WWAWR - [10] Each Touch Belongs to Each New Sound
Chapter Ten [R]
Each Touch Belongs to Each New Sound
All Ramiele needs to do is listen to the crowd's response to the soaring melodies from David's mouth and the notes flying out of his guitar, and she knows immediately that there is no way her voice is going to stand out against one like David Cook's. She knows he's been an early favorite with the public, and with a performance like tonight's, there's no way he's going to go home, and she knows it.
She also knows, though, that getting nervous like this --especially right before her performance, because David is finishing up his song; the melodies are more drawn out now, and his strumming has gotten slower-- will do her no good. All the worrying and all the inexplainable feelings welling up in her stomach will, in no way, shape, or form, help her situation, and as she drills this into her mind, David returns, his head down and a smile on his face as he recovers from his obvious adrenaline rush, the crowd still going crazy for him even though he is no longer on stage. She gets to congratulate him last, after Jason and the younger David and Kristy, long after Michael, because Michael was the very first one to greet him, had been waiting by the stage to envelope him quickly in a hug and whisper a little something into his ear.
The young Filipina noticed immediately that whatever it was that Michael said to him, it made his smile grow wider ever so slightly, even if it made him bow his head just a little bit more. She dismissed it as a little bit of teasing --a little bit of, "Those girls are going crazy for you, mate!" maybe; she didn't know-- because Michael and David were known all around the house to do that to each other a lot. She didn't know how to describe Michael and David, really; she could follow along and jump on the bandwagon and call them a 'bromance,' but the term was just so --so simple for two people who cared so much about each other. One had to be blind not to notice the more-than-just-brothers look the two exchange so often, the looks were plain as day! This was one place, of course, that she could not enter, because it is just --them, their own little world with a population of two and a "Do Not Disturb" sign.
She is, of course, and has been tempted to ask David about his close relationship with Michael, and almost does so as she goes up to the man she has looked up to as a brother to congratulate him, but she quickly comes to the conclusion that she really doesn't have the right to ignore the "Do Not Disturb" sign on their little world. In fact, truth be told, she has little time to do anything else but give him an "Oh, my gosh, David! That was great!" and a hug and has less time to receive a hug, a beaming smile, and a "Thanks" in return.
Ryan has begun to show the tape of her rehearsal with Dolly.
Michael and David settle into a light conversation as they proceed to move to the back of the cluster of contestants gathered at the side of the stage, eagerly awaiting Ramiele's performance of 'Do I Ever Cross Your Mind.' Of course, David is looking forward to it, too, but he doesn't think he can make it through the night sane as he waits for the ninth and final performance of the night --Michael's. Having the Australian as company increases his level of sanity bit by little bit, but it still isn't enough. The anticipation is slowly eating him, and even as he laughs along with what it is Michael has just told him, even as he leans into Michael's touch as the Australian wraps an arm around him, and then makes wild gestures with his other hand, the little nagging thought of Why don't you just force it out of him with a kiss or two? doesn't disappear.
For a moment, he wants to. He really does want to --but then it would be unfair. It really does seem to David that Michael had put a lot of thought into tonight's performance --what man goes out of his way to enlist the help of seven other people to keep a song choice so buried underneath everything?-- and any more prying would result to all Michael's planning being absolutely worthless. And then the Australian's hard work would go down the drain, and David thinks he'd be more devastated if that had happened, so he settles into the moment, just --just waiting it out.
After all, the feelings he has for Michael --adoration love respect love trust love love love-- are what is getting him through this, so he's going to last through this. For Michael's sake.
"--and then, I was thinking, why don't we just stay home after?"
David has completely lost the right train of thought to properly continue the conversation, and so turns to Michael with a little bit of confusion of his face. He cannot turn as much as he'd like, cannot turn his body fully and mesh with Michael's as the taller man keeps a strong and steady grip on his shoulders --Damn you and your strong hands, Michael Johns. "But we're going out," David says. "We've always been going out to dinner with everyone else after every show."
Michael smiles lightly, patiently at him. "You haven't been listening to me, have you?"
