Title: Studio Time
Info: Disney RPFS, for takemeback, to make the bad days better.
Summary: Selena wants to record a song with Demi. Her manager decides to invite Miley. PWP.
After the first few insults fall flat (“Y’all call this rhyme?” “It’s not like I wrote it.”) Miley slumps against the acoustically-padded wall in defeat. This isn’t exactly fun, like she’d hoped. And they’re only using her voice to get sales for Sel’s record. A girl she’s supposed to hate. It’s all pretty stupid. Some teeny bopper magazine like TWIST is going to hype up the rivalry being finally over – maybe some reunion over the Jonas Brothers will be called for – and they will have to get all huggy in public.
If not for the papz, Miley wouldn’t really mind. It’s not like she doesn’t spend her free time watching the Demi and Selena youtube channel in her hotel room, pretending that she’s touching herself because she’s lonely and not in direct correlation. Demi’s like “This is my last video before I turn sixteen” and Miley remembers groaning into her pillow, “Sixteen ain’t so sweet, sister.”
And it’s different, too, in person. More intense. There’s a weird kind of energy around the two of them, Demi and Selena, Gomez and Lovato. It’s no wonder they’ve been friends since they came out of the womb, practically. Miley wonders how many times they’ve fucked. Not if.
They way their eyes meet over the microphone and their hands touch the headphones, pulling closer the sounds of each other’s voices… It’s pretty sweet actually. It doesn’t hurt that they look like movie stars; a regular Romeo and Juliet. Demi would play the knight in shining armor coming to sweep her glowing princess Selena off her feet. Course, Miley has imagined it the other way, too, where Selena takes over. In the dark.
They’re staring at her now, or she’s staring. “Anytime you feel like singing, Miss Cyrus, we’re here all day,” Demi chirps, flashing an eyebrow. Miley smirks, a quick response – knee-jerk. She tries not to think about those lips between her legs.
“Just waitin’ for y’all to really want it,” Miley murmurs, pulling on her headphones and shaking out her hair. She waits for the music cue before looking Selena in the eye. What she sees there is dark and dangerous. There lies, hidden, the promise of hallways and alleys, of fingers and tight, hard kisses. Miley screws up the first line of the song, asks for a do-over. Demi makes a move of reassurance, but lingers too long, her fingernails pressing into Miley’s shoulder, making her shiver, making her wet.