Trouble With A Capital T -- NC-17
My first post! My first Cookleta ever! *unbelievably nervous*
[title] Trouble With A Capital T
[author] fieryrogue
[pairing] Cookleta
[beta] None. I've tried really hard to make sure everything's good from grammar to html though.
[rating] NC-17, Explicit, Language (because I just go for it, apparently, and now I'm slightly embarrassed because most recent posts have been like, "You could air this on the Disney channel." LOL.)
[word count] A picture is worth 9,209 words, apparently. Next stop, Cookleta novella. YEEAAH!! I had no clue I'd write so much...
[summary] There's trouble my friends, I said trouble right here in Salt Lake City. Trouble with a capital T, which rhymes with P, and that stands for POOL.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Bad sex talk? Badly constructed references to other Idols? My only vague familiarity with how gay sex works? LOL. And a little angst for good measure.
[author's notes] Written for david_squared's Challenge #21 prompt #4. I'm sure it doesn't really need to be explained, but just to be sure -- in narration, "David" always refers to Archie. Cook is always referred to as Cook. However, in dialogue, either may be referred to as David, so watch your context clues, people. :)
TROUBLE WITH A CAPITAL T
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"That game with the fifteen numbered balls is the devil's tool..." -- The Music Man
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David's heart was racing. Cook had phoned three days prior saying that he was coming through Salt Lake City and wondered if he could swing by and see the "old homestead" as he had put it, whatever that even meant. Unfortunately, his stupid sister, Jazzy, had answered the phone and David had come into the room to hear her giggling through the phrase, "Oh yeah, we'd looove for you to come visit us, David!" David remembered his stomach plummeting to the ground and dropping the dish he had had in his hands, shattering it on the hardwood floor. "Oh, David," he remembered hearing his mother say, "do be more careful. Jazzy, tell David he must stay with us. No, I insist."
And now he had arrived, wearing raggy tight jeans and with his hair looking like it wanted to escape from his head. His brother Daniel had exchanged looks with his father -- no Archuleta had ever walked through the house looking like David Cook. But luckily for David Cook, the Archuletas were familiar with his demeanor and knew he was a "good kid".
After spending much time trying to pry Jazzy, Amber and two dogs off of Cook's legs, getting past his mother trying to feed Cook something before he'd even been in the house five minutes, and side-stepping his older sister who had mysteriously appeared at the house that morning even though she should have been 400 miles away at school, David now found himself leading Cook down the stairs to the basement where his room was located. He had just been relocated there before the American Idol auditions, after Claudia had left for school, abandoning the coveted privacy of the space.
The basement had been remodeled to allow for a mostly private bedroom area while still leaving a significant area for family recreation. In one corner sat an old couch and TV, a folding table near a shelf of board games were nearby, and the crowning glory -- at least in Jeff Archuleta's eyes -- sat illuminated in the center of the room: a lushly stocked billiards table.
"Archie," Cook gasped in amazement while dropping his bag at the bottom of the steps and moving as if magnitized to the table, "you never said you had a pool table, buddy."
"Um, yeah," David said softly, struggling to pick up Cook's bag; he had already been carrying his guitar. "I'm... I'm not very good, I don't really play. Dad and Daniel do, mostly."
Cook leaned against the table and took it in as if eyeing a new tricked-out muscle car. He ran his hands across the top of it, spreading them in opposite directions as if he were embracing it like a lover. David caught himself staring at the small slice of flesh showing between Cook's shirt and his jeans.
"Um, my room's over here," David managed to say, swallowing hard and heaving Cook's bag onto his shoulder and nearly dropping the guitar. Cook turned and looked behind him.
"Oh my God, Archuleta, what are you doing?" It wasn't in anger, but in disbelief. He clearly hadn't expected David to carry all of his things.
"Carrying... carrying your things," David answered. "You're my guest."
The all too familiar outburst of laughter that came from Cook whenever he found David particularly endearing resonated in David's ears. "Oh, come on now. If I wanted someone to carry my stuff around for me, I'd have Johns here doing it, not you."
David hated it when he didn't completely understand Cook's vague jokes. He felt so... naive? Out of touch? He laughed uncertainly.
"Well, show me the way, Captain," Cook said after relieving David of the bag. David pointed in front of him and led Cook around a crook in the floorplan to a semi-hidden bedroom. A wooden bead-curtain hung in the doorway and when Cook slinked through, he let the beads fall across his face, his eyes closed. David lingered a moment to watch the last beads streak across his face, then looked away just as Cook reopened his eyes.
"Um, so, it's sorta small, but, uh, my bed's here... obviously, I guess. I've got the little couch there, or, uh... or we've got an air mattress, I think... somewhere."
The whole time he spoke, he stared purposefully at the items he was describing, while grasping the guitar case with both hands. He was terribly aware that Cook on the other hand had been staring directly at him the entire time, which made his face feel warm and his throat close up on him.
"We'll worry about it later," Cook smirked and tossed his bag onto David's bed. David suddenly felt embarrassed by the quilt on his bed that his great-grandmother had made for him before she died. It was incredibly worked, perfectly stitched and David loved it -- but the pattern was decidedly uncool. He was always worried about being uncool around Cook, regardless of the fact that he knew Cook appreciated all people just the way they are and was only really cool himself because he didn't try to be cool. But even so. And especially since lately... lately he had felt... he didn't exactly know. He just knew that he felt nervous around Cook, anxious. Always felt like a gigantic dork and worried about losing Cook's attention. The latter part even more so, though he wasn't completely sure why. He thought Michael was terribly cool as well, and Jason, in his own way. But Cook felt different; Cook was beyond cool guy and bordering on other-worldly.
"DAVID!!" Mrs. Archuleta's voice interupted David's thoughts. Whoa, he thought. How long were we standing there in silence? I'm such a dork!
"Yeah?" David leaned out his bedroom door and called out.
"David, it's your turn to set the table! Show David where he can wash up before dinner!"
Set the table? Was she kidding? He was eighteen years old now, he shouldn't be setting the table. Well, he should, but when he wanted to, not just because his mommy asked him to. She was totally not helping his case in trying to be less uncool.
"I, uh, I have to go set the table," he said to Cook.
"So I've heard," Cook replied, smirking.
"Oh, yeah," David muttered, feeling mortified. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought. What a stupid thing to say, Archuleta.
"Um, the bathroom is just in there," David said, pointing to the closet-sized space adjoining his room. "You should, uh, comb your hair. My dad's kind of wacky about being cleaned up at the table."