David ducks his head sheepishly, and brings up a hand, nestling it at the base of his neck. "No, not really."
"I was thinking of just staying at home, you and me," Michael tells him, leaning in close and whispering lowly. "I've got another surprise planned out for you."
David raises an eyebrow. "You have a thing for these surprises, don't you, Michael?"
"Not as much as I have a thing for you, babe." Michael laughs, winks, and then David needs to forcefully restrain himself from dragging Michael to the dressing rooms. "Not as much as I have a thing for you."
He and David are only separated when the younger man is called over by Jason. The man with the dreadlocks flashes the both of them what is meant to be taken as, Michael is sure, an apologetic smile, but he doesn't need anybody else to tell him that the smile comes across as everything but apologetic. Michael slowly, reluctantly releases David form his grip and his fingertips linger for just a moment more. David gives him a promising little smile, and it isn't long before all Michael is staring at is David's back.
As though out of thin air, Carly and her coconspirator Brooke appear, the latter commenting idly, "I have to applaud you, you know." She turns herself slightly away from Michael, presumably to watch Ramiele being critiqued by the judges, but he knows she is still speaking to him. "I don't think I would've been able to keep a secret from my Dave."
Michael is loathe to admit that it takes him a minute or so before the light bulb in his mind turns on and makes him realize that Brooke's husband's name is, indeed, Dave. Carly appears to have noticed this much faster than Brooke, whose focus is still divided between the conversation with Michael and, now, Paula's critique of the short Filipina girl; the Irishwoman obviously makes no attempt to prevent her giggling from coming out of her mouth.
"Aw, Mike," she says, shaking her head. "Really?"
Michael glares long and steady at her, but it no longer affects her like it used to; he quickly removes the expression from his face, however, when Brooke finally turns her full attention to him, turning her body back and facing him directly. "Well, it looks like he's holding up pretty well, don't you think?"
The Australian looks over at Jason and David, who are in a discussion about their guitars --both men are cradling their instruments in their hands, Jason on the defensive and David continuing on relentlessly-- and has to agree. He is distracted for a moment as David hands his guitar to Jason, who takes it gently, as the other man congratulates Ramiele as she comes backstage and Jason is announced to perform "right after the break." His eyes wander back to Brooke and Carly, and his reply crawls its way out of his mouth. "It looks like it." There is something else he wants to say, of course. There's always something else.
"Do you think he'll like it, though? Honestly? Do you think he'll like the song?"
Brooke and Carly exchange exasperated looks with no hesitation. The blonde gives her a little nod of encouragement, and Carly proceeds to answer for the both of them: "Of course he'll like it, Mike." She doesn't give in to the temptation to sigh in frustration, because, even though she and Brooke have been on the receiving end of such worries for days on end, she can't lie and say she doesn't think it to be absolutely adorable that he is this concerned about David's reaction to his song choice that everybody else's opinion just comes second. It's so wrong to want to pinch the cheeks of a grown man, much less the cheeks of a tall, toned man like Michael, but Carly has no problem entertaining the thought. "I've told you over and over again before, Mike. He'll love anything you do."
The glint in Brooke's eyes are unmistakable. "I bet you anything, Michael Johns," she tells him, "that he'll still love it --and you-- if you decide to go Whitney and sing 'I Will Always Love You.'"
Michael is the first to laugh at an, admittedly, outrageous thought, although Carly cannot help but wonder how the song would sound like from a male perspective. The Australian's laugh is so contagious that Brooke is leaning on Carly within seconds. He, of course, recovers from the laughter first and puts on a serious face as he says, "Nope. Don't think I'm diva enough to take on Whitney." He winks playfully. "At least, not yet, you know." The three of them bask in the sound of each other's laughter. "But, thank you. I needed a laugh."
It must have been something over their shoulders that attracts Michael's attention, because the last thing they hear from him as he walks away suddenly is, "But I think he needs one even more."
