My Favorite Sweater

My Favorite Sweater

A Story by Jess
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'Blue jeans, white shirt...'

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“You were sorta punk rock

I grew up on hip-hop”

 

She was so uncomfortable, feeling like a sponge crawling with bacteria. She absorbed all of the ferocity, calamity and gossip that clogged the atmosphere of the room, not to mention the blistering heat that dampened her garb. She just wanted to leave but for a moment, smoke a cigarette outside and smell the trash that was the glamorous New York City, drowning in fan endearment somehow. Their love for her was boundless, yet this superficial love that surrounded her choked her until she was made to believe her statistics would end.

            Say goodbye to the ‘60s glam girl of the modern era. She called for altruism and sincerity; something on her iPod or Pontiac radio that would give her solace and peace. Something that meant she was real and that she mattered beyond the fresh pages of a fashion magazine or the pixels behind the critics’ blogs. Something that would drown the exhaustion in her eyes.

            Eyes.

 

“Walked into the room you know

You made my eyes burn”

 

            When she looked up, merely just to fold her golden strands of hair (real and fake blended together) back behind her ear, she didn’t intend on finding him.

            He almost deserved a capital letter for the trivial pronoun like the God above, dazzling her with light that created more than just a withered photo opportunity. She had never seen anyone quite as beautiful as Him. The man of a million adversaries and obstacles. The man of a million bullet wounds that failed to pierce the porcelain of his skin. The man of a million wondrous and awe-inspired persons that beckoned for his appearance, a sneaky photograph perhaps. The man of a million stories without the frailties of egotism but rather the captivation of innocence. The man of a million things that Lana didn’t have the words to describe.

            Him.

            He gazed at the faceless individuals sharply, avoiding a question and darting an excuse. Lana wondered why he was here at all in the middle of the bustling city with pretentious musical enterprisers. Lana may have felt like a sponge, but He probably felt like a leech’s prey. He shifted uncomfortably around people whom he’d never met and never wanted to, keeping his head down so his eyes were consumed with expensive heels and rutted carpet. At that moment, she would give her right arm to see the blue depths of his irises.

            “Lana? Lana!”

            They sounded like seagulls in her ear, desperately begging for any stray foodstuff to preoccupy their time. She figured silence and blatant evading were the best rewards, giving them more time to focus on the goal rather than be disappointed by the journey.

            “Lana?”

            She thought about sex and its false representations. How the build-up is so intense and passionate, the thoughts so jumbled and delighted, yet when the moment of climax is achieved you find yourself thinking, “That’s it?”

            “Lana?”

            She looked up, startled to embarrassment. Where had she gone? How long had she been there? Here, in this same spot, her heels puncturing the blood red carpet as she was consumed with her thoughts, she had stood without thinking for a moment about the myth that was slowly approaching her. Him.

            His eyes were dazzling, euphoric even. They were blinded with a silver cloud, possessing a dark rain of a summer’s eve where no birds chirped, no children sang, yet they looked so happy in their unique way. His skin was blemish free; a wrinkle danced here and there but they molded together into fine trappings one would see in a painting; fine lines that awoke tiny circles: pores. His lips looked heavenly soft, as if the venomous lyrics he reprised didn’t sting or singe the sensitive skin. Lana found herself so entranced that he had to repeat her name…twice.

            “I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m very out of it,” she excused. She blushed and looked down, noticing plain sneakers like those for teenage boys rather than infamous men of his collegiate stature.

            “It’s fine,” He laughed. “How are you?” Lana looked up, wishing that she hadn’t because now he was smiling faintly, drying her of any possible words to describe how exactly she was “doing”.

            “Bored…” she said truthfully. She was delighted by a chuckle from Him, light and airy on her skin that awakened goose-bumps.

            “Me too.” She didn’t know what provoked her to make such a bold remark in the next approaching seconds, but it came like a firestorm that burned in His magnetic gaze.

            “You wanna get out of here?” A tuff of her sandy colored hair dripped across her face to shield her deep red blush, awaiting a disastrous response no doubt. Politely, He placed the fine hairs back behind her ear, becoming quite scandalous as He stroked her makeup ridden cheek lewdly. Whatever entranced Him to behave so thoughtlessly in the presence of inappropriate flashing cameras and snobby reporters had to have been pure insanity, not because he had a mind-consuming fascination with Lana Del Rey.

            “Love to.” Her heart wasn’t soaring just yet, but like a steady aircraft she waited for the passengers to be seated and revved up the engine before taking flight. He took her hand in His so delicately with frail and feeble fingers that she thought they make collapse in her grasp. He never took her eyes off her face, even when she turned to look straight ahead at pale faces to escort Him outside. Several wild cameras flashed and she felt like a princess rather than a dying celebrity. The fame she received from His perfection alone withstood the artificial glamor of pop culture. The headline, “Lana Del Rey Has Eminem Playing Her Video Games” had little clarity in her mind.

