So, here it is. My David Story.

A little background...

I participated in an interactive fan fiction on a friend's site, and my character ended up with David. I spent so much time immersing myself in his music and stories about him (which are hard to find, by the way) that he took over my thoughts for quite some time. I couldn't get him out of my head. He's still in there, rattling doors and opening drawers and such, but he's behaving himself. Mostly.

This story came out as an outlet for me to try to get through my little obsession. I told some of the girls from the other fan fic exercise, and they thought it was hysterical that I got so wrapped up, that I couldn't think of anything but him.

They convinced me to "go public" with the story, so here it is.

I hope you enjoy it. It starts here.

~ Hath

Chapter 77: Mohegan Sun - Private After Party

Friday, March 14, 2008

We got led through to behind (well under) the stage, and laughed when the girls who were in the front row with us tried to get backstage with us. Nice try, honeys. We tried to stay out of the way while the techs (roadies in 80’s speak) broke everything down to get ready for the trip to Ontario.

We saw Chris Daughtry, and were greeted with cheek kisses and light hugs. “How’re you girls doing?” he asked, which made us laugh, because he was younger than all of us.

“We’re fine,” Sam said. “You put on quite a hell of a show.”

He smiled widely. “Thanks. That was fun.” He looked around and leaned in to whisper to us. “Do you suppose he’ll invite us to come to Europe with them?” We knew what he meant.

We just shrugged. “We don’t get to make those decisions,” Lucy said, “but, since we’re all going to London in June, maybe we can put a word in.”

“That would be fantastic,” he said; then was beckoned away by his manager. “Gotta go, but I’ll see you girls later.”

“Bye, Chris,” we all sing-songed together, making him laugh.

We were led back to the dressing rooms, and directed to wait in the hallway. Sam rolled her eyes at the staffer. “Really, darlin’, do you know who we are?” she said, and we held out our left hands for the girl to see. She blushed and apologized, and pointed us to the guys’ respective rooms.

Before I could open David’s door, Jon’s head poked out of his own up the hall. “JEEVES!” he bellowed, looking the other way.

I laughed. He was going to call me that forever. “WHAT?” I yelled back, and he spun his head around and pinned me with an icy glare.

“Quit distracting my keyboardist. That is NOT an appropriate dress,” he shouted. There were catcalls and whistles in the hall as the techs begged to disagree.

I shrugged. “Guess I’d better take it off then,” I roared, and unzipped it nearly to my waist. David came up behind me and pulled me backwards into his room, and slammed the door. I was laughing hysterically.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, spinning around. “Do you know who was watching you out there?”

“Oh, it was just you guys. The girls didn’t care.” I said, and stepped back and zipped up the dress. “There; is that better?” I asked.

“Hell no,” David said, and stalked over to me, gathering me into his arms and crushing me to him. He latched his mouth onto mine, and roughly kissed me. I growled and tunneled my fingers into his sweat-dampened hair. He spun me up against the door and ripped his mouth from mine, and the look of lust in his eyes nearly took my breath away.

David slowly lowered the zipper on my dress, kissing each inch of flesh as it was revealed. He knelt before me, and unzipped completely. His breath caught when he saw I wasn’t wearing anything under the dress except for the bra. He sucked in a breath and looked up at me.

“David, I don’t want a repeat of last time, when Jon found my panties on the floor.” I smiled wickedly. “This takes care of that.”

He leaned in to kiss me just there, and I slumped against the door. “Sorry, baby,” he said, blowing cool air on me. “I don’t rate a bed in here.”

I chuckled. “That’s OK,” I said. “As long as you’re in here, that’s all that matters.”

David stood and pulled me to him, and I stripped the t-shirt he was wearing up and over his head; dropping it behind him. Slick skin to dry we came together, kissing hungrily. I could feel his erection through the tight denim of his pants, and rubbed up against him, purring.