David Archuleta watches forlornly as Jason and the other David resume their conversation about their guitars, comparing the two instruments now once more resting in their respective stands; Brooke's guitar, which sits simply to the right of David's, is referred to every so often. They have a world of their won as they throw opinions about string widths and guitar weights and several different models, and not only does it make the younger David left out because he cannot relate, it embarrasses him that he is the only one of the remaining male contestants who doesn't know how to properly hold a guitar in his hands, where to place his fingers on the --what do you call it?-- well, whatever you call it, and--
"You all right there, Archuleta?" The arm that is thrown around his shoulder and the unmistakable Australian accent make him tilt his head up, but as the realization hits him --after all, Michael, too, knows how to play the instrument that Jason is once more lovingly cradling in his arms, a soft and gentle expression on his face as though carrying a baby-- he lowers his head and attempts to move away. "Yeah, --"
"I wasn't really expecting an answer, you know," Michael tells him offhandedly, and David is thrown off course by the Australian's response, "W --what?"
"Archie, I could tell something was wrong from fifty miles away." David can feel his face growing hotter by the second. "And I may not be one of your high school counselors or a certified psychiatrist, but I'm going to act like I'm one of them and ask you to tell me what's wrong anyway."
The younger man has no idea how to reply to Michael, because every response he comes up with just makes his face redder than before. He doesn't want to sound as though he's complaining about not knowing how to play an instrument, but he doesn't want to be rude and insist that there is absolutely nothing wrong, because Michael's showing genuine concern for him. When he finally thinks he's got a proper answer, Michael speaks up again, and the answer dissolves into the nothingness it came from.
"It's got something to do with those three beauties, isn't it?" The hand at the end of the arm wrapped around his shoulders are casually pointing in the general direction of the guitar stands. David's nod in response is meek, and although he expects a burst of laughter from Michael, it doesn't come, and he gains a little spot of confidence as he glances up. Michael is smiling, a wistful look in his eyes as though remembering something from long ago, and then the arm around his shoulders comes off. "You know," Michael tells him while crossing his arms, "there's nothing to be embarrassed about if you don't know how to play an instrument."
"Yeah, there is," David says resignedly. "Can't you see? I'm the only guy contestant left who doesn't know how to play a guitar, and --"
"You feel left out?" The tone in Michael's voice suggests his answer is a simple guess, but David thinks that Michael can see right through him. "There's nothing wrong with feeling left out, either. People who share something in common are more than likely drawn to each other than, well, people who don't share anything in common." David opens his mouth to interrupt, but Michael shushes him with a shake of his head. "I'm not saying you and David or Jason or even you and I don't share anything in common, because even if we three do play the guitar, and you might not, we all express ourselves through our voice --and, kid, you've got one hell of a voice."
David shakes his head negatively; Michael sighs, but continues to be patient. "Just --just listen to me, all right, Archie? There's nothing wrong with not knowing something. Every day's an opportunity to get started on learning something new, you know. Don't feel bad because you can't play one instrument or another; you can work wonders with your fingers when you're on a piano, and hey --I'm pretty sad to say that I'm not the greatest at it. But it's not stopping me, is it? Hell, I'll take lessons if I really want to know how."
David sighs, "I do want to learn, but --the schedule, and the restrictions, and the--"
There is laughter in Michael's eyes. "When you're ready to learn, I'm just at the end of the hallway with Dave and Jase."
Michael leaves David with a final clap on his back. Moving once more to find Carly, who hasn't since moved from her spot with Brooke, he tells her, "You're up next, huh?"
The Irishwoman doesn't look the least bit uncomfortable as Simon begins his critique of Jason. Well, she has no reason to, Michael thinks to himself, and truly, there is no reason for Carly to be any form of nervous tonight. Michael begins to believe Carly is some sort of musical chameleon and stops himself from snorting at the ridiculousness of the thought just in time. They all know she could belt out power ballads and rock songs, but tonight's song --it would show them a completely different sight of Carly, a sight of a gentle woman, a woman who, in character, is helplessly maybe even blindly in love with someone who leaves and comes back and the cycle never ends, a Carly so close to the heart that Michael thinks it'll be one of her best.