            She was initially surprised at how much of a gentleman He was. At the end of the day, the lyricist was rarely known as a man of endearment and respect towards women. It certainly was not because he had a mind-consuming fascination with Lana Del Rey. And as her stupidly expensive high heels hit the man-made earth of jungle concrete, she was greeted with the sense of self-assurance, something she had not possessed until the closeted gentleman said hello.

            “Want a light?” she asked bravely. She looked at him with confidence, breathing in the smog of a city that was branded with her mark. He gave her a childish look, one of innocent poignancy.

            “I don’t smoke,” He stated in a whisper. They shared a brief moment of silence, Lana becoming high off of his cologne now rather than his holy stature. She pulled out her Camels from an absurdly expensive purse with her favorite gold plated lighter, all without tearing her gaze away from His eyes which sprung a litter of dancing stars in their depths.

 

“You’re so fresh to death and

Sick as ca-ca-cancer”

            “You do now,” and she gave him a cigarette while placing another in the corner of her mouth. She lit away, the fiery color like an angel in the dark, then she passed the lighter to Him.

            He didn’t deny her offer, strangely enough; and like peer pressure her fumbled with the damn thing but finally got it to light, choking on the abrupt flood of smoke. Lana had all but forgotten that the man was f*****g sober and she just fed him a nicotine dosage that ignited his organs. She looked at his eyes through the cloud of fumes, dousing their effect momentarily. They were back in a minute, and suddenly she couldn’t feel her legs.

            “Why did you come here?” she asked, taking a drag.

            “To find you,” He said with a smile so cocky that she didn’t know if it was sarcasm or just the honest truth.

            “Oh yeah?” she started coyly. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

            “Not yet,” He whispered and he waited until she pulled the cigarette from her mouth before diving towards it.

            She didn’t close her eyes at first, just gasped when his soft lips hit hers in a sear so powerful her bones went ablaze. He didn’t start off slow, only pushed his way into her mouth like a dangerous shark after unintellectual prey. He cradled her face so delicately Lana thought she might faint at the stark contrast of force. His tongue poured into her and she didn’t think about anything, just let herself go and focused on the sheer intensity of the moment, sensually wrapping her own tongue around his into an unlikely companionship.

 

“You fit me better than my

Favorite sweater”

 

            He let go of her mouth and sealed his place on her neck, a new home where he cooed her name and let out a string of obscenities so vile it made her think of the day she bought The Slim Shady LP, returning home and becoming vastly fascinated by such a prolific poetic genius.

            “Liz…” She was startled when she heard her real name being whispered so faintly in the night. It made her think about how this illusion of a man had been able to keep a record on her, and if he knew anything else about Elizabeth Grant. She knew in that moment that they needed to get the hell out of there.

            In a lustful haze and through fluttering eyelashes, she peeked around to find somewhere- anywhere- where she could continue her passionate assault on this god of a human being before Star weekly wrote an article about the rendezvous. She found an ally-way behind them, so dark and forbidden next to the bright and blustering gala in front of them, and she thought it was absolutely perfect.

            “Come this way,” she sighed quietly, hesitant to leave his assault on her neck but needing more of Him desperately. He was flabbergasted by the pull of His arm into the dark space so wild and treacherous. He assumed that it was a fantastic place to do what he had planned all night to do to Miss Rey. It was hideously frightening, pitch-black and riddled with the ghosts of New York past, creatures that Lana was familiar with. Once there, Mr. Mathers was back at branding Lana with his kiss, pushing her up against a brick wall laced with undefinable atrocities that she placed in the back of her mind.

            She tried to ignore the flame erupting between her legs as He groped his way down her body, no longer possessing delicate fingers but ones of pure lust and greed. Their cigarettes dropped to the earth with soundless thuds, their fire fading in the cool air. He clawed at her body, chewing on her lips with reverence and eagerness like a young boy, slapping Lana into a world unknown.

            His hands danced across her sides, tickling her skin in areas where her dress exposed her, until they arrived at her sweater. He fumbled with the buttons, muttering curses when they were difficult to open, the plastic slippery in His grasp. The fabric fell to the ground, littered with dirt and their cigarettes, but all Lana really cared about was being surrounded and filled by this man, to be captured in a moment so profoundly spontaneous and lovely.

            He pushed her dress on the back of her thighs from the slit in the center, thus bringing her silky legs around His waist. She was bereft with His strength and the sensation of being in mid-air, breathing in his scent closer. However, it was getting harder to breathe by the second as His kisses invaded her senses; she took the liberty of pushing His face away if only just to look in His eyes again. She wanted to see His lust face to face.