"Not a problem." Cook peeled off the leather jacket he had been wearing and flung it onto the bed. David became suddenly aware of Cook's tattoos and wondered if he should say something about them too. Before he could decide, Cook reached out and laid a hand on the guitar case in gesture of taking it. David started -- he had forgotten he was still holding it. He handed it over silently, smiled awkwardly, and then dashed out of the room and up the stairs.
"Dad brought the air mattress in from the garage," his mother said as soon as he stepped into the kitchen. "He's left it at the top of the basement stairs for you. David, go ahead and grab the Sunday dishes, okay? Let's make David feel special, okay?"
"That's so funny, Mommy, when you say David and David in the same sentence." Amber was hovering about her mother's workspace in the kitchen, but not really helping do anything. David glared at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.
"It is funny, isn't it, honey?" David could tell his mother was only partially involved in the conversation. She was trying to concentrate on mixing a salad with her hands.
"I think he's cute," Amber went on. "The other David, I mean. David James isn't cute at all."
"Shut up, Amber," David replied, annoyed.
"Shut up, Amber," Amber repeated mockingly.
"Amber--" David started.
"David, what are you doing? You've got three forks here and no water glass over there." His mother had turned her attention to the table now, however, seemingly ignorant of her children's petty behavior. "I don't know where your head's been lately, David. It seems like you're getting more forgetful and more distracted these days. Nothing's troubling you, is it?"
"Maybe he has a girlfriend!" Amber's face sparked with electricity at her own suggestion.
"I don't have a girlfriend," David replied, almost defiantly. "I most definitely do not."
"David has a girlfriend, David has a girlfriend," Amber repeated in a sing-song voice as she skipped around the kitchen table.
"I don't have a girlfriend!" David shouted, putting extra force on the knife he was currently putting down.
"David has a girlfriend?" Jazzy had come in now, a look on her face like the thought of her brother being near a girl repulsed her.
"I don't have a girlfriend," David repeated, trying to sound more civilized. "Amber's just being weird."
"Girlfriend, girlfriend, David has a girlfriend," Amber continued, though now not really paying attention to any of her siblings at all.
"David has a girlfriend?" Claudia's voice matched the horrified look on her face as she entered the room.
"NO," David said, throwing down the stack of cloth napkins in his hand in complete frustration. "I. DO. NOT. Have a--"
"Oooh, you," Claudia replied, her face relaxing. "I thought you meant Hottie Downstairs. Had me worried there for a second."
"Claudia!" Mrs. Archuleta scolded. "Do not... do not talk that way in front of your siblings."
David closed his eyes. He became suddenly aware that he was clenching his jaw and that his teeth were beginning to hurt. Maybe if he ran downstairs right now, gave Cook all the cash in his wallet and directed him to the nearest hotel, he could still save him from the circus unfolding before him. And maybe, just maybe, when he opened his eyes, they would all disappear.
No such luck. Not only were they still there, but they were all silent and staring at him.
"Honey," his mother said, "are you sure you're okay? You look stressed."
"I'm okay, Mom," he lied. As if he needed a heart-to-heart with his mom in the middle of the kitchen with all of his sisters looking on.
"Why don't you go on down and get David?" his mother suggested. "Claudia can finish up here."
"What?" Claudia protested.
"Claudia, you're already in trouble for leaving school when you had a political science exam today."
"Oh, just a weekly exam," she muttered in reply and grabbed up the napkins David and strewn onto the table.
"Well, your father isn't paying university education prices -- out of state, no less -- for you to skip class for no reason."
"Mom, I --"
David took the opportunity to slip out of the room and down the hall. Dear God, he thought. Please save me from my family. Please let Cook not run away in horror. Please, please, please.
He rounded the corner and started down the basement stairs. "Cook, it's time for --" He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly tripping down the last two steps. Cook had not only combed his hair, but had changed his clothes too. He'd put on a clean pair of jeans, new ones. A button-down shirt, a gray striped vest, and a skinny tie now took up residence on Cook's torso. New boots that David hadn't seen before completed the ensemble. Suddenly, he felt ridiculous in his old blue jeans and plain black t-shirt. Cook was leaning over the pool table, cue in hand, lining up a shot. David swallowed hard.
"Um," he squeaked. "Dinner. It's, uh. Dinner's ready."
The clash of billiard balls rang in David's ears and he watched as two balls, one solid and one striped, followed one another into the corner pocket nearest him.
"Damn, got 'em both," Cook said, looking up.
"That's bad?" David asked, confused.
"Well, if I were playing against someone else it would have been." Cook smiled. "I'll teach you after dinner, eh? Or are you totally not interested?"
"Oh, I'm, uh... yeah, I'm interested," David replied. "Sure."
"It's a date then." David felt his cheeks heat up, and he hoped to God he wasn't blushing.
Upon entering the dining area, David was shocked to find his family already seated all around the table (a task that usually took several minutes, or sometimes never happened at all), and they all fell silent when he and Cook entered the room. However, Amber couldn't resist but break the silence in a totally inappropriate way.
"Finally," she said, "I'm starving!" She reached for the small dish of black olives that sat directly in front of her.
"Amber!" Mrs. Archuleta scolded. "You know better. Grace first."
Amber drew her hand back, looking grumpy.
The two empty chairs left were next to one another, with Claudia on one side and Amber on the other. David sighed. He didn't want Cook next to either of them, but in the end, he decided to protect Cook from Amber. She was clearly more unpredicable.
He slid into his chair and Amber thrust out her hand to him immediately. He grabbed it out of habit, but then turned to Cook and stared, alternatively between him and his hand.
"Oh, David," Mrs. Archuleta said as if she'd just remembered something. "If you don't normally say grace, it's okay. You can sit it out."
"No, no, Mrs. Archuleta, it's fine." He grabbed Claudia's and then David's hands, completing the circle around the table.
David felt his stomach trying to escape through his throat. Cook's hands were rough, with callused fingertips and chewed fingernails. Even so, the feel of Cook's skin clasping around his was bordering on unbearable. The prayer passed without his notice, and all too soon Cook's fingers were unwrapping from his.
His mother had made one of his favorite meals, one he usually only got on his birthday -- butternut squash ravioli with chili oil and roasted pumpkin seeds. His father found it "too daring." David found his father "not daring enough", but never told him so. Regardless, David ate about two bites before he decided he shouldn't force himself to eat when he didn't feel like eating. His stomach was still trying to escape, after all. Cook, however, cleared his plate twice before leaning back in his chair and unbuttoning his vest. David caught Claudia eyeing him as he did so.