"Carly's got this one in the bag," Brooke comments with a large smile on her face. "She's always got her songs in the bag."
"The problem is whether or not they" --Carly jerks a thumb in the judges' direction as the camera flutters over to them-- "like it."
"Well, not really," Michael says. "The more they --well, the more Simon hates a performance, the more America is worked up into a frenzy about voting for you."
"I'd rather not get sympathy votes, you know?" Carly turns to Michael and looks him square in the eye confidently. The dark makeup around her eyes does nothing but bring out the fiercest blue they can get, and in their fiercest, they are beautiful. "I'd rather be voted off on a really good performance than be kept on based on the worst performance in the world." She shrugs. "But it is nice to know that you've got someone behind you all the time."
"You've always got us," Brooke assures her, and Michael nods. He turns, spies Jason being congratulated by David, and the rest are following suit. Carly and Brooke have noticed this, too, and before Carly gets the chance to move away, Brooke envelopes her in a hug, and tells her, "Go get 'em, Carly."
Michael offers her a smile.
"There's no stopping you now, Carly. Knock 'em out."
David watches Carly's performance with Jason steadily lingering by his side, and cannot help the impatience building. Carly's performance is beautiful, for sure, because the he knows the woman doesn't give anything but her all during these grueling Tuesdays, but it's five out of nine, now, and there are three more performances --Archie, Kristy Lee, and then Syesha-- and he cannot help himself. Jason pats him once on the back, "Just three more," and David inhales deeply and exhales with a shaking of his head. He's going to make it, and he's going to appreciate the beauty of Carly's voice while doing it.
The camera closes up to her face, and captures a beautiful look enhanced by the darkness around her blue eyes. It is a smoldering gaze that --while, of course, not even close to Constantine-esque-- is captivating, and he sees, among many other reasons, just why Todd married her. The way the words Here you come again fall out of her mouth makes David shiver, with chills down his spine and goose-bumps up his arm, and he finds himself running a hand up and down either arm, because the way Carly sings is powerful. It doesn't have to be a Queen song, or a Heart song, for her performance to be powerful, and showing just how much strength she has behind her voice at its softest --he has to give her credit for that.
--and shakin' me up so
that all I really know is
here you come again,
and here I go.
Her voice is gentler now, softer now, and as she sings "Here I go" twice more, and the very moment David has decided to lose himself in the music, in her voice, the song has ended, Carly has come back amongst them, and Archuleta has been thrust out to center stage. He recognizes the teenager's song immediately, and smiles appreciatively in response as Jason nudges him and says, "He's great, isn't he?"
"Archie's got talent," he answers. "There's no point in denying that."
And it's truly talent, David muses, as he takes into consideration the schoolwork Archuleta works on during rehearsal time --therefore limiting it by so much-- and yet he still has the ability to pull such a performance from out of nowhere. It's mind-boggling, really, and as the young man finishes 'Smoky Mountain Memories,' Kristy Lee is out on stage with 'Coat of Many Colors.'
"Rumor has it Michael chose that song for her," Jason comments, and this catches David's attention. He thinks it's something to do with the emphasis Jason put on Michael, but he ignores it for now and turns to Jason with an interested expression, "Oh, yeah?"
"I heard Ramiele telling Syesha the other day that Kristy called Mike for help on song choice the day of rehearsals," Jason responds, and David answers with only a nod. He barely takes notice of the girl coming back as Syesha goes out, and here --here is a performance where David is blown away.
He's known from the very beginning, of course, that Syesha's vocals were amazing --he's tempted to capitalize the word in his thoughts because it's true-- but to take on such a song, well. David's known Syesha to be pretty brave, and being stunningly beautiful tonight has to count for something, too. He doesn't realize the movement behind him, and obviously, neither does Jason because both of them are surprised at the presence of a six-foot-three Michael Johns high-fiving Syesha as she comes back, recovering from the --in David's eyes, unnecessary-- comparison to Whitney, but then again, that all comes with the territory.