“I’m gonna have to call you ‘pussycat’,” David said. “All that purring and rubbing you do.” He latched his mouth onto one pebbled nipple and sucked hard, making me dig my nails into his back. “Or maybe ‘hellcat’,” he said, looking at me.

“’Goddess’ will do just fine, thank you,” I said, pulling his mouth up to mine again. I fumbled for the button of his jeans and undid it and the zip with shaking fingers. I reached inside and encircled him, rubbing my thumb over his tip, feeling that little drop of moisture there. David growled and grabbed my head, angling it so he could thrust his tongue deep into my mouth. He thrust a finger up in side me, and I swooned. I find I am SO sensitive since getting pregnant.

David slowly worked a second finger in, and I shoved at his pants. Looking around, I saw the couch and we aimed for it. David sat and I straddled him, taking him slowly inside of me. When I was fully sitting on his lap, I braced my hands on his shoulders, and started rotating my hips, grinding against him. The friction on my clit became unbearable, and I stopped moving.

“What’s wrong, baby?” David asked, his pupils wide, making his eyes nearly black.

“Too much sensation,” I panted.

“No such thing,” David countered, and reached between us to gently rub my clit.

The orgasm came fast and hard, taking me by surprise. The sudden fisting around his cock had David calling out and pumping into me. I leaned down to capture his mouth, when a banging on the door startled us. “Everything alright in there?” It was Richie.

“Fuck off, candy-ass,” I said, making David laugh.

“Watch it, Jenilee; don’t make me do something you’ll regret.” The doorknob rattled.

“Unless you want to see me riding your keyboardist, you best leave that knob alone. You’ve got idle fingers, go see Lucy.” David laughed outright at Richie’s muttered, “Jesus, Hath.”

“What’d you do that for?” David said, still chuckling.

“Oh he doesn’t really believe anything’s going on in here,” I said. “I just like messing with him. It’s fun. All you guys. You’re just too easy, and prepared to believe anything. I love that about you all. Makes you all a hell of a good time.”

When we cleaned up and emerged, Jon and Sam were in the hall talking. Jon surreptitiously looked over our shoulders to the floor and I chuckled.

“No panties this time, boss,” I said, winking at him.

Jon smiled a half smile. “Because you picked them up or because you weren’t wearing any?”

“Nothing in my hands, boss,” I said, and Sam laughed at the expression on her husband’s face.

“Baby,” she said to him, “Pregnant GSA is nothing to trifle with. Best leave her be.”

Good advice.

Ha ha.

Well, turns out David couldn’t come home with me Sunday morning. He had some stuff he had to take care of, and I didn’t want to wait around for him, so I headed home. I should have waited. Then I would have had someone to share the embarrassment with.

Let me preface this by saying I love my brother. I really do. That’s the reason why I’m going be sad when he’s killed.

I got home and opened the front door, and the alarm started chirping (like it’s supposed to do) giving me 30 seconds to put in the code. Now the code has been the same since I moved in: 7-4-4-8, (look at your phone you’ll see what it spells). I know, I know, you’re not supposed to spell anything, but at least I didn’t do anything obvious like my birthday. Anyway, after I punched in the code, nothing happened. The little chirp didn’t stop. Uh-oh. Must be tired, I thought, and I put it in again. I know that on the third failed try, the police get called, the lights and sirens start going off, and BOY do I not want that to happen. I was meticulous this time, even checking my phone dial to see that I was spelling it right.

I was.

Still, nothing happened. I tried once more, and the alarm went off. I ran down to the cellar, unlocked the electrical panel, and shut off the breaker for the alarm. Of course, I forgot there was a battery backup, and by the time I got that unhooked, the police were there. That was the good (but today bad) thing about living less than a mile from the police station. Their response time is incredible.

I had left the front door open, and was not in sight, so I called out. “I’m in the basement!” I shouted. “Coming up!” I came upstairs with my hands in plain view. The officers at the door eyeballed me. “I live here,” I said. “My purse is right there on the floor, and my license is in the green wallet.”

One of the officers went through my bag until he found it, sorted out that I was who I said I was, fined me for a false alarm, admonished me to pick an easier password next time, and left. Never mind I’ve been here for 10 years, and have never had any issue like this before. I was trying to figure out what happened when my cell rang.

It was my soon-to-be-late-brother.

“Hey sis,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“Hey,” I said distractedly. “What’s up?”

“You just get home?” he asked.

I got suspicious immediately. He never cared where I was when he called, just launched right in to whatever the hell it was that he wanted. “Was that you?”

He burst out laughing. “April Fools!” he crowed into the phone. “You’re not going to be here for the day itself, so punked ya early. Love you!” and he hung up.

“SHIT!” I yelled, and after a minute, burst out laughing. I called him back. “What’s the new code?” I asked.

“Ha ha,” he said, and hung up again.

I dialed in 4-1-4-1 and sure enough, I got control of the system. I immediately changed the code to David’s birthday (shoot me, it’s only for a month) and smiled. It was a good one. Now I have to get back at him, too.

Late Sunday afternoon, the doorbell rang. It was David.

“Why did you ring the bell?” he asked.

“Don’t have my key,” he answered.

I rolled my eyes at him. “You know damned well where the key is out back,” I said.

He just smiled. “I know,” he said, and looked at me. “Well, can I come in or not?”

I blushed and backed up. He can still fluster me, which amused the hell out of him. We had a nice afternoon, going through what I had put together for the wedding. We had the chapel all lined up, and the reception hall, catering, and music. The rest was just details. We were going to get married on the campus of the college I went to. It was in the same town as my house, and was really very pretty. I had met with the priest there, and he raised an eyebrow when I went in to talk to him alone.

“Where is your fiancé?” he asked.

I smiled. “On tour with Bon Jovi,” I said. His eyebrows went up. “No, really,” I said. “My fiancé is David Bryan. Rashbaum,” I added.

“I take it he isn’t converting?” the priest asked with a smile.

I laughed. “You take it right, Father,” I said. “Does that make a difference?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I just like to be prepared.” We talked about the service music, and I mentioned how we had someone to play guitar for the processional.

“Not ‘Here Comes the Bride’,” he warned. I already knew that was not allowed in the chapel.

“Nope, something else,” I said. “Canon in D Major. Is that alright?”

He smiled. “Perfect.”

We picked the music for the psalm reading, Communion, and the recessional. I got the scoop on where the photographer could and couldn’t stand. “This isn’t a circus,” he admonished. “It’s a religious ceremony.”

“I know,” I said. “We’re only telling our friends and family and Ang, our photographer, will do whatever we tell her.”

That finished, I went up the hill to the Administrative offices of the school. They were built into the top floor of a four-story mansion. The mansion and campus was the family home of a prominent shovel maker from the turn of the 20th century. The first floor was left as the family had left it, furniture and all, and was a museum of sorts. The second floor was a massive function hall with caterer’s kitchen, and could easily seat a couple hundred people. If everyone in our families accepted their invitations, we’d have over a hundred of them, not to mention my and David’s friends.

David approved of the plans (he said whatever I wanted, and I took him at his word) and I told him about the catering. The friend who owns a barbecue restaurant also does what he calls “fancy” catering, and offered his company’s services. We’ve got an open bar, buffet with various different carving stations, and a gorgeous cake picked out. One of my brother’s best friends is a professional DJ, so he’s going to do the music.

All that was left was the flowers, my dress, the rings, and the invitations. I think that was it, anyway. David was in charge of the rings. “Shouldn’t you pick mine out?” he asked.

“I can if you want me to, or you can get one made to match mine after you pick it out,” I said.

He smiled. “That’s a great idea,” he said.

“I do have my moments,” I replied.

We settled in for a nice dinner, chatted on the boards for a little while, then went off to bed. David had to leave early the next morning, so I ordered up a car to take us into town, we snuggled in together, and fell asleep.