"Mom, can I be excused, please?" David asked, interupting her conversaton with his brother. His mother looked him over.
"Sure," she said uncertainly. "You haven't eaten a thing, David." He just looked back at her. Something in her eyes told him that she understood, or at least got that he had had his fill of the family for today. David pushed back in his chair and then stood up. Unfortunately, this was exactly when Claudia decided to say to Cook, "David, why don't you join us for a game? We often play games after dinner." David shot daggars at his sister. He felt his hands squeezing into fists.
"Awesome," Cook replied. "Whatta we got?"
"Scrabble?" Claudia suggested, batting her heavily make-up laden eyes.
I'm so smothering her in her sleep tonight, David thought angrily.
"It's my favorite game," Cook said, a huge smile filling his face. "I'm a huge word nerd. Though it's really my brother Andrew who's the ace at that game."
David sat by as his stupid sister, mother and brother challenged Cook to three rounds of Scrabble before his mother realized the time and set off to make Amber and Jazzy go to bed. Daniel yawned and announced his plan to go to bed as well. Claudia however, now clearly realizing her opportunity to monopolize Cook's attention, offered one more Scrabble challenge to him while trying to suppress a yawn.
"Well, I'd better not," Cook answered, stretching his arms above his head. "I sort of promised your brother a lesson at the ol' billiards table tonight."
Claudia's face sank, but David could tell she was trying to think of something fast. Let it go, Claudia, for God's sake, let it go.
Finally, she stood up, stretched and said, "Okay. Well, catch you guys in the morning. Night." As she passed, her hand drug across Cook's shoulder gently, though her eyes were like icicles piercing through David's heart.
"You still up for it, Archuleta?" Cook's eyes were tired, but willing. His hair was slightly ruffled from when he had run his hands through it trying to figure out what the hell to do with a rack that included a Q, Y, L, P and X.
"Yeah," David whispered. He hadn't spoken for hours and his voice was weak and sounded foreign to him.
Back downstairs, Cook began racking the balls. David had had to chase Amber and Jazzy out of the basement twice before his father very loudly and sternly threatened them to get to bed or they'd never see the light of day again. David made sure he locked the basement door behind them.
"Your family's amazing," Cook said, laughing to himself. David looked incredulous.
"Are you completely out of your mind, Cook? They're insane."
"Eh, but you can tell they still love one another."
"If you say so," David replied, now grabbing a cue. In an effort to look like he knew what he was doing, he grabbed a cube of the blue chalk from the cue rack and smoothed it across the tip of the cue.
"Okay, so to begin," Cook started, taking the wooden triangle from off the table surface and hanging it back on it's hook on the wall, "you go down to the other end and break these up, okay?"
"O... kay." David wandered to the other end and then stood staring at the table, knowing he was forgetting something, but not sure what.
"Oh, it'd help if you had this, I suppose." Cook leaned across the table and rolled the cue ball to David's end. His handcuff necklace swung wildly, gracing the tabletop. "Just put it anywhere down there and hit it into these ones."
David was suddenly overtaken by the tremendous desire to be doing anything else but this. Still, he shakily placed the cue ball right in front of him, taking a lot of time trying to line it up perfectly with the triangle of balls at the other end. He was certain that Cook must think he's the hugest dork in the world and was probably laughing silently from the other end of the room. However, when he finally snuck a peek up at him, he was just waiting patiently, arms folded, shirt tails half untucked.
"Like this?" David asked wearily.
"It's perfect. Now line up your stick and hit it as hard as you can." Cook was now leaning against the chest freezer behind him, one leg crossed in front of him, arms also crossed over his little pooch of a belly that David found strangely attractive.
David did as instructed. He tried lining up the cue as best he could, but he'd never been good at this sort of thing, especially when perspective judgement came into play.
"Archie."
"Huh?"
"Bend over more."
"What?"
"Bend." Cook pointed at his own waist. "Lean over the table more."
"Oh."
Stupid, Archuleta. You're amazingly stupid.
"Good. Now just go for it."
David tried. However, he somehow fumbled the stick in his right hand and jabbed his left hand with the point, leaving a blue streak across his thumb and forefinger.
"Okay," Cook said slowly. David was humiliated. For real now, he wished it would end... and that he'd disappear.
"Try again, Archie. This time, hold the cue more like this." Cook bent his hand awkwardly, picking up another cue to demonstrate exactly which fingers to wrap around and which not.
"Oh... uh, okay." David spent a moment trying to mimic Cook's instructions. One finger over, two over, none, back to one. Swapped sides, angles and grips. Finally, he felt somewhat comfortable, or at least found an arrangement that felt less uncomfortable than any other. He shot again, this time hitting the cue ball, which hit the other balls. But not quite hard enough. The balls barely transferred the energy from the front to the back line.
"Wow, I'm totally useless," David commented, trying to smile. He ran his fingers through his hair, nervously.
"Here, watch me." Cook came around with his cue, lined up the cue ball and bent gracefully over the table. David could see the gap of skin between Cook's shirt and pants again, which made his stomach flip over, so he looked away.
"Don't be afraid to hit it really hard," Cook was saying as he ran the cue back and forth between his fingers. "Just have a little confidence, do the best you can, and --"
Cook shot so hard that David thought for sure one of the balls had cracked in half.
"... there you go." Cook swirled around and bowed. The balls had scattered around the entire table, some still coasting from one side to the other.
"Looks like none went in, so... your turn, buddy."
David was extremely nervous. He really didn't want to play anymore, he'd made enough of a fool of himself. But Cook was clearly enjoying himself, and was being so patient with him. He sidled up to the table again and took aim. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and --
"Yahoo!" came Cook's jubilant voice. "You got one in! So now you're just gonna go after the solid colored balls and I've got stripes. Good job!"
David opened his eyes. He hadn't seen what he'd done at all. Looking across the table, however, he could tell that some sort of jumbling had occurred, and apparently, it was good.
"You get to go again," Cook instructed, a giant, goofy grin on his face.
David straightened up and observed the table. He picked out what he figured should be a pretty easy shot.
"Good choice," Cook encouraged as soon as it was apparent what David was intending to do. David was relieved, and his heart rate lessoned a little. If he was doing well, it wasn't quite so nerve-wrecking. Again, he assumed his least-uncomfortable position, lined up the shot... and biffed it completely.
