his own and his body reacted on automatic, his hands going to grip at Alex's hips to tug him impossibly closer. Their mouths slid against one another's in a messy sort of perfect unison, slotting together as they always did, tongues darting out to meet each other. Marshall felt hands trail over his body and he groaned, loving the way they felt and the passion Alex held him with.

They made love that night, Marshall didn't even know for how long, but he knew it was something he would never forget, each moment imprinted into his memory permanently.

Wig now off and make-up smudged, Marshall let his head rest upon Alex's hot chest, his flesh smooth against the side of the older's face who could hear the steady beating of the other's heart. His fingertips traced over each dip and curve in the man's torso, breezing over the tattoos in a sleep-like state, drowsy from exertion and dazed with happiness.

Eventually, Alex's own hand went to take hold of Marshall's own and intertwined their fingers, locking their palms together above them, watching Marshall stare at them in a state of fascination.

He leaned forward and placed a delicate peck to the man's temple, smiling against his skin.

"I love you, Marshall."

The latter shifted upon the bed, not moving away but rather wrapping his leg over his partner's own, pressing himself to his side. He didn't reply but Alex didn't expect him to, knowing that the words wouldn't come easily to a man like Marshall. He didn't mind and instead gave a second peck before he too looked to their conjoined hands.

His nails were painted as they typically were and upon seeing Marshall's own natural ones his smile grew.

"Hey, babe, what do you say I do your nails tomorrow?"

At the suggestion, Marshall's head lifted, an element of eagerness mixed with hesitation in his eyes that seemed a deep blue in the dim lighting of the room.

"That would be nice, but －"

"Don't worry, I'll remove it for you before you go out."

Thinking over it for another second, Marshall nodded, plush and relatively kiss bitten lips forming a timid smile.

As he returned to his nestled position atop the younger, he gave a shallow sigh and a rub of his cheek against the man's chest, mumbling a content, "Thank you."

Chapter Text

It was over a year later that Marshall found himself single once again, but despite missing being in a relationship, he was happy with who he was and gradually accepting himself for the way he was born. Alex and him had ended things on good terms, in fact they still spoke from time to time and waved at each other when they happened to be at the same event.

Marshall was grateful for the other man, for he had allowed him to experience what being in a loving relationship was like, what being held in strong arms as he awoke after a night of passion was like, what being adored in whichever way he expressed himself was like. Alex showed him that he could be loved and he could be appreciated, and even after the end of their time together it continued to have its effect on his growth as a person.

He'd found the courage to open up to his close friend Elton, who told him he had already suspected such a thing to be possible and gushed about how proud he was of Marshall for accepting himself and sharing who he was with him. Truly, Elton sometimes felt like an exuberant gay uncle of his who babied him and guided him along whenever Marshall let him. He was a pleasant presence in the rapper's life and he never hid their strong friendship from the world, not caring what others' opinions may be.

Marshall did indeed distance himself from the media, focusing more on his music and his now adult daughters, his personal well-being, but he found it funny to sometimes tease.

From his lyrics that occassionally insinuated gay tendencies to coming out as gay in a film he made a cameo appearance in. It made him feel like a mischievous child, letting peek out his secret from time to time under the guise of a joke, such as when he had openly claimed to use Tinder and Grindr, dating apps for men who are either gay or bisexual. It was quite hilarious really, to see the world buzz with his simple statement, even if his representative then had to claim he was merely fooling around.

Marshall had come to a point in his life that he simply accepted it for what it was and let himself not feel caged by his own mind. He wasn't actively looking for anyone to be with, but should love find him, he wouldn't let his fear cease him and push it away. He would embrace the possibility of being happy and within himself he knew that that was all Deshaun ever wanted for him.