My Erotic Fan Fiction of Dave From the Chipmunks

Let me start by saying, I have nothing against Jason Lee but he’s not my David Seville. More of an American Cumberbatch than an Earl, in my humble opinion. Dave was a tortured pianist-composer dressed effortlessly in a button-down softened by the sweet moisture of struggling for the perfect note. He didn’t want kids but there he was with three chipmunk boys. I remember him as I wish to, bedroom eyes the color of hazel, or lavender, or brown, it sort of depends on what frame you pause on. In his perfectly fictional honor I present my Dave Seville fan fiction.

Oh my god, what I wouldn’t give to sprawl on a couch with a glass of red wine, fireplace casting light across a very 80’s deep pile white carpet, sheet music strewn about the room, with David Seville. I’d run my fingers through his thick dark waves, he’d be grateful for the respite from his overworked mind, and ready to spend time with an adult. The Chipmunks away on some misadventure. They’d call tomorrow morning from Morocco or whatever but tonight, he is all mine.

“You are my muse,” he says. A large yet nimble hand holds the back of my head leading me closer to his tired eyes filled with mischief. He kisses me gently in front of the crackling fire. Something is gnawing at him, I can feel it. “David, if you need to finish, I want to hear it.” He looks thankful for the permission, kisses me once more deeply, and pulls away in a mad dash to the piano. I listen lustfully as he tickles out the last few measures of a swooning ballad that no doubt will…