"Oh, hell, Archie, I just realized something. I'm an idiot." Cook set down his cue and came over to where David was standing.
"You didn't make me miss," David said sheepishly.
"Yes, I did. You're shooting right-handed."
"W... whuh?"
Cook gestured again. "I don't know why you're doing it, I thought you were left-handed, like me."
"I, um, I don't know either. I guess, from over here it looked... gosh."
David awkwardly fumbled the cue as he tried to turn himself around now. He was still trying to figure out how to approach the table when he felt Cook's hand suddenly on his waist, pushing his hips into a better position. David's heart rate sky-rocketed. Two hands now, one on either hip. He stood paralyzed.
"Okay, that's better. Now do this." Cook's hands moved over David's, and the same sensation from earlier at the dinner table filled him again, except doubly. Chills raced through his entire body, and he strained to keep himself calm.
"Okay, how's this feel? Better, right?"
"Yes! Uh, yes, it's fine," David somehow managed to say, though the words sounded like they were coming from somewhere else.
"Good. Now for this you're going to have to lean a little awkwardly, but I'll help you."
OhGod, OhGod, OhGod, OhGod, was all that David could think. Cook was right up behind him. How the hell -- how in the hell was he going to... to...
But apparently Cook was getting impatient because he put one hand back on David's waist, the other on the opposite shoulder and pushed him forward so that he was properly leaning over the table.
Oh. God.
Cook was decidedly taller than David, and as such, was able to wrap himself around him like a glove. Or at least a mitten. This also put Cook's mouth right behind David's right ear, and as a result, Cook lowered his voice.
"See how you can see better if you're really close to the table?" Cook nearly whispered. David was shaking now, he couldn't help it. He also felt like he would vomit at any second, so he closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally.
"D... D-D-David..."
"Yeah, Archie?" The words slid across David's ear like a hot summer breeze. David could have sworn he was whispering more than was necessary.
He swallowed hard. "I... I sort of... um, I..."
Cook laughed softly and his head dropped into the crook of David's neck. The prickly scruff against David's skin made him stiffen up, in more ways than one. He let go of the pool cue in alarm and squirmed. Now what was he going to do? He'd never exactly been in this position before... literally and figuratively.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Cook cooed, like a mother calming a crying child. "It's okay. It's okay. Are you all right? Do you want to stop?"
Stop? Stop what? David was so out of his element at this point that the words meant absolutely nothing to him. He wasn't exactly clear on what was happening nor whether he did or did not want any part of it.
Cook slid his hands down David's sides, landing firmly on his hips. David gasped, closed his eyes again, and tried to operate his limbs. However, his arms seemed to have completely lost their functionality, as had the entire part of his brain that controlled communication.
Cook hooked his arms around David's middle. "It's okay, Archie, I know all about it. I know, okay?"
David's voice shook as much as his body. "W-What?"
"I know you like me, it's okay. There's nothing wrong."
Warmth suddenly rushed through David's entire body. He propped up on his arms and pushed against Cook in order to face him. Looking at him properly was terrifying, however, he needed to look at him. Needed to see his lips moving.
"What?" he repeated.
"I know you like me. I know you sometimes stare."
"H-How? How did you..."
"Well, no offense, but you're young and inexperienced, so most of the time, the signs are pretty obvious," Cook answered, his voice on the cusp of laughter. "Sure, sometimes it takes the help of a dreadlocked hippie, Australian-mouthed rocker and an Irish songbird to point it out at first, but once you're looking, you see every twitch of the eye."
David gulped. "I didn't... don't... haven't been sure what it is I'm feeling. But I -- what about you? You..."
"The worst part, eh? Discovering you like another man but don't know if he could even possibly like you back, let alone if he would." Cook closed the gap between them and continued, "I admit, I was flattered, but shocked. It was definitely something new to me, to say the least. But I guess the idea grew on me. It took some soul-searching, talking with close friends... You'll be very happy to know that Carly was very concerned about how this would effect you... very insistant upon me being gentle with you."
David raised his eyebrows. "You call this gentle?" He managed a laugh.
Cook broke into a small chuckle as well. "Well, I was trying, but I guess I got impatient. You know how I am -- once I get the adrenaline rush, it's difficult not to go full-force forward and not look back."
They were both silent a moment. David didn't know where to look now, as looking into Cook's eyes was both exhilerating and terrifying at the same time. Cook, however, never broke his line of sight.
Finally, he spoke again. "Where's this lesson end tonight, Archie? It's up to you."
"I --" David wasn't exactly sure what to say. He thought perhaps he didn't exactly know his decision yet. He still wasn't sure if what Cook was saying actually matched up with those feelings he'd been having. He didn't know anything right now.
"Don't rush. Remember, I'm under strict regulation from Carly."
"Stop talking about Carly already, you're totally ruining this!"
They both laughed.
"I'm... uh, gosh. Well, you know, I've never..." The floor became suddenly very interesting to David.
"Virgin," Cook finished for him.
"Yeah."
"Completely, I suppose."
How, David wondered, could one be only partially virgin, he did not know.
"What?"
Cook smirked. "Sorry, I just meant... you've never been with a girl either."
"Oh," David replied. "No. No, I haven't... I... I'm so --
"Do not say embarrassed. Don't even. I am too... with boys anyway."
David was staring at Cook's mouth. It had very suddenly seemed very desirable to him, and he watched the subtle movements his lips made when he spoke. They were currently wet, and plump and delicious looking. Cook licked them when he trailed off of his last sentence...
Planting his hands firmly on the back of Cook's head, David pulled the bed-headed rocker close to him and pressed his lips firmly on those lips. Cook seemed taken by surprise, but then fell quickly into the kiss, parting his lips enough to lead David further. They sort of mouthed at one another like fish out of water for a moment, then laughed between kisses. Then Cook pushed David to arm's length away and smiled deviously.
"Now it's test time, Archie. What have I taught you today?"
David was perplexed. His mind, emotions, vision and central nervous system were all on the fritz.
"Jesus, you spend an hour showing a guy how to play pool, and this is the thanks he gets? Why do I even bother?"
David strained to remember the last hour, but it had become a fog. But before he could completely make the connection, Cook's hands had moved down to his belt and were unbuckling it. David just watched him, as if some sort of outside observer. The next thing he knew, Cook's hands were caressing the flesh just inside the waist of David's jeans, his face again in the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply as if he were trying to inhale him.
