![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_water_clockAuthor: Clio
Title: Serving in Silence
Pairing: American Idol: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Rating: R for some dirty talk.
Summary: Ryan needs a girl to bring along on his trip to Simon's house in Barbados, but a friend knows just the person for the job.
Length: 1800 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Sara Jane Underwood, 2007 Playboy Playmate of the Year, went down to Barbados with Ryan but then wasn't seen with him again. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ali_wildgoose and evil_erato for their beta talents!
The call came from Paris. Not Paris, France; Paris Hilton.
"Hey, bitch," she said. "So, like, you wanted to meet up with that guy in Barbados, right?"
"Yeah," Sara replied, "and he won't fly me out there! How lame is that?"
"Pretty lame," Paris agreed. "But can you get yourself to New York?"
"Probably," she said. "When?"
"New Year's? I know someone who can take you down to Barbados right after that."
"Oh?" Sara asked. Unlike some of the other people she'd met at the mansion, Paris wouldn't knowingly steer her into the arms of some creep who wanted "payment" for his generosity, but Paris didn't need anyone's generosity, so sometimes she didn't know to look for the creep lurking under the surface of the kindly rich guy. "Anyone I know?"
"I'm pretty sure you've met him," she said. "Ryan Seacrest."
"Oh!" Sara said. She liked Ryan; she'd met him at a few parties and he was super nice and often funny, and not as wolfish as a lot of the guys. Sometimes that meant that they were happily coupled, and sometimes it meant that they were actually a super wolf underneath, which would only come out when they got you alone. And Ryan, as far as she knew, wasn't dating anyone in particular. "Why does he want to take me to Barbados?"
"He isn't; someone is sending a plane for him and he wanted to share it."
"Come on, Paris," Sara said. "What's the catch? I know he's your friend, but what am I going to have to do for him?"
"Just get off the plane with him."
Ah. "In front of the paps?"
"Yeah."
"Who's he trying to make jealous?" she asked. After all, Ryan could probably make TMZ getting off a plane by himself, and it wasn't like he really needed more publicity.
"No one," Paris said. "Wait, you mean you don't know?"
"Know what?"
Paris giggled. "Oh my god, Sara! Ryan's like, totally in love! It's super cute. It's been like, years now, and he's still all dreamy about him."
Now, there were a lot of gay rumors about a lot of men in Hollywood, but Sara ignored them because in her experience, most of them still put their paws all over her whenever they could. It was only the "out" gays that left her alone. But maybe Ryan would be an exception to that. "Him who?"
"Duh! Simon Cowell, who else? Who do you think is sending the plane?"
"So they don't hate each other?"
"Oh, Sara," Paris said, and she could almost hear her shaking her head. "When you get back, we're going to have a long talk about what's real and what's fake in this town. Too much time at the mansion gives you the wrong impression."
"Um, okay," Sara said. "So I guess he doesn't want anyone to know, and needs a girl to come with him?"
"Yep. But once you get there, he'll just drop you off wherever, and you wouldn't need to see him after that. You know, until you guys come back to LA or whatever you want."
"Huh. Well, it seems like a good deal!"
"It is a good deal! Yay! Ryan will be relieved, let me tell you. Some of these girls he finds are total nightmares. Ugh. But I told him you'd be cool."
"Sure," she replied. "Well, thanks Paris!"
"No problem bitch!"
Sara had never been to New York at New Year's, and found it to be remarkably cold, which was annoying because she'd mostly packed for Barbados. But that meant she could run to Barney's and get a super cute coat that was actually marked down after Christmas, so it was all good. She ended up at a club somewhere, with a lot of the usual glittery people, but unlike Vegas there didn't seem to be anyone who was being paid to be at the party, like Paris often was. Still, it was a good time.
She stayed with an old friend who was living in a condo in the East Village that some other guy owned, some kind of money shelter from his wife or something, whatever, the usual story. The car came to get her in the morning of the 2nd, and Ryan was in it, slumped in the corner, sunglasses on, sporting some serious whiskers. "Hey," he said, voice hoarse. "Got you a nonfat half-caf latte."
"Thanks," she replied, climbing in.
He didn't say anything after that, and Sara wondered about it. Wasn't he on the radio in the morning? So shouldn't he be sort of a morning person? But then, they were in New York and it was earlier in LA, right? Or maybe that was another thing that was fake, like Paris said? Ugh, thinking this much in the morning made her head hurt, so she just stared out the window at the city streets.
The car drove right up to the plane—she loved that about private planes, that you didn't even have to go into the airport—and Ryan's only comment then, seeing her two small bags, was, "Wow, you pack light."
She shrugged. "Bikinis are small."
