...my foot still hurts... meh..

Title: I Want To Be Perfect
Pairing : Pierre/David
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don’t own.
Summary: Humor. Lists. Et Al.
A/N: So there’s this talk about P and D being in a lover’s tiff, this is my response to that. Hope you like it. It features DramaQueen!David, or at least the same David as that in my other fic Nobody's Perfect. The title has nothing to do with the whole thing, by the way.




Top Ten Things I Hate About My Boyfriend Pierre Bouvier

10) He has no control over his libido. Honestly though, when we for example, sleep in separate bunks, which by the way is a rarity in itself, he gets up from his bunk, pokes me in the shoulder and tells me to go jump into the covers with him, and every time I tell him nicely, after he rudely interrupts my beauty sleep (you have no idea how not-so-pretty it is to have large bags hanging under your eyes, like.. well, large bags! If I don’t get my 10 hour sleep, my pallor will become unhealthy, and they will never nominate me as People Magazine’s sexiest man, ever ), “Pee-yare, honey, I cannot jump into bed with you, otherwise I will hit my head because of the cramped space and everything,”

He just blinks at me like, “Okay.” And coughs uncomfortably. Then he crosses his arms and says, “David, I just want to snuggle with you, baby,” And I roll my eyes and tell him, “Pierre, I need sleep. If we sleep in the same bunk, you know as well as I we will be going at it all night long, and I’d be too sore to function properly tomorrow.”

Pierre of course, being the chauvinistic bastard he is, just snorts, “I’m a rockstar, David, I have needs to be fulfilled.” Then I roll my eyes and hide myself under the sheets and hand him a twenty. “You’re a nice boy, Pierre, and you’re really good in bed too. You can get anybody to sleep with you. Well, not anybody, but you could if you got them drunk enough. Here’s a twenty, buy some cheap beer and get the roadies drunk or something.” Pierre glares at me and rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks for the twenty, David,” And I tell him, “Don’t mention it,” And you know what he does? He pushes me into a secluded part of the bed and gets into my bunk. I gasp after this, and he just whaps me in the head. “Go to sleep you little bunny on crack,” And you know what I do? I follow him anyway. But what do I really hate him for? Empowering me.

9) He doesn’t like being affectionate to me, out in public. (Every time I sit on his lap in public, he gets paranoid. Every time I kiss his cheek, he pushes me away. But every time I lie in bed and get comfortable in the sheets, he jumps me. Literally. And in record speed, too. ) In contrast to the above statement, I don’t like it when he could be all sweet on me one minute, and then his mood would do a 180 when we’re on interviews. If I try to touch him, he jerks away. “Pierre, I don’t have a disease,” I’d say but he just raises his brows and frowns at me. “Not in public,” He says. Not in public, my ass, when I asked him if he wanted to do a remake of the Blink video wherein Travis rolls around the beach with this chick with a bosom the size of hideously deformed pineapples, (If I had estrogen I’d be hotter than she is), he enthusiastically complied and even asked if I wanted to wear a bikini. Bikini. Like that’s not gonna disturb the public.

8) He doesn’t buy me things like he should be doing. Really though, is it for purely selfish reasons that I demand he buy me a dog? And that stuffed Nemo doll he’d given me in lieu of the guppy I wanted! I asked him to buy me a ring once, and you know what he did? He just kissed my ring finger and grinned at me.

And the ring? Let’s just say I’m still waiting for that.

He’s not even the ideal boyfriend—at all. He’d rather watch sports on TV and chuck beer cans at anybody who blocks his view of the screen, than go shopping with me for clothes. Okay, fine, so that’s what Patrick does. But Pierre doesn’t go shopping with me. Much. And we went to Barnes & Noble once, and we were kissing, and he checked his watch for the time. It was uncharacteristically rude, to tell the truth.

Why’d he be checking the time while he’s got his hand clamped down my ass. Didn’t he like feeling me much? Was he bored just kissing me like that?

And this one time, when I told him to buy this really cool hot pink shirt, which thankfully, wasn’t another one of his infamous Role Model ™ shirts, he just looked at me funny and said, “David, that’s pink,” And I replied, “Pierre, so what? I wear pink all the time,”

“I don’t,” He garbled out. I gave him the dirtiest look ever and he flinched. “Okay, fine, let’s go buy it for me then,” “No, no, check it out in the fitting room first!” “What?” “See if it fits you,” I explained. It was hard having a boy friend who’s slow on the pickup. “B-but, David!” I raised my brows. “Whatever,” He just sighed and took off his current shirt. “Pierre Charles Bouvier Desrosiers if you put on that shirt in the middle of the mall, I am leaving right now!” “The line in the changing room is long, it’ll be just a minute.” “Pierre!” I screamed at him. But he put the shirt on. He put the fucking shirt on. I didn’t speak to him for a week.

7) When we fight, his insults hit close to home. When Pierre and I fight, he speaks in this really loud courtroom voice that intimidates me. His voice is booming, and, really angry too. Our fights usually go like this