"You smell good," Cook breathed. "You always smell so good."
"You uh, smell dirty," David said honestly. Cook laughed.
"Ever the romantic, I see."
"Sorry."
Cook pulled away again to turn David back around. The last hour suddenly hit David like a ton of bricks. Oh yes, hands on the table, lean forward... way forward... close to the table...
Cook kissed David's neck as he fumbled with his own belt while also hungrily pressing himself against the 18 year old's back. It was a less than smooth transition, but finally, Cook whispered, "Next exercise of the lesson?", his whiskers tickling David's ear. David could only manage to grunt a fairly positive sounding noise -- it was taking most of the rest of his concentration to will his knees not to give out, as they had suddenly gone to jelly.
"Do not hesitate telling me to stop, you hear me? I'm deadly serious," Cook warned, though he didn't sound deadly serious given he was breathing heavily, moaning, and so obviously hungry for this. But David trusted him more than anyone, and knew he meant what he said.
Cook gripped David's hips, digging his fingers into the creases of them. Gently, he leaned into David, pausing as if waiting for a green light in traffic. Then he nudged him again, his cock pulsing against him. Cook ran both of his hands up David's body and then along either arm, resting them finally on top of David's hands and interlacing his fingers with his. David found incredible comfort in this and attempted to clasp his hands tighter with Cook's. Cook squeezed David's hands and pushed his hips against David's sleek body.
David found himself very perplexed. His heart was flying because having Cook's hands on him was so comforting, so sensual. However, at the same time, while he now admitted that his feelings for Cook must have been beyond platonic love, he had not completely considered the situation this far yet. It wasn't that he didn't want anything to be happening, just more that this was more Olympic diving while he was still learning to swim.
"Any last words?" Cook breathed into David's neck. His breath was hot and heavy, and David liked how it hung on his skin.
"W-what?"
Cook laughed. "Any last words before you become a man?"
David coughed harshly. "Um, gosh, I--"
Cook laughed again. "That's probably appropriate," he replied.
Slowly, Cook pushed into David, and David squelched in response. A strange combination of pain and pleasure overtook him. He was slightly uncomfortable, slightly unable to breathe, and slightly scared to death. Cook pulled back and pushed forward again... and again... and again. David's hands scraped against the table, and he'd forgotten it was a pool table until his right hand slipped and accidentally knocked against a couple of the balls and they clacked against one another. A green-striped ball slowly rolled past his face and plunked into a side pocket.
"What color?" Cook asked. His pokey chin dug into David's shoulder as he kissed it.
"Green," David answered. "Green stripe."
"Oooh," Cook moaned, thrusting a little harder. "Scratch, that's one of mine."
David had no idea what that meant. It didn't matter at the moment for he was much too distracted by the realization that his and Cook's bodies were nearly perfectly cupped together, Cook's belly to chest matching up square inch by square inch between his own lower back and shoulder blades. The mass acreage of Cook skin touching his made his entire torso go numb.
Cook was hitting his stride now, still gripping David's hands and breathing heavily in his ear. David remained somewhat anxious, for he had not forgotten that he was in his parents house, doing this thing that he'd always been told was... well, he didn't want to think about it. However, he knew he definitely didn't completely agree. That, however, did not make him consider that he might also be wrong, because who was he? He'd been taught that he wasn't the one who made the rules for his life, it was... it was...
"Nnngg, God," Cook groaned. His hands were sweaty, slipping from David's fingers. He tried desperately to wipe his hands across the table felt.
"Archie, I'm... I'm about to come, okay? I just... wanted to... let you know..." David closed his eyes, feeling like it was somehow what he was supposed to do. Cook's breathing was becoming quicker and shallower and when Cook's breath caught in his throat, David knew that that was it. With Cook's release came a verbal release that David could only describe as an anguished roar, which he found half titillating and half frightening.
Cook fell forward into David; David's knees slammed into the side of the table. David shoved his face into his arm, clamping his teeth down into his forearm so as to keep from hollering out. Cook's shout had sent the fear of God into his heart, and he was petrified that someone must have heard him upstairs, regardless of the fact that directly above them was the kitchen and dining room and that no one would be up there at this hour.
Cook had collapsed his face into the small of David's back, his hot breath pouring out of his mouth. He licked his lips and the tip of his tongue touched David's skin, which made him shiver slightly. Cook kissed David just there, then halfway up his back, then trailed the kisses up his shoulder and to his milky white neck. David was shaking again, and Cook squeezed him tighter to himself and whispered in his ear.
"You okay?" he asked. He smoothed his fingertips across David's belly.
"Mmm," was all David could manage. Cook was unknowingly tickling him.
Cook gave one last quick squeeze before grabbing David's arms and turning him to face him again. David's face was very close to Cook's, so close in fact that it wasn't possible to see his entire face all at once. Cook smirked.
"How's it going?" he asked.
Lips. All David could really see was lips. Still wet, still plump, still... everything in the entire universe wrapped up into one set of delicious lips.
"Wanna hop up on that table for me, young man?" the lips inquired. David obeyed, struggling to push himself up onto the edge of the table. Cook's hands met his hips and helped him the rest of the way. His legs dangled off and he felt like he was at the doctor's office, except at the doctor's office you got to wear that ridiculous little gown and not be completely exposed to the examiner.
Cook took inventory with his eyes of all that was before him, then wedged himself between David's knees, clasped his hands on either side of his face, and smashed his lips against David's. Sweat dripped down his brow. He breathed in deeply.
Then the lips disappeared. The hands disappeared. The Cook disappeared. David took a deep breath and it turned out he needed it -- the lips had shown up below his waist, along with their friend, the tongue. But one swipe of the tongue down there and David started, feeling like his heart was going to explode and he flailed as if trying to fly away.
Cook drew back sharply. David coughed, then gagged slightly and clasped his hands over his mouth.
"You all right, Archie?" Cook asked, his eyes serious. David tried to smile, but he really couldn't feel his face at all. His eyes stung and he squeezed them tight in an effort to stop what was already happening. Two hot tears streaked down his cheeks.
"David!" Cook whimpered. David could feel the callused hands sweep across his cheeks. "David, I'm sorry." Cook's voice was wavering. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... I should have asked... I --" Even with his eyes still closed, David could tell Cook had covered his own face with his hands.
"N-n-no," David forced out through his own fingers. "No, you're... I'm... fine..." He closed his mouth because he knew if he talked more he would either start sobbing or vomit. Or both.