Ryan nodded, and helped her up the stairs into the plane. Definitely a perfect gentleman, if vaguely disinterested.
On the flight Ryan read some papers he had. There were a bunch of DVDs on a shelf in the corner, mostly romantic comedies, and Sara pulled out Music and Lyrics.
Ryan looked up. "Oh, put that on the big screen," he said.
"It won't bother you?"
"Nah," he said. "I love Hugh Grant." He smiled. "Besides, there's only so much I can read about the Golden Globes, you know?"
Sara didn't know, but she smiled and nodded just the same.
They watched the movie, and then there was salad for lunch, and Two Weeks Notice took them into Barbados. Sara thought Ryan was super nice, if a little standoffish, and thought that she wouldn't mind being fake for him on another occasion even without the free flight to the Caribbean. About a half hour before they were to land, the steward came up to Ryan and said, "Mr. Cowell for you, sir."
"Oh, thanks," Ryan said, hitting pause on the movie and picking up the handset next to him. "Hey darlin'. … Yeah, me too. … You did? … Oh, right. … Aww, thanks! … No, I haven't. … It's all for you, of course," he said, and turned to Sara and winked. "She's great. We've been watching Hugh Grant romcoms. … Um, no. … Just because you like to wear unbuttoned shirts! … Yeah, that's true. … No, I'm not. … Sounds good to me. … Sure do! … Oh, don't worry, I won't. … Me too. … Okay, talk to you later." He hung up, and even Sara could tell that he was trying not to smile.
"Wow, Paris was right."
"About what?" he asked.
"You are totally dreamy about him, and it is super cute!"
He smiled broadly then. "Yeah, I guess that's true," he said.
She shook her head. "How do you hide it from everyone?"
He shrugged. "They're not looking," he said, and restarted the film.
Simon had asked the pilot to put a call through when they were starting their descent, so he could talk to Ryan and have a sense of timing. The call came through, and he was surprised at how eager he was, how much he'd actually been sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, like some teenaged girl waiting for a boy to call. Which, in some ways, he supposed he was; and it was strange that he was okay with that, as long as the boy was Ryan.
"Hello! I can't wait to see you. … I saw you on your little New Year's show. … Well, I was in the right time zone. … You looked very dapper in your coat, darling. … But I hope you haven't shaved since then. … Ooh, I like that. … How's the girl? … You like Hugh Grant because he looks like me. … He does! We even dress the same. … You love my unbuttoned shirts. … You're not going to say anything dirty on this call no matter what I do, are you? … Well, when you get here, just come straight up to the bedroom so I can fuck you into the mattress. … Do those jeans of yours feel tighter now? … You let me take care of that. Don't you do anything about it. … I think we're going to have a lot of fun this weekend. … Right, call me later."
After the phone call he wandered through the house, making sure things were tidy, but he had a top notch staff so they usually were. Ryan's suit was in the cabana by the pool, the cook had left plenty of chilled dishes and beverages in the fridge, and the driver was taking the big car to get Ryan and the girl, leaving the keys to the convertible with Simon. The house would be empty until the morning—Ryan just couldn't get used to fucking when the staff was around; it made him jumpy and self-conscious, which didn't lead to good sex.
Simon went upstairs and took a nice long shower, then grabbed a beer and his robe and sat out on the balcony to wait. Ryan had texted that they'd landed just before Simon got out of the shower, so he knew he didn't have long, and a cigarette and a beer always made the time go by faster. Sure enough, he was just finishing both when he heard the car in the drive. Hopping up, he leaned over the railing and shouted down to Ryan: "How was the latest tiny blonde? Paris any better at picking them than you are?"
Ryan looked up, smiling and shaking his head. "Shut up or I won't come up there."
"Oh yes you will," he replied, then went inside to get ready.
A few minutes later, Ryan pushed the bedroom door open and dropped his bags just inside the door. "You're naked."
"I am," Simon replied, grinning.
Ryan began to undress. "And you're hard."
"Mmm," Simon said. "What are you going to do about it?"
"I'd like to swallow it," Ryan said, walking over to the bed, "but you mentioned you had something else in mind?"
"Much as I would love to feel those whiskers of yours on my thigh, I did already put a condom on, and this," Simon said, holding up a tube. "So you could just sit on it."
Ryan took the tube from Simon. "Jeez, can't I at least get my New Year's kiss first?"
"New Year's kiss? It's January 2nd."
"I think it still counts if it's your first kiss of the new year."
"Oh, well, in that case, of course."
Ryan leaned in and gave Simon one of those kisses that made him remember, suddenly and physically, everything he'd been missing.
He sighed, feeling content though they hadn't even fucked yet. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Me too," Ryan said, and kissed him again. "Happy 2009, darling."
Title: Serving in Silence
Pairing: American Idol: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Rating: R for some dirty talk.
Summary: Ryan needs a girl to bring along on his trip to Simon's house in Barbados, but a friend knows just the person for the job.
Length: 1800 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Sara Jane Underwood, 2007 Playboy Playmate of the Year, went down to Barbados with Ryan but then wasn't seen with him again. Thanks to
ali_wildgoose and evil_erato for their beta talents!The call came from Paris. Not Paris, France; Paris Hilton.
"Hey, bitch," she said. "So, like, you wanted to meet up with that guy in Barbados, right?"
"Yeah," Sara replied, "and he won't fly me out there! How lame is that?"
"Pretty lame," Paris agreed. "But can you get yourself to New York?"
"Probably," she said. "When?"
"New Year's? I know someone who can take you down to Barbados right after that."
"Oh?" Sara asked. Unlike some of the other people she'd met at the mansion, Paris wouldn't knowingly steer her into the arms of some creep who wanted "payment" for his generosity, but Paris didn't need anyone's generosity, so sometimes she didn't know to look for the creep lurking under the surface of the kindly rich guy. "Anyone I know?"
"I'm pretty sure you've met him," she said. "Ryan Seacrest."
"Oh!" Sara said. She liked Ryan; she'd met him at a few parties and he was super nice and often funny, and not as wolfish as a lot of the guys. Sometimes that meant that they were happily coupled, and sometimes it meant that they were actually a super wolf underneath, which would only come out when they got you alone. And Ryan, as far as she knew, wasn't dating anyone in particular. "Why does he want to take me to Barbados?"
"He isn't; someone is sending a plane for him and he wanted to share it."
"Come on, Paris," Sara said. "What's the catch? I know he's your friend, but what am I going to have to do for him?"
"Just get off the plane with him."
Ah. "In front of the paps?"
"Yeah."
"Who's he trying to make jealous?" she asked. After all, Ryan could probably make TMZ getting off a plane by himself, and it wasn't like he really needed more publicity.
"No one," Paris said. "Wait, you mean you don't know?"
"Know what?"
Paris giggled. "Oh my god, Sara! Ryan's like, totally in love! It's super cute. It's been like, years now, and he's still all dreamy about him."
Now, there were a lot of gay rumors about a lot of men in Hollywood, but Sara ignored them because in her experience, most of them still put their paws all over her whenever they could. It was only the "out" gays that left her alone. But maybe Ryan would be an exception to that. "Him who?"
"Duh! Simon Cowell, who else? Who do you think is sending the plane?"
"So they don't hate each other?"
"Oh, Sara," Paris said, and she could almost hear her shaking her head. "When you get back, we're going to have a long talk about what's real and what's fake in this town. Too much time at the mansion gives you the wrong impression."
"Um, okay," Sara said. "So I guess he doesn't want anyone to know, and needs a girl to come with him?"
"Yep. But once you get there, he'll just drop you off wherever, and you wouldn't need to see him after that. You know, until you guys come back to LA or whatever you want."
"Huh. Well, it seems like a good deal!"
"It is a good deal! Yay! Ryan will be relieved, let me tell you. Some of these girls he finds are total nightmares. Ugh. But I told him you'd be cool."
"Sure," she replied. "Well, thanks Paris!"
"No problem bitch!"
Sara had never been to New York at New Year's, and found it to be remarkably cold, which was annoying because she'd mostly packed for Barbados. But that meant she could run to Barney's and get a super cute coat that was actually marked down after Christmas, so it was all good. She ended up at a club somewhere, with a lot of the usual glittery people, but unlike Vegas there didn't seem to be anyone who was being paid to be at the party, like Paris often was. Still, it was a good time.
She stayed with an old friend who was living in a condo in the East Village that some other guy owned, some kind of money shelter from his wife or something, whatever, the usual story. The car came to get her in the morning of the 2nd, and Ryan was in it, slumped in the corner, sunglasses on, sporting some serious whiskers. "Hey," he said, voice hoarse. "Got you a nonfat half-caf latte."
"Thanks," she replied, climbing in.
He didn't say anything after that, and Sara wondered about it. Wasn't he on the radio in the morning? So shouldn't he be sort of a morning person? But then, they were in New York and it was earlier in LA, right? Or maybe that was another thing that was fake, like Paris said? Ugh, thinking this much in the morning made her head hurt, so she just stared out the window at the city streets.
The car drove right up to the plane—she loved that about private planes, that you didn't even have to go into the airport—and Ryan's only comment then, seeing her two small bags, was, "Wow, you pack light."
She shrugged. "Bikinis are small."
Ryan nodded, and helped her up the stairs into the plane. Definitely a perfect gentleman, if vaguely disinterested.
On the flight Ryan read some papers he had. There were a bunch of DVDs on a shelf in the corner, mostly romantic comedies, and Sara pulled out Music and Lyrics.
Ryan looked up. "Oh, put that on the big screen," he said.
"It won't bother you?"
"Nah," he said. "I love Hugh Grant." He smiled. "Besides, there's only so much I can read about the Golden Globes, you know?"
Sara didn't know, but she smiled and nodded just the same.
They watched the movie, and then there was salad for lunch, and Two Weeks Notice took them into Barbados. Sara thought Ryan was super nice, if a little standoffish, and thought that she wouldn't mind being fake for him on another occasion even without the free flight to the Caribbean. About a half hour before they were to land, the steward came up to Ryan and said, "Mr. Cowell for you, sir."
"Oh, thanks," Ryan said, hitting pause on the movie and picking up the handset next to him. "Hey darlin'. … Yeah, me too. … You did? … Oh, right. … Aww, thanks! … No, I haven't. … It's all for you, of course," he said, and turned to Sara and winked. "She's great. We've been watching Hugh Grant romcoms. … Um, no. … Just because you like to wear unbuttoned shirts! … Yeah, that's true. … No, I'm not. … Sounds good to me. … Sure do! … Oh, don't worry, I won't. … Me too. … Okay, talk to you later." He hung up, and even Sara could tell that he was trying not to smile.
"Wow, Paris was right."
"About what?" he asked.
"You are totally dreamy about him, and it is super cute!"
He smiled broadly then. "Yeah, I guess that's true," he said.
She shook her head. "How do you hide it from everyone?"
He shrugged. "They're not looking," he said, and restarted the film.
Simon had asked the pilot to put a call through when they were starting their descent, so he could talk to Ryan and have a sense of timing. The call came through, and he was surprised at how eager he was, how much he'd actually been sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, like some teenaged girl waiting for a boy to call. Which, in some ways, he supposed he was; and it was strange that he was okay with that, as long as the boy was Ryan.
"Hello! I can't wait to see you. … I saw you on your little New Year's show. … Well, I was in the right time zone. … You looked very dapper in your coat, darling. … But I hope you haven't shaved since then. … Ooh, I like that. … How's the girl? … You like Hugh Grant because he looks like me. … He does! We even dress the same. … You love my unbuttoned shirts. … You're not going to say anything dirty on this call no matter what I do, are you? … Well, when you get here, just come straight up to the bedroom so I can fuck you into the mattress. … Do those jeans of yours feel tighter now? … You let me take care of that. Don't you do anything about it. … I think we're going to have a lot of fun this weekend. … Right, call me later."
After the phone call he wandered through the house, making sure things were tidy, but he had a top notch staff so they usually were. Ryan's suit was in the cabana by the pool, the cook had left plenty of chilled dishes and beverages in the fridge, and the driver was taking the big car to get Ryan and the girl, leaving the keys to the convertible with Simon. The house would be empty until the morning—Ryan just couldn't get used to fucking when the staff was around; it made him jumpy and self-conscious, which didn't lead to good sex.
Simon went upstairs and took a nice long shower, then grabbed a beer and his robe and sat out on the balcony to wait. Ryan had texted that they'd landed just before Simon got out of the shower, so he knew he didn't have long, and a cigarette and a beer always made the time go by faster. Sure enough, he was just finishing both when he heard the car in the drive. Hopping up, he leaned over the railing and shouted down to Ryan: "How was the latest tiny blonde? Paris any better at picking them than you are?"
Ryan looked up, smiling and shaking his head. "Shut up or I won't come up there."
"Oh yes you will," he replied, then went inside to get ready.
A few minutes later, Ryan pushed the bedroom door open and dropped his bags just inside the door. "You're naked."
"I am," Simon replied, grinning.
Ryan began to undress. "And you're hard."
"Mmm," Simon said. "What are you going to do about it?"
"I'd like to swallow it," Ryan said, walking over to the bed, "but you mentioned you had something else in mind?"
"Much as I would love to feel those whiskers of yours on my thigh, I did already put a condom on, and this," Simon said, holding up a tube. "So you could just sit on it."
Ryan took the tube from Simon. "Jeez, can't I at least get my New Year's kiss first?"
"New Year's kiss? It's January 2nd."
"I think it still counts if it's your first kiss of the new year."
"Oh, well, in that case, of course."
Ryan leaned in and gave Simon one of those kisses that made him remember, suddenly and physically, everything he'd been missing.
He sighed, feeling content though they hadn't even fucked yet. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Me too," Ryan said, and kissed him again. "Happy 2009, darling."
