rpf: these old beats.
these old beats.
rpf. selena gomez/david henrie. written for a prompt at omgjustinalex as a follow up to what selena said in this interview. (basically, ryan seacrest insinuates that she has a thing for david and selena laughs it off and says- "we'll invite you to our wedding." three years of dancing back, pulling forward and all the while the screen shows them as siblings. pg. 450 words.
“So where would you like to hold the wedding?”
There was soda in her mouth at one point, she thinks (she's sure of this and she rarely is certain of things around him) and his words send it straight to her nose. Attractive. she thinks, wiping at her t- shirt, shaking fingers and all.
“To what wedding are you referring?” Her mouth curls, lashes flick up and down and yeah, that doesn’t work on him. The top of their script reads “Season Three.” It’s vaguely disturbing, if you think about it, (she tries not to) that she’s known him for three years.
Three years of dancing back, pulling forward and all the while the screen shows them as siblings. She shakes her head, shoves the napkin at him and fiddles around in her purse for another, while he smirks and tosses it away.
They’re on set, today- almost. They’re supposed to be running lines but really, they have two Emmys and they’ve never had to run lines before. Clearly, they’re doing something right.
She’s just about gotten the clasp of her purse open, when he leans forward. Palms face down on the arms of her chair. If it were anyone but him it might be intimidating. (Three years. Her heart slams hard against the ribs.)
“Our wedding.” Drags out the words. (Bastard. she thinks, huffs.) “The one you’re already preparing a guest list for.”
Her sigh brushes over his chin. “Of course. I was thinking, maybe Spain? It would make our fictional mother happy, wouldn’t it?”
He tenses, tight jaw and his hands lift off her chair, sliding back into his. This does make her nervous- he’s moodier than most people know.
“You’re not my sister, you know.”
It’s off hand, his ankles crossed out before him, head tilted away from the sun. He’s wearing that green shirt today, the one that spills over his torso and stretches there. There’s something that pops in the inside of her cheek, makes her mouth go dry and her tongue moves over her lips.
“I am also aware of this.” Keeps it mildly annoyed. Though, really, she knows what he’s talking about.
Three years and “David’s like a brother to me.” One too many times for comfort, his foot brushing hers under the table. It makes moments like this harder to swallow, same story they sell to everyone else.
He makes a noise, something gruff in his throat and turns away.
“Come on.” Her knees buckle beneath her as she rises, fingers wrapped around the crushed square of cloth and his hand cups her elbow. “We should get back.”
His fingers linger there, near the heat of her waist. Their feet hit set and he falls away.
Her elbow in his side- “Justin,” she whines and they slip into it, easily.
End scene.
rpf. selena gomez/david henrie. written for a prompt at omgjustinalex as a follow up to what selena said in this interview. (basically, ryan seacrest insinuates that she has a thing for david and selena laughs it off and says- "we'll invite you to our wedding." three years of dancing back, pulling forward and all the while the screen shows them as siblings. pg. 450 words.
“So where would you like to hold the wedding?”
There was soda in her mouth at one point, she thinks (she's sure of this and she rarely is certain of things around him) and his words send it straight to her nose. Attractive. she thinks, wiping at her t- shirt, shaking fingers and all.
“To what wedding are you referring?” Her mouth curls, lashes flick up and down and yeah, that doesn’t work on him. The top of their script reads “Season Three.” It’s vaguely disturbing, if you think about it, (she tries not to) that she’s known him for three years.
Three years of dancing back, pulling forward and all the while the screen shows them as siblings. She shakes her head, shoves the napkin at him and fiddles around in her purse for another, while he smirks and tosses it away.
They’re on set, today- almost. They’re supposed to be running lines but really, they have two Emmys and they’ve never had to run lines before. Clearly, they’re doing something right.
She’s just about gotten the clasp of her purse open, when he leans forward. Palms face down on the arms of her chair. If it were anyone but him it might be intimidating. (Three years. Her heart slams hard against the ribs.)
“Our wedding.” Drags out the words. (Bastard. she thinks, huffs.) “The one you’re already preparing a guest list for.”
Her sigh brushes over his chin. “Of course. I was thinking, maybe Spain? It would make our fictional mother happy, wouldn’t it?”
He tenses, tight jaw and his hands lift off her chair, sliding back into his. This does make her nervous- he’s moodier than most people know.
“You’re not my sister, you know.”
It’s off hand, his ankles crossed out before him, head tilted away from the sun. He’s wearing that green shirt today, the one that spills over his torso and stretches there. There’s something that pops in the inside of her cheek, makes her mouth go dry and her tongue moves over her lips.
“I am also aware of this.” Keeps it mildly annoyed. Though, really, she knows what he’s talking about.
Three years and “David’s like a brother to me.” One too many times for comfort, his foot brushing hers under the table. It makes moments like this harder to swallow, same story they sell to everyone else.
He makes a noise, something gruff in his throat and turns away.
“Come on.” Her knees buckle beneath her as she rises, fingers wrapped around the crushed square of cloth and his hand cups her elbow. “We should get back.”
His fingers linger there, near the heat of her waist. Their feet hit set and he falls away.
Her elbow in his side- “Justin,” she whines and they slip into it, easily.
End scene.