Cook's hand graced David's temple and softly petted his hairline. "It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" Tears streamed down David's face now. He nodded slowly and chewed his bottom lip. He refused to open his eyes. He couldn't look at Cook now. Not now that this was happening. If ever there were a good time for the Rapture, now sure would have been it.
"Hey, shhh, shh," Cook said soothingly. He pulled David close to him, David sinking his face into Cook's shoulder. He opened his eyes finally and it was like someone had opened a flood gate -- water fell straight out of his eyes and down Cook's chest.
Cook was stroking the back of David's head now, and he began to hum. He rubbed David's back with the other hand and swayed a little.
"When I was little," Cook said softly, still swaying, "whenever I was scared, my mom would hold me in her arms just like this and just hum. Sometimes she never said anything at all, she'd just make up a little melody and hum it."
David sniffed loudly. He felt a little calmer, but still shaken. The giant ball of nerves in his stomach had eased slightly. He was suddenly so incredibly sleepy and cold. Terribly cold. He shivered violently and tried to smoosh closer to Cook's warm body.
Cook stopped humming and looked down at the frail young man in his arms. "Hey, let's get you to bed," he said. He kept one hand on David's shoulder while with the other he tried to pick up their clothes. David still didn't look up at Cook the whole length of the walk to the bedroom. He kept wiping his face and sniffing. Once in his room, he headed straight for his dresser and pulled out new flannel pajamas that he'd gotten for his birthday. They had blue and white vertical stripes and he buttoned them all the way up to the very top button. He finally looked at Cook across the room, who was dressing in boxers and a t-shirt. His hairline was wet with sweat and whisps of his hair stuck to his forehead and neck. David wanted to say something, but didn't know what. He did know, however, that he felt incredibly stupid. He wouldn't blame Cook if he went home and never spoke to him again.
Pulling back the quilt on his bed, he climbed into it, slouching way down into it and pulling the quilt back up as close to his face as possible. He peered across the room at Cook, who was rummaging in his bag. It was pretty obvious that he was just wasting time and not really looking for anything. Another moment passed before Cook peeked out of the corner of his eye at his companion. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping in silence for what seemed like an eternity.
David was so tired. He fought against his eyelids closing, but was losing the battle. He was still awake when he felt the strange combination of soft lips and scratchy scruff press gently against his forehead. He weakly tried pursing out his own lips, but his brain was losing reception, and a millisecond later, all power all together.
~~~~~~
David Cook's eyes fluttered open against the annoyingly bright light. A sliver of sunlight was filtering in from the small window near the ceiling of the room, its path ending directly in his cornea. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. For a half a second, the panic of not knowing where he was entered his heart. He looked about him, taking in the vaguely familiar decor of the small room he found himself in at present, and all at once, his heart turned over. Something about the room made his insides ache; ache with the pain of love or guilt or both.
He yawned. His head was pounding. He closed his eyes and opened them again. As if magically appearing where it hadn't been before, Cook's eye caught a poster on the wall directly in front of him. He squinted to see it more clearly, and the tiny people filling it. He strained to see the writing, but his eyes were still adjusting to the light. "Christmas 1999" he made out at the bottom. Across the top: "Mormon Tabernacle Choir."
His breath caught in his throat. Son of a bitch.
He glanced next to him on the bed, where the soft-skinned boy, barely 18, lay snuggled down under a hideous quilt, breathing heavily.
"What the hell have I done? What the hell." His mind raced now. The answer read like the description from the back of one of those movies they keep in the back of the video store, behind the ugly, questionable curtain: "Scruffy rough and tumble rock star pursues barely 18, naive, Eagle Scout, Mormon boy".
Boy. He wasn't exactly a boy anymore, he supposed. Heck, he may have even single-handedly undone the Mormon part; he wasn't really sure how that worked.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. He was 26. He was fucking 26 and he knew better. Even though David had consented, he should have thought about the fact that... he was a sheltered, barely 18, inexperienced Mormon boy. Fuckfuckfuck.
David stirred next to him, but only to sigh and fall back into the heavy breathing of sleep. There was a blue chalk streak across his cheekbone. Cook reached out and gently smeared it off, rubbing out the dusty powder between his fingers. Then he just stared at him. Stared at the long, jet-black eyelashes pressed lightly into his face. His body slowly rising and falling rythmically. His gently sloping nose, pink lips, slender build...
A frantic buzzing sound startled Cook back from his distraction. His cell phone was ringing, though he had no idea where it was. Just as the ring cycle was ending, he spotted it on the side table just out of his reach.
"1 missed call from Kimberly" the screen informed him. He let his eyes blur the words as if hoping they'd disappear. The phone buzzed again. "1 new text from Kimberly."
He punched the 'read' button and sighed heavily. "Hay u, hope ur havin a good Time. Call when u can. miss u. <3"
He felt like he wanted to throw up. He tossed the phone next to him on the bed and buried his face in his hands. His face was greasy. He smelled like stale sweat. The thought crossed his mind that David probably smelled like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Nothing seemed to funkify that kid. Not sleep, not play, not sex... nothing. He at all times oozed daisies and lavender and butterflies.
The phone buzzed a third time.
"Jesus!" he hissed into his hands. He grabbed the phone defiantly and glared at it, as if it could sense his annoyance and learn to back off.
"1 new text from Carly."
"Where are you?"
With some amount of difficulty due to his pounding head and lingering sleepiness, he tapped out, "SLC."
Faster than he could believe anyone could type on a phone keypad, the response came. "ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?"
"Yes."
"ANNNNDD???"
"I'll talk to you about it later."
"WTF, Cook?! Is he watching you type right now, is that the problem?"
"No. Sleeping."
"Come oooonnn."
"Later, Carly, seriously."
"At least give me a clue. Vague fake code even."
"GOODBYE CARLY."
He needed a shower, badly. And a strong cup of coffee, though he knew this was the last place on earth where he'd get that. He gathered up his clothes and stumbled into the small adjoining bathroom. Standing at the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like utter shit. He needed to shave, but he already knew he hadn't packed his razor. Flipping open the medicine cabinet, he scanned the shelves. Vitamins. Deodorant. Batman Band-Aids. No razors.
Of course not. Archie's soft skin wasn't due to some amazingly close shaving procedure, it was that he didn't shave. Fuckfuckfuck.
He felt like an old man. A dirty, disgusting old man. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Maybe if he scrubbed hard enough, he could rid himself of it, the filth that felt like a thick film suffocating his body. He turned on the faucet and was greeted with instant-hot water. At least Archie's got a grown-up shower, he thought. It was sufficient to relax his muscles, sooth his head, warm his blood.
When he got out, David still hadn't stirred, as far as he could tell. Standing at the sink again, he grabbed David's hairbrush and tried to make his hair behave. His hair had always been in a state of exodus, in one way or another. If it wasn't standing out at odd angles, it was falling out entirely. He was half-temped to double-check the shower to see if it wasn't littered with it. In the end he decided he didn't need to feel any older than he already did.
"You look like you're going to your third grade picture day," he said to his reflection, for he had finally managed to create a part and lay down most of his hair. "Or going to church," he added.
Back in the room, he pulled on his boots, put on his watch and other wrist adornments, and grabbed his phone off the bed and put it in his pocket. Without even glancing at David, he strode out of the room, eyes on the floor, blinders to the pool table as he passed it, and jogged up the steps. It was mid-morning, but he didn't really hear a lot of noise in the house. He rounded the corner to find only David's mom sitting at the kitchen table. A glass of orange juice sat before her and she was browsing what looked like a gardening magazine. She looked up when he walked in.
"Good morning, David," she greeted him. "Sleep well?"
"Like a baby," he responded, trying to smile. He had to concentrate on not accidentally saying, "With your baby."
"David's still asleep?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"He's usually up by now, but you guys were up pretty late playing pool."
Cook's heart stopped. What did she say?
"At least, you were still up when I went to bed and that was pretty late." She nonchalantly flipped the page in her magazine.
Cook stared at the table. He wanted to run away, right now. What if he just got up and made a break for it? He could do it, right? Right?
"I hope we didn't disturb anyone," Cook said, voice cracking.
"Oh, all the bedrooms are on the second floor," Mrs. Archuleta said, still looking at her magazine and not Cook. "No worries. I just sit at the table here sometimes after everyone's gone to bed and enjoy the silence, you know?"
"Y-yeah."
"Hey, I'm off to the Boy Scout leaders thing now, hon, anything you need while I'm out?" Mr. Archuleta had stopped in the doorway and poked his head in. "Good morning, David! Hope you slept well. My boy catching on to the billiard table yet?"
Cook couldn't bring himself to look David's father in the eye. He glanced at the light fixture just behind him. "Oh, he's a natural, all right."
"Really? Because when I tried to show him he was very resistant. Of course, he was doing a lot of recording sessions at the time, so I think maybe he was just burnt." He glanced at his watch. "Okay, I've got to get going. See you guys later."
"Bye, honey," Mrs. Archuleta called without looking up.
Cook closed his eyes. He wanted to go home. He wanted to talk to Carly. He wanted to talk to Andrew and Adam and even his mom. And Kimberly had called. Goddammit, what did she want? What part of "I don't have time for this anymore" didn't she understand? What part of him walking away from her without giving her a hug nor saying goodbye the last time he'd seen her didn't she understand?
"You must be starving, David," Mrs. Archuleta said suddenly. "You missed breakfast, but we've got cereal and some fruit."
"Oh, no thanks," Cook stammered. "I'm not that hungry." He thought again about the coffee and how if he were at home his mom would have already been pouring it for him; rich, strong, French press coffee. He could practically taste it now.
"Juice then?"
"Water would be great, actually." Yes, his throat was incredibly dry.
"You need coffee," she said as if diagnosing an illness.
His eyes snapped to hers, as she was for the first time since he'd sat down looking at him.
Cook fumbled. "I, no... I thought..."
She smirked. "Jeff doesn't know it, but I have coffee stashed for guests. I haven't drank it myself, of course, but I think it's not very good by coffee standards. So I don't know if you want --"
Cook was floored. Who was this woman sitting across from him? It was true he didn't really know her, he'd had more interaction with her husband during Idol and the tour. But even so...
"No, that'd be... that'd be great."
She smiled at him. She moved to get up, but at the last second she paused, the smile softening on her face.
"David."
"Yes, ma'am?"
Her eyes met his again with seriousness and she put her hand on his forearm, gripping it like she didn't want him to get away. Cook swallowed hard.
"You break him, and I break you."
Cook stopped breathing. Her eyes lingered another second, then she let go of his arm and went into the kitchen.
Cook's mind was blank. He didn't know what to think at all. The horror, however, of knowing that she knew, flooded his entire body. At least, he guessed that's what she meant, right? He was incredibly embarrassed and suddenly felt completely exposed and immediately started chastising himself, as if to replace his mother who wasn't there to do it for him. Then again, this meant he had an ally, right? And someone else who didn't think he was a dirty old man? Maybe?
His pocket vibrated, which startled him. He had forgotten that he'd put his phone in his pocket.
"Where are you?"
"In the kitchen, silly."
"I thought maybe you had left."
"All my stuff's down there still, Archie."
"You might have run off in the night."
"And leave my guitar? Never."
"Is it crazy up there?"
"Actually, your mom's the only one around. Come upstairs and talk to me like a man."
"Okay."
Cook realized too late that sarcasm didn't always translate in written communication, and he was sure David probably thought that last comment sounded angry. He'd have to be more careful in the future.
He brought up Carly's last message while he waited. "At least give me a clue. Vague fake code even."
Cook could hear David's footsteps running up the stairs. An instant later he had rounded the corner, still in his pajamas, barefoot, hair rustled.
"Morning, Mom."
"Good morning, David. Hungry?"
"Um, yeah. Yeah, I guess so."
"Good. Have a seat, honey. Now there's two of you I'll just make up something, eh? French toast, David? I know it's your favorite."
How did she know that? Cook wondered. Had he mentioned it in one of those stupid AI "Getting to know the Idols" things or something?
"Yeah." He and David answered at the same time. Cook burst out laughing and David bashfully smiled and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Double batch then," Mrs. Archuleta laughed. "Coming right up." She brought Cook his coffee and set it in front of him. The mug was plain white with black and orange lettering: "Murray High School PTA", it advertised.
Cook, still chuckling, gave his attention back to Carly's message. He knew what he'd write now. He carefully typed out the letters... "Magic rainbows."
He turned off the phone and slid it back into his pocket. He'd let her sit on that for awhile, he decided.
David was looking at him from across the table. "You look happy," he observed.
"I am happy, Archie."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
David's eyes searched Cook's face, as if looking for something else. "I'm happy too," he said shyly.