Jason moves and goes on to hug Syesha, and Michael moves behind David, discreetly interlocking their hands together. Now, David's first reaction is to pull away even as his heart is screaming profanities at him and calling him the largest idiot on the earth for it; they are so close to the stage, so close to the cameras, and where David assumes Michael will understand his concern and pull away as well, the Australian simply holds on tighter. There is simple disregard for Ryan as he speaks, "Are you ready for Michael Johns, closing the show? Here we go," and proceeds to show Michael's rehearsal tape. David catches only the part where Michael speaks of his "first concert in '86," but he thinks his distraction could not have come in a more --satisfying way: Michael leans down and whispers into his ear, "I hope you think it's worth the wait."
Then the warmth encasing his hand is gone, and Michael is out on stage, welcomed by fans in excited applause. David is in a slight daze as he watches Michael, the ascot tied around his neck, his hands grasping the microphone, that look in his eyes, and as "Hello, are you free tonight?" comes out of Michael's mouth, he brings the hand that Michael let go of to his forehead, laughs, and shakes his head.
Oh, Mikey. It's definitely worth the wait.
The moment the music begins, Michael tunes out everyone and everything else in the studio. He forgets Randy and Paula and Simon, all the men and women and children who arrive every Tuesday and Wednesday to support their contestant of choice --Michael selfishly wishes, every now and then, that they are here to support him-- and he even forgets Stacey, who he sees, but only for a moment, clapping enthusiastically in support of him, and even though there is a pain in his heart as he does so, he manages to forget that, too. All he hears is the music --not the women screaming as he sings, "Hello, are you free tonight?"-- and all he sees is David's face --not the audience of thousands in front of him, not the three people sitting at the judges' table.
David, raising an eyebrow incredulously at him.
David, smiling that irresistible smile of his that make women and men both weak at the knees.
David, throwing him a crooked grin after one of his cornier jokes.
David, pouting at him over some silly thing.
David, with half-lidded eyes after each kiss and touch and --
It's so wrong, but it's all right.
He begins to improvise now, repeating the first line of the chorus once more, and all he thinks of is David David David, and he can feel David on him in him with him around him beside him, and here it goes, the build-up to his falsetto, wrong wrong wrong wrong and then-- oh, so right. Oh, so very right.
There is no time for Michael to come backstage as all of the Idols are ushered out after Simon's critique, because they're about to run into Hell's Kitchen, but the moment the snippets of their performances have been aired and the numbers have been on screen long enough for people to punch them into their home phone and cellular phones, the very moment the camera stops rolling, David has no hesitancy whatsoever in bringing Michael backstage.
He is breathless, his eyes wide and his face bright, and Michael is looking at him nervously, a shy little smile at the corner of his mouth.
"Well?" the Australian asks expectantly, wringing his hands together. "What do you think?"
David really has no words. The performance itself was breathtaking; add to that the fact that the song was for them, for him, and David answers Michael the best way he can. His right hand reaches and holds on to Michael's left, pulls Michael down slightly, and then he proceeds to kiss the Australian on the cheek.
Michael looks startled as they straighten themselves and pull themselves to their full height, and David looks away --he can find no other adverb to properly describe the motion but demurely, although girlishly, perhaps, would have suited him that moment, too. He can feel the shiest smile he's ever had coming onto his face, and he doesn't need to look at himself in a mirror to know that his cheeks have been stained pink.
"Thank you," Michael says with a nod and a smile.
David can't help it if his response is a meek, "Mmhm."
"But I'm not done yet. I've still got a little something up my sleeve."
David has no chance to find out what, exactly, as they are all brought down to the dressing rooms to change out of their performance clothing, and back into their jeans and tees.
Jason doesn't bother with looking back and exclaiming "What?" as though somebody had shoved a whole tank of helium down his throat --no offense to Ramiele and Kristy Lee, of course-- when Michael politely asks if he and David could just be dropped off at their home. He doesn't bother with an inquiring "Oh, how come?" or an "Are you two okay?" like the younger David and Syesha, either. Up at the front seat where nobody is really paying attention to him, he allows his mouth to settle into a smug grin.
