Three Wings Sprawled [Cook/Archie/Demi] [R]
[title] Three Wings Sprawled
[author] Lire Casander
[beta] princessleia04. Any remaining mistakes are my own fault.
[pairing] David Cook/David Archuleta/Demi Lovato
[rating] R
[word count] 807
[summary] All David wants is to come back to his apartment to celebrate his boyfriend's birthday with a bit of intimacy.
[disclaimer] I don't own nor have ever met David Cook, David Archuleta nor Demi Lovato. Everything about them is completely fiction, and any similarity with reality is a mere coincidence.
[warnings] Sexy times. Suggestion.
[author's notes] Written for tealsilver's birthday, for her prompt Cook/Archie/Demi threesome, for prompt #67 ~ lipstick from my 100_prompts table and for ficforhope.
David has long ago given up on trying explaining the way he lives his life. He has decided that the only ones who deserve to know about his personal issues are the people who remain close to his heart - his family, his best friends, his dog and his assistant. It's not as if Dublin minds, and his assistant gets paid for covering his ass anyway, so in the end it's just his family and his friends, and they all support him.
But after a particularly busy and complicated day at the studio - songs that wouldn't get out right, engineers that wouldn't shut up - all he wants to do is come back home and spend Archie's birthday in, with some pizza and some beer and maybe, just maybe, some other more pleasant activities. It's not David's plan to deal with a bunch of photographers following him in the streets as he walks back to the small condo he owns near the studio. The paparazzi were fun in the beginning of his career, but now they are just annoying excuses for human beings attempting to make the story of their sorry existences out of his life.
He is tired and cranky when one of the journalists handling a microphone shoves the device right under his nose and asks, "What do you have to say about that lipstick mark your boyfriend sported right after the charity gala dinner last night?" and then everyone follows her and David gets flooded with questions he can't answer, have you two broken up, is this the end of Cookleta, how have the Archuleta's reacted to this scandal, and David just wants to escape, run away and never look back. But he is stuck in an ocean of paparazzi he can't get out of, so he does the only thing he can think of.
He pulls his phone out of his front pocket and punches the digits he knows by heart now, barking out at his assistant to come and rescue him before he gets eaten up by those fuckers.
The car is there to pick him up in less than ten minutes, and they are the ten longest minutes of David's life, accosted by photographers and story-hunters with nothing better to do with their free time.
He enters the car and spits out the address of his condo, which is literally five minutes away from the studio, but it takes them nearly twenty between ducking the flashes and turning in all the right corners and stopping at all the red lights. David stomps out of the vehicle as he fishes his pocket for the keys, which are hidden in the deep creases of the jeans. He sighs audibly when he finally inserts the right key in the right lock, hoping he is not too late. From the sounds he can hear when he steps into the apartment, he gets the feeling that he is, indeed.
He arrives at the main room, intent on joining the fun, which is reaching its peak from the pants and grunts he can hear. He leans on the frame, shoulder bumping against the wood as he watched the scene unfolding before his eyes, his hands resting on his thighs as his jeans become uncomfortably tight.
Demi is sprawled on top of the bed, her taut body arched slightly. Archie is on top of her, his fingers caressing every patch of her skin except for her nipples, which are hard and claiming for an attention he isn't giving anytime soon. David shivers when he lets his gaze roam downwards and he finds out that Archie is already inside, as if David wouldn't come home anytime soon. He growls, low and hard, and both Archie and Demi turn their heads to the door, their eyes glazed over with something so similar to lust and want - from the Disney princess and the Idol goody-doer, no less.
"Weren't you going to wait for me?" he barks, strolling near them.
Archie smiles and reaches out one hand, tugging at David's shirt as Demi pulls him down on the bed with her, and David wastes no time in covering one of her nipples with his mouth as his left hand squeezes her right breast. He pulls away for a second, stares at Archie and frowns. "Next time you two decide to fool around at any event," he warns, "make sure you don't leave any lipstick marks anywhere!"
The other two giggle, already aware that they are not getting busted for their indiscretion, and David surrenders to the soft touch of Archie's fingers in his now exposed chest. He will call his assistant tomorrow to do some damage control for the way he has reacted to the paparazzi's bravado, but for now he wants to enjoy the little celebration they have organized for Archie's twentieth birthday.