            He was panting like a wild animal unleashed, His cheeks inflamed as she framed His face with her hands calmly. His eyes were soupy with animalistic lust and temptation. She wondered if she looked the same way.

            “I’m gonna ruin you,” He said with a straight face. A comment that would’ve made her blush a moment ago now made her livid with fiery passion.

            “But you already have.” She pulled him into another kiss, reaching down with her hands gently to undo his zipper, releasing the evidence of His desire. He reached the top of her thighs, cascading his hands across her sensitive skin to remove her undergarments. Now they were throbbing, inflamed, and drenched in darkness in a world so filled with light.

            When He first entered her, she gasped. It wasn’t a planned response, but the feeling overwhelmed her in a way she couldn’t describe. The feeling of each increment of his length piercing its way inside her made her bite down on her lover’s lip. He stretched her walls in ways she wasn’t used to, and she had to think to herself why she didn’t check how big He was.

            Or maybe it was the imagination that fueled the pleasure.

            He sighed when He bottomed out, relinquishing His place from her mouth to her neck. He bit down hard on the fleshy skin on the first thrust. She had to fight heaven and hell just so she wouldn’t scream or cry out, but her mouth opened wide at the pressure of Him assaulting her muscles from the inside. She had a fierce grip on His broad shoulders, her fake but sharp nails digging through cloth what-have-you at the feeling of the next thrust. Hesitant, He released His bite on her neck (a mark of the beast stinging the area) to moan deliciously in her ear, His eyes fluttered shut with another sharp thrust. He couldn’t remember the last time anything felt this good to Him; her legs were so smooth and heavy on His waist, her facial expressions so endearing with pleasure locked in her eyes, the muscles inside of her clinging to His erection like the warmth of the sun on a summer’s day.

            That’s when He decided to speed things up, but Lana hadn’t buckled her seatbelt yet. With a strong and almost painful grip on her hips, He pounded into her like He was a teenager again. He didn’t fail to look into her eyes, seeing surprise and wonder in them, disastrously enchanted. She sighed and let out faint little whimpers, embarrassed even by the strained noises locked away in the deepest parts of herself. He exalted his aggression with deep, luscious thrusts that threatened to penetrate even deeper inside of her, and soon she was begging for something to ground her. She pulled Him in for a light and airy kiss, ignited by the heat in their eyes. Their lips only skidded slightly when she moaned again, Him poking at a spot inside of her that made stars dance behind her eyes. The result ended in deep pants that made their hearts thud in their chests. Lana was close. So was He.

            “Lana…” He sighed.

            “Marshall…” she barely uttered before her skin quivered and her legs buckled. She dug her nails into His back so stiffly that her nails chipped and broke under the weight of her climax. He growled into her exposed throat and shook with His own climax, hearing His name being called setting His skin ablaze.

            Lana was stuck in a blissful twilight, caught in between having her pleasure end but being delighted that it lasted as long as it did. She got to share with Him such a wonderful, religious even, experience.

            “You a’ight, angel?” She’s pushed into a world so faint and shattered when she hears Him call her that. It makes her believe that this moment was real, but also so obtainable. In a way, she wanted to believe that only they would be able to recall the details of this night, like the only two people in the world. But, in a sense, they were.

            “Yes,” she whispered. They gathered themselves briefly, Lana fixing her dress and Marshall zipping his blue jeans. They were flushed, looking into each other’s eyes without having to say a word.

            “Let me get you a cab,” He offered with a hand and a smirk. She gave a nervous laugh, knowing the bad little thing they did and finding an ending to a fucked up story.

            “Thank you.”

            They walked back into the light, a baptism of reality rather than one of Hollywood falsettos. She giggled as He played with her hair, waving down a cab. She didn’t have the heart to tell Him that she had driven here in her own car.

            When the cab stopped in front of them, she glanced down at His hand longingly.

 

“I was like ‘No, please!’

Stay here”

 

            “Goodbye…Elizabeth,” He said sadly. She placed a warm hand on his cheek, brushing the skin, then smiled.

            “Goodbye Marshall,” she said with sincerity. They pledged their goodbyes with a scandalous kiss, and Lana slid on the leather in the cab, smelling New York City and cigarettes. When she closed the door and waved, blowing a kiss, He smiled. He didn’t look away until the cab was too far down the street. Neither did she.

            And she realized that sometimes dreams do come true. He still had her sweater.

 

“I will love you til the end of time

I would wait a million years”

© 2012 Jess


Author's Note

Jess
My Laninem fic. Inspired by "Blue Jeans" and 8 Mile. I hope you guys enjoy my fandom crossing weirdness. Mature because sex.

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Added on August 8, 2012
Last Updated on October 9, 2012
Tags: lana del rey, eminem, het

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Jess
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