Tabloid Stories | By : sunset151 Category: Reality TV > American Idol/Pop Idol Views: 1858 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the people I am writing about in this fanfiction. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Tabloid Stories
Pairing: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell. Implication of Ryan Seacrest/Lance Bass
Rating: NC-17 (is there anything else?) :)
Author’s Note: I was getting tired being a perv on the net looking for rare fan fiction, so I decided to be a bigger perv and write this stuff at work. Comments and suggestions are welcome besides an unfinished horrible story that’s on ff.net this is the first real story I’ve posted. Thanks and enjoy. All the usual disclaimer stuff applies also. I don’t know them yada yada yada. And also I would like to point out that I know how to edit.HINT HINT. I also had to put thoughts in // brackets since my browser doesn't like italics. Had to also recently change the summary in the main page, because I for one as a reader hate it when the pairing is a mysery and you have no desire to read about person A and person B.
Warnings: Graphic sexual content, language, and Ryan fights back.
Simon’s comments go too far and a fight ensues between the two of them. *EG*
Ryan was changing out of his work clothes into his regular everyday wear in the sad excuse of
a dressing room that Fox furnished him. The room reminded him of the cubicles that he’s seen at the
radio station. At least they appreciated him there; Paula had her own bathroom and plenty of space
for her shoe collection. He shook his head //Dick Clark probably had a bigger dressing room than this
when he hosted American Bandstand. Why do so many people compare the two of us when Fox treats me
like an illegitimate child?//
He shoulder his backpack and with his Ipod blasting (Beyonce was the new obsession) he walked through
the back hallway to the parking lot. Searching through the bag he found his car keys, not noticing
that half of the bag’s contents fell to the ground. All he wanted to do was enjoy his new hot tub and
drink away Simon’s insults this afternoon’s taping. As he turned the ignition on, Simon’s horrible
comment from that day kept repeating in his head. He never heard the brit talk so demanding and
belittling as he did so earlier. ‘Terri might warm my bed Ryan, but who do you have? I think Richard
Simmons wants his blow up doll back’ He already talked to the producers and they agreed not to show
it on national television. He didn’t want everybody in his personal life and even when he did only a
handful knew. He cursed to himself as he pulled out of the lot. //When was the last time I got laid?
It had to be at least a year since Lance broke up with whats-his-name and was really upset. Wouldn’t
the tabloids just love that story?// He snickered and pulled into his driveway of his ten bedroom
mansion. Maybe a few drinks in him and he can remember that night a whole lot better.
Simon and Randy were finally finished signing autographs and were excited to be leaving the set for
the day.
“No, I’m telling you dawg. Terri would get over it; she knows you’re an ass.”
“I sure as hell hope so; the ring from Cartier is supposed to arrive by the weekend.”
Terri was present at the taping and Simon’s big mouth got him in trouble. ‘How could you say that to
poor Ryan? He’s a sweet kid and not a gossip whore like the rest of Hollywood.’ Simon was finally
ready to pop the question this weekend with a specially made ring and all because of that snot Ryan
his plans were ruined.
“Hey what the hell?” Randy stopped at the pile of stuff that fell out of Ryan’s bag and poked through
the papers.
“I think its Ryan’s. Isn’t his house on your way home?” Randy asked in a teasing manner. Simon
grunted, “I sure I’m the last person that bloke wants to see right tonight.”
Randy shrugged, “What’s the worst that could happen? At least do something non-bitchy for once.”
Simon’s eyebrow went up and without speaking any further he picked up the papers and headed toward
his sports car.
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