Me: Pierre, I don’t wanna have sex tonight. (pushing him away)
Him: But, David! (shocked)
Me: … I’m hungry.
Him: You’d rather choose food over me?
Me: Well let me put it this way, would you rather choose your Role Model ™ shirts over me?
Him: Don’t bring my Role Model ™ shirts into this. They have nothing to do with you.
Me: (tearing up a bit) Oh, really? I gave you a Role Model ™ shirt for Christmas! Don’t you remember that?
Him: Would you drop the whole Role Model ™ shirt thing, already? This conversation is starting to make no sense at all.
Me: (sniffling) Pierre… I just… can’t believe… you forgot I gave you… a Role Model ™ shirt for Christmas… no wonder you’re not… wearing… IT!!
Him: Um, okay. David, don’t overreact.
Me: I’m not overreacting.
Him: Yes you are.
Me: No I’m not.
Him: Yes you are.
Me: No I’m not.
Him: Yes you are.
Me: No I’m not.
Him: Yes you are.
Me: No I’m not.
Him: This is just idiotic.
Me: I hate you, Pierre! You’re not even the ideal boyfriend! You suck! And you’d rather watch sports on TV and chuck beer cans at anybody who blocks your view of the screen, than go shopping with me for clothes.
Him: That’s Patrick.
Me: Oh.
Him: David, you’re delusional.
Me: (offended) What? Oh, really? Well… well, you have a low sperm count!
Him: I’d like you to know that I have a normal sperm count! I.. um, keep check.
Me: Oh really? Oh…. well, Mr. Peanut (that’s what I call his “thingy”) isn’t as big as you think he is! I can barely feel him at all, I just pretend he feel good so I won’t hurt your feelings!
Him: (aghast) Well, David, how’s about… YOU CAN’T GET PREGNANT! YOU HAVE NO OVARIES!! OR ESTROGEN!! YOU HAVE FUCKING BALLS, GODDAMMIT! WAKE UP AND FACE REALITY WILL YA?!
Me: (starting to cry) You’re mean…I HATE YOU! I’m… I’m gonna have sex with… with Seb tonight!
Seb: (in separate bunk with Chuck) Eek! Noooo!!
Him: Yeah? Well I’m fucking.. fucking… this… um… pillow tonight! Yeah… God, that’s lame.

6) He has the knack to make me feel safe in record speed. One minute I could be afraid of the dark, the next he’d be tucking me into his arms and kissing my head, telling me that everything would be all right. And I’d believe him anyway, and all my insecurities and anxieties would be pushed away as we proceed to well, snuggle, later, having hot rabbit sex.

5) Wait, I don’t hate him for that. Damn him. Damn him!!

4) He doesn’t get the whole reverse psychology thing. It worked for Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy (I’m telling you, those two deserve each other), whenever Draco pissed Harry off, it only meant he was hot for Harry and wanted to have his babies. When I annoy Pierre, like this one time when I ticked his ear with a feather duster, you know what he did? He glared at me and told me to “fucking stop it, damnit.” Or when I told him, “You have a small dick,” He just scoffed at me and pulled out of me. Didn’t he know it meant, he was big? God, was he some sort of ‘tard? If he hadn’t noticed, he’s the biggest among us six, including Pat! Or the time when I told him, “I don’t wanna marry you, Pierre,” When we were in Vegas and he dragged me to the Little White Chapel, “I’m saving myself for Usher or Adam Levine,” He didn’t speak to me for a whole month after that. Honestly, though, Pierre is so slow on the uptake.

3) He doesn’t use a condom when we have sex. Hygiene. It’s a 7 lettered word we should all live by. I mean, I asked Benji once, what brand he used on Joel, and turns out, they use a variety of condoms, sometimes with odd flavors like burrito surprise and very cherry tea. Pierre? He liked it dirty. But, I, I don’t. I want it clean and I don’t want to pick up any diseases, not that it’s likely I’d pick up anything from Pierre, but when I tried explaining things to him, it didn’t go very well.

Me: Pierre, use a condom.
Him: Why? You like it better that way, don’t you?
Me: Yeah, but, Imightgetpregnant.
Him: David, you read too much slash fanfiction.
Me: But.. Pierre! Protection! You don’t wanna be a daddy so early in life, do you?
Him: You can’t get pregnant, David. It’s a fact you should live with. You were never a girl when you were in your mother’s womb, you were early on, a boy already and hadn’t been turned into a boy by some genetic anomaly.
Me: But, Pierre… I don’t wanna pick up anything… like, AIDS, or something.
Him: You think I have AIDS?
Me: Is that question rhetoric?
Him: I only ever have sex with you, if I pick something up, it’s probably from you, though.
Me: Hey! You… Mr. Peanut has a rash!
Him: No, I don’t. I know Mr. Peanut more than you do.
Me: Oh, Pierre, you have no idea.
Chuck: (banging on the wall) Pierre, wear a goddamn condom, and David, you can’t get pregnant! It’s physiologically impossible!
Me: Oh.
Him: Fine. Jesus, Chuck. Don’t get all tiffy about it.
Chuck: Thank you. Now I can have sex with Seb in peace.

2) He’s never vocal about his feelings for me. When we have sex, he tells me I’m too loud, and sometimes he asks me if it’d be okay if he puts duct tape on my mouth. I just looked at him angrily, and he just shrugged and went, “I guess that means a no, then,”

We did it in a closet once, then we tried it on the table of Chuck’s kitchen, the recording studio, the couch, Patrick’s bunk (heehee), and even on the kitchen counter, and in those several occasions, Pierre referred to me as Daveena. (“God, you’re so tight, Daveena,” or “Hm, Daveena, so good,”, sometimes, “Yeah, baby, you like that huh? Like it when I got all the way?” Wait, that doesn’t have Daveena on it. Hm. Odd.) I don’t think he’s even come into terms with his sexuality yet. Or the fact that my name’s David. Maybe he suffers from some sort of disease akin to Alzheimer’s.

1) And the number one thing I hate about my boyfriend Pierre Bouvier? He has too much pride so he probably won’t be apologizing to me, not until I attest to burning his whole wardrobe of Role Model ™ shirts and Pierre, well, he hasn’t been speaking for me for 6 whole days, minus the insult and death glares. We’ve never fought for this long, and I’m beginning to believe that we might never get to patch things up. I think I need a hug.