[author] Lire Casander
[beta] princessleia04. Any remaining mistakes are my own fault.
[pairing] David Cook/David Archuleta/Demi Lovato
[rating] R
[word count] 807
[summary] All David wants is to come back to his apartment to celebrate his boyfriend's birthday with a bit of intimacy.
[disclaimer] I don't own nor have ever met David Cook, David Archuleta nor Demi Lovato. Everything about them is completely fiction, and any similarity with reality is a mere coincidence.
[warnings] Sexy times. Suggestion.
[author's notes] Written for tealsilver's birthday, for her prompt Cook/Archie/Demi threesome, for prompt #67 ~ lipstick from my 100_prompts table and for ficforhope.
David has long ago given up on trying explaining the way he lives his life. He has decided that the only ones who deserve to know about his personal issues are the people who remain close to his heart - his family, his best friends, his dog and his assistant. It's not as if Dublin minds, and his assistant gets paid for covering his ass anyway, so in the end it's just his family and his friends, and they all support him.
But after a particularly busy and complicated day at the studio - songs that wouldn't get out right, engineers that wouldn't shut up - all he wants to do is come back home and spend Archie's birthday in, with some pizza and some beer and maybe, just maybe, some other more pleasant activities. It's not David's plan to deal with a bunch of photographers following him in the streets as he walks back to the small condo he owns near the studio. The paparazzi were fun in the beginning of his career, but now they are just annoying excuses for human beings attempting to make the story of their sorry existences out of his life.
He is tired and cranky when one of the journalists handling a microphone shoves the device right under his nose and asks, "What do you have to say about that lipstick mark your boyfriend sported right after the charity gala dinner last night?" and then everyone follows her and David gets flooded with questions he can't answer, have you two broken up, is this the end of Cookleta, how have the Archuleta's reacted to this scandal, and David just wants to escape, run away and never look back. But he is stuck in an ocean of paparazzi he can't get out of, so he does the only thing he can think of.
He pulls his phone out of his front pocket and punches the digits he knows by heart now, barking out at his assistant to come and rescue him before he gets eaten up by those fuckers.
The car is there to pick him up in less than ten minutes, and they are the ten longest minutes of David's life, accosted by photographers and story-hunters with nothing better to do with their free time.
He enters the car and spits out the address of his condo, which is literally five minutes away from the studio, but it takes them nearly twenty between ducking the flashes and turning in all the right corners and stopping at all the red lights. David stomps out of the vehicle as he fishes his pocket for the keys, which are hidden in the deep creases of the jeans. He sighs audibly when he finally inserts the right key in the right lock, hoping he is not too late. From the sounds he can hear when he steps into the apartment, he gets the feeling that he is, indeed.
He arrives at the main room, intent on joining the fun, which is reaching its peak from the pants and grunts he can hear. He leans on the frame, shoulder bumping against the wood as he watched the scene unfolding before his eyes, his hands resting on his thighs as his jeans become uncomfortably tight.
Demi is sprawled on top of the bed, her taut body arched slightly. Archie is on top of her, his fingers caressing every patch of her skin except for her nipples, which are hard and claiming for an attention he isn't giving anytime soon. David shivers when he lets his gaze roam downwards and he finds out that Archie is already inside, as if David wouldn't come home anytime soon. He growls, low and hard, and both Archie and Demi turn their heads to the door, their eyes glazed over with something so similar to lust and want - from the Disney princess and the Idol goody-doer, no less.
"Weren't you going to wait for me?" he barks, strolling near them.
Archie smiles and reaches out one hand, tugging at David's shirt as Demi pulls him down on the bed with her, and David wastes no time in covering one of her nipples with his mouth as his left hand squeezes her right breast. He pulls away for a second, stares at Archie and frowns. "Next time you two decide to fool around at any event," he warns, "make sure you don't leave any lipstick marks anywhere!"
The other two giggle, already aware that they are not getting busted for their indiscretion, and David surrenders to the soft touch of Archie's fingers in his now exposed chest. He will call his assistant tomorrow to do some damage control for the way he has reacted to the paparazzi's bravado, but for now he wants to enjoy the little celebration they have organized for Archie's twentieth birthday.