He had seen them earlier, and, really, he was disappointed --but only slightly, of course!-- that it had just been a simple kiss on the cheek. It had been sweet, yes, and it did have David blushing like a love-struck schoolgirl who had just received her first kiss from her very first boyfriend, but Jason honestly expected something --more. Something like a long kiss followed by the cheesiest dialogue in the world, or something like that.
Something tells him Brooke and Carly were thinking the same thing.
Or, well, something along those lines.
Why else would the two have fought so vigorously to keep the rest of the final nine on stage for just a little while longer?
David thinks the whole idea is strange, too, until he and Michael are actually inside their Idol home, and Michael has led him to the dining area. Nothing anybody could have told him could have possibly prepared him for the way their dining area was set up. At the far end of the table, closest to the wall, a plate has been set up, with two forks to the left of it, a knife and a spoon to the right of it, with a cloth napkin folded in a neat standing triangle --and a little card-- upon it. On the opposite end, closest to where he is standing now, there is a stool with a guitar --Michael's guitar-- sitting upon it.
"When?" David stutters as he looks at the table set only for one. "W --who? And why is there only one?"
Michael motions to the seat at the far end of the table, and David takes it hesitantly, watching Michael with suspicious eyes. The Australian takes his guitar, but doesn't sit down on the stool, instead settling for holding his guitar in his hands with a soft smile on his face. "I did it," he says quietly, strumming his guitar once and frowning as he works to tune his A string. "Before we left today. You were so focused on getting to the Kodak, you didn't even notice me slip away right before we filed into the van."
David narrows his eyes. "Go on."
Michael raises an eyebrow. "And there's only one because I'm going to be providing your entertainment for tonight."
"Oh, really?" David asks him.
"Oh, and your dinner," Michael smiles as he rests his guitar on the stool once more. He moves to the refrigerator, where he brings out --with a large grin-- what appears to be fettuccine Alfredo with seafood and proceeds to plate it heat it up in the microwave. "This may be heated up in the microwave, but let me assure you," he says as he leans against the kitchen counter, "I cooked this all myself."
"And did you do that this morning, too?"
"Oh, no, darling," Michael laughs. "I cooked all this last night. I'm not that great of a chef, you know."
The microwave beeps and signals the end of the heating up of the pasta, and Michael brings it over to David with a handsome grin on his face. He sets the plate in front of David, and the delicious smell of the pasta is all he focuses on. He, however, snaps to quick attention when Michael takes his guitar in his hands, settles himself on the stool, and says, "You might want to take a look at that card."
David does so, easily recognizing Michael's thin scrawl, messy but legible, reading the words What makes the one to shake you down? with curiosity lighting his eyes. He looks up, meets Michael's eye, and Michael bites his lip, a sort of --uncertain look in his eyes. David tilts his head to the side and offers a supportive nod of his head, and Michael nods in return. "Enjoy your meal, Dave," he says, before he begins strumming.
The younger man unfolds the napkin and places it on his lap, puts only a small amount of the pasta on his plate, but places a large amount of the small shrimp. His eyes linger on Michael just for a little while longer, before he sinks his fork into the pasta, twists it, and then brings up the eating utensil to his mouth. The pasta is delicious, with the texture of the noodles being just right, and the parmesan doesn't overpower the shrimp as he places one in his mouth and chews.
There is a beautiful voice starting out with "You don't have to move, you don't have to speak," and Michael doesn't have to sing another verse before David finds himself completely enraptured and brought in to the Australian's performance. The taller man had that commanding presence about him, something David had clearly seen while watching Michael onstage at the Kodak earlier. His soft voice, something he hadn't heard just yet, is sexy --there are no other words to describe Michael Johns' voice, and David is starting to believe gorgeous just doesn't cover the man himself-- and the way he handles the guitar with such tenderness as though it is a newborn baby is so gentle, David has to shake his head once and blink twice before he begins to listen to the lyrics of the song Michael is singing.
--and time trickles down,
and I'm breathing for two;
squeeze so tightly.