Cook grinned at him. "Good. Good, good." He took up the coffee mug and could tell by sight that it was instant coffee, and he supposed it was most definitely stale. He gulped it thirstily... It was the worst goddamn coffee he'd ever tasted in his entire life. He let Mrs. Archuleta refill it three more times.
-------------------------
[title] Trouble With A Capital T
[author] fieryrogue
[pairing] Cookleta
[beta] None. I've tried really hard to make sure everything's good from grammar to html though.
[rating] NC-17, Explicit, Language (because I just go for it, apparently, and now I'm slightly embarrassed because most recent posts have been like, "You could air this on the Disney channel." LOL.)
[word count] A picture is worth 9,209 words, apparently. Next stop, Cookleta novella. YEEAAH!! I had no clue I'd write so much...
[summary] There's trouble my friends, I said trouble right here in Salt Lake City. Trouble with a capital T, which rhymes with P, and that stands for POOL.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Bad sex talk? Badly constructed references to other Idols? My only vague familiarity with how gay sex works? LOL. And a little angst for good measure.
[author's notes] Written for david_squared's Challenge #21 prompt #4. I'm sure it doesn't really need to be explained, but just to be sure -- in narration, "David" always refers to Archie. Cook is always referred to as Cook. However, in dialogue, either may be referred to as David, so watch your context clues, people. :)
TROUBLE WITH A CAPITAL T
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"That game with the fifteen numbered balls is the devil's tool..." -- The Music Man
-------
David's heart was racing. Cook had phoned three days prior saying that he was coming through Salt Lake City and wondered if he could swing by and see the "old homestead" as he had put it, whatever that even meant. Unfortunately, his stupid sister, Jazzy, had answered the phone and David had come into the room to hear her giggling through the phrase, "Oh yeah, we'd looove for you to come visit us, David!" David remembered his stomach plummeting to the ground and dropping the dish he had had in his hands, shattering it on the hardwood floor. "Oh, David," he remembered hearing his mother say, "do be more careful. Jazzy, tell David he must stay with us. No, I insist."
And now he had arrived, wearing raggy tight jeans and with his hair looking like it wanted to escape from his head. His brother Daniel had exchanged looks with his father -- no Archuleta had ever walked through the house looking like David Cook. But luckily for David Cook, the Archuletas were familiar with his demeanor and knew he was a "good kid".
After spending much time trying to pry Jazzy, Amber and two dogs off of Cook's legs, getting past his mother trying to feed Cook something before he'd even been in the house five minutes, and side-stepping his older sister who had mysteriously appeared at the house that morning even though she should have been 400 miles away at school, David now found himself leading Cook down the stairs to the basement where his room was located. He had just been relocated there before the American Idol auditions, after Claudia had left for school, abandoning the coveted privacy of the space.
The basement had been remodeled to allow for a mostly private bedroom area while still leaving a significant area for family recreation. In one corner sat an old couch and TV, a folding table near a shelf of board games were nearby, and the crowning glory -- at least in Jeff Archuleta's eyes -- sat illuminated in the center of the room: a lushly stocked billiards table.
"Archie," Cook gasped in amazement while dropping his bag at the bottom of the steps and moving as if magnitized to the table, "you never said you had a pool table, buddy."
"Um, yeah," David said softly, struggling to pick up Cook's bag; he had already been carrying his guitar. "I'm... I'm not very good, I don't really play. Dad and Daniel do, mostly."
Cook leaned against the table and took it in as if eyeing a new tricked-out muscle car. He ran his hands across the top of it, spreading them in opposite directions as if he were embracing it like a lover. David caught himself staring at the small slice of flesh showing between Cook's shirt and his jeans.
"Um, my room's over here," David managed to say, swallowing hard and heaving Cook's bag onto his shoulder and nearly dropping the guitar. Cook turned and looked behind him.
"Oh my God, Archuleta, what are you doing?" It wasn't in anger, but in disbelief. He clearly hadn't expected David to carry all of his things.
"Carrying... carrying your things," David answered. "You're my guest."
The all too familiar outburst of laughter that came from Cook whenever he found David particularly endearing resonated in David's ears. "Oh, come on now. If I wanted someone to carry my stuff around for me, I'd have Johns here doing it, not you."
David hated it when he didn't completely understand Cook's vague jokes. He felt so... naive? Out of touch? He laughed uncertainly.
"Well, show me the way, Captain," Cook said after relieving David of the bag. David pointed in front of him and led Cook around a crook in the floorplan to a semi-hidden bedroom. A wooden bead-curtain hung in the doorway and when Cook slinked through, he let the beads fall across his face, his eyes closed. David lingered a moment to watch the last beads streak across his face, then looked away just as Cook reopened his eyes.
"Um, so, it's sorta small, but, uh, my bed's here... obviously, I guess. I've got the little couch there, or, uh... or we've got an air mattress, I think... somewhere."
The whole time he spoke, he stared purposefully at the items he was describing, while grasping the guitar case with both hands. He was terribly aware that Cook on the other hand had been staring directly at him the entire time, which made his face feel warm and his throat close up on him.
"We'll worry about it later," Cook smirked and tossed his bag onto David's bed. David suddenly felt embarrassed by the quilt on his bed that his great-grandmother had made for him before she died. It was incredibly worked, perfectly stitched and David loved it -- but the pattern was decidedly uncool. He was always worried about being uncool around Cook, regardless of the fact that he knew Cook appreciated all people just the way they are and was only really cool himself because he didn't try to be cool. But even so. And especially since lately... lately he had felt... he didn't exactly know. He just knew that he felt nervous around Cook, anxious. Always felt like a gigantic dork and worried about losing Cook's attention. The latter part even more so, though he wasn't completely sure why. He thought Michael was terribly cool as well, and Jason, in his own way. But Cook felt different; Cook was beyond cool guy and bordering on other-worldly.
"DAVID!!" Mrs. Archuleta's voice interupted David's thoughts. Whoa, he thought. How long were we standing there in silence? I'm such a dork!
"Yeah?" David leaned out his bedroom door and called out.
"David, it's your turn to set the table! Show David where he can wash up before dinner!"
Set the table? Was she kidding? He was eighteen years old now, he shouldn't be setting the table. Well, he should, but when he wanted to, not just because his mommy asked him to. She was totally not helping his case in trying to be less uncool.
"I, uh, I have to go set the table," he said to Cook.
"So I've heard," Cook replied, smirking.
"