shiek_2 (shiek_2) wrote in simple_slash, @ 2010-01-17 09:09:00 |
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The burnt orange shines brightly, the mirror image resonating in his caramel eyes. Flames lick the white frosting, slowly melting the mixture away to eventually leave a gooey whiteness, just a shadow of the perfection it used to be. “Happy Birthday David!”, glares at him in black letterings, taunting him with the inevitable truth that he is getting older.
David doesn’t really care. That damn cake doesn’t know a thing and he had accepted long ago that everyone eventually gets older. Besides, he knows he will be the hottest senior in the nursing home, the one all the young blonde nurses wanted but couldn’t have because a wrinkly Pierre would beat them with his cane if they dared to touch his precious David.
Yes, David’s imagination did tend to get away from him.
Normally he would’ve blown out the blazing candles in a hyperactive happy rush, but today he’s feeling different, strangely philosophical.
As he sits there staring at the bright flames, he wonders where his life is going. Sure, he has everything he’s ever wanted, but did he really mean anything? As far as he’s concerned he’s just an overplayed pop song that continues to get his five minutes of fame, even though everyone’s growing weary of him.
Fans come up to him almost everyday, telling him that he’s amazing, an inspiration. Some say that he saved their lives. Now that is a damn powerful sentence, it’s meaning running deep in his veins like a powerful narcotic.
But he has to wonder if it is true.
Chuck and Pierre write the lyrics that everyone loves and Jeff and Seb write the intricate riffs that get a crowd’s blood pumping, adrenaline flowing. David just added a rhythm line, hardly significant at all. Barely meaningful.
David wonders if he was a scientist that came up with the cure for cancer, maybe he would be worth something, hold more meaning. But no, he figures the man who finds the cure is just like him, just like an overplayed pop song.
Sure, everyone would remember what the man did, but they wouldn’t actually remember who the man was. They wouldn’t know or care if he was an unselfish, kind samaritan or a dirty, greedy bastard. They wouldn’t care what made up the man or how he died, just that he prolonged their imminent demise.
That thought scares David a little bit.
“David?” Sebastien’s voice snaps him out of his daze, setting him free of the almost prophetic words running through his mind.
“Sorry,” He smiles sheepishly.
Leaning forward, he blows out the candles in a quick huff. That smile soon turns to a pout, as he realizes he forgot to make a wish. His band mates, Patrick included, grab pieces of the birthday cake and shuffle off into the living room where David’s gifts are waiting, the colorful wrapping glinting in the dim light.
David sighs and grabs his own piece, adding a spoonful of his favorite ice cream as a special treat, a small birthday gift to himself. A hand stops him, wrapping around his wrist and pulling him back against a strong chest. David grins, setting his cake down on the table and shaking his head slightly as he breathes in Pierre’s musky cologne.
Pierre turns the birthday boy to face him, wrapping his arms around boyfriend’s slender waist, pressing an innocent kiss to his lips. David pulls back and gazes into the taller man’s chocolate eyes for a long moment before a wide grin breaks out onto his face.
“You guys better’ve bought me some Scooby Doo shit.”
“Are you still on about that, Davey?” Pierre sighs, feigning annoyance. Both men know that he thinks David’s obsession with the cartoon is adorable.
“Well, dear Pierre, it’s your fault we missed the premiere of the movie, because I just had to go down on you before we left. ‘Please Davey?! Real fast and then we’ll go, yeah?’, if I remember correctly.” David teases, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.
“However will I convince you to forgive me, David?” Pierre smiles, bringing him closer.
“Just kiss me.” David whispers, his breath ghosting across the taller man’s lips.
And so Pierre does. A deep kiss that makes his heart sing and his toes curl, so hopelessly romantic David almost wants to lift his leg in the air, giving it the cheesy romantic movie atmosphere. But he doesn’t. Because even though he wears make-up, David Desrosiers is a man and not a chick, no matter what Sebastien says.
Pierre breaks the kiss, both panting for air. He then buries his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.
“I love you, David. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Pierre whispers against alabaster skin, making David squirm at the tickle of his warm breath.
It’s then that it hits David, the missing piece of the puzzle finally falling into it’s rightful place. He might not go down in history as anything to the world, but to the one that really mattered, he was pretty damn meaningful.