David looks down and blushes. Entertainment, indeed, he thinks with a snort as he continues to eat the pasta Michael had prepared. He picks up the card with Michael's handwriting on it just as Michael enters the chorus of the song David now recognizes very well.
What makes the one to shake you down?
Each touch belongs to each new sound.
Say now you want to shake me, too--
Move down to me, slip into you.
Michael finishes the verse and risks a glance at David. David swallows, goes on to bite his own lip, before meeting Michael's gaze. Michael looks at him expectantly, and David nods. He has no words, really, so he decides to stand up, putting the light brown cloth on the table next to his plate, and moves swiftly towards the sitting Australian. "Slip into you," he whispers before capturing Michael's mouth in a kiss.
He receives a satisfied moan in response.
It is all the strength Michael has not to drop his guitar on the floor and smash it as David kisses him. It makes his mouth ache to do so, and his heart skips a beat as he longs for David's mouth on his, but Michael breaks away and says with a gasp, "Not in the kitchen, Dave." David looks up at him with those eyes, and Michael is gone. "But, you know, the bedroom's always open to us both."
The chuckle that he elicits from David prompts Michael to kiss him, and Michael has entangled his hand in David's hair as the shorter man cranes his neck up. "We're," Michael says in between kisses as he begins to lead David towards the stairs, "not --oh, God-- going to make it --Dave, no touching, not yet-- if you keep on touching me like --David!"
He doesn't need to look at David's eyes; he hears the smugness in the rocker's voice as he replies, "This is payback, Mikey."
They take the stairs one step at a time, with a kiss here and a touch there, a moan from both or from either one, and by the time the door to their bedroom has been thrown open and flung shut, Michael's zipper has been unzipped --David's is being unzipped, they scramble to get out of their jeans-- and David's shirt has been discarded to the floor --Michael's shirt is well on its way to the floor. Messy doesn't begin to describe what they're doing to the room, stumbling over things left on the floor and over beds as they make their way to one --Michael believes it's his, but in the past few weeks, it hasn't really mattered anymore-- and Michael is falling falling falling on top of David. David groans gently underneath Michael's weight, Michael apologizes by leaving a trail of kisses from David's jaw to his collarbone, and David responds with a visible shiver.
"Mikey," David says breathlessly as Michael straddles him, bringing a hand down to caress David's inner thigh. He gently brushes over the bulge in David's boxers, and there is a low sound in David's throat. "You're such a tease."
Michael whispers huskily, "Yes, I do believe we've established that already."
David sounds as though he is about to laugh, but instead lets out a gasp as Michael rocks his hips forward, and the sensation there is magical. David's back arches off the bed, and Michael grunts, because the image of a David Cook with half-lidded eyes, arching his back and throwing his head to the side, and the knowledge that he was the reason behind all of this, makes him harder than he already is. He trails a finger down David's chest, circling both of the younger man's nipples as he moves down to the navel, and then Michael brings his finger to the side, pulling on the waistband of David's boxers.
"What d'you want me to do with these?"
David makes an effort to look Michael straight in the eyes. "Take them off, Mikey."
"Only yours, babe?"
"Yours and mine."
The grin on Michael's face is devious. "Your wish is my command." He raises himself to remove his own boxers first, before nudging David slightly, and David raises his lower half to help Michael with the removal of the final article of clothing separating them.
David is slurring his words now as Michael takes a hold of his hard shaft, "You sure you didn't --oh, God, that feels good-- slip in some --oh-- clam in that Alfredo of yours?"
Michael lets out a bark of laughter as he moves his hand up and down David's member, and David begins to tremble underneath him. "Must've been the song, Dave."
"Oh, I doubt that," David tells him, and Michael removes his hand from David's cock. The man makes a sound of protest --Michael doesn't have the heart to call it a whimper, although picturing David whimpering does many things to his mind-- but Michael shushes him as he stands up from the bed and walks over to the night stand, pulling out a bottle of lubricant and a package of condoms out of the drawer.
"'Move down to me, slip into you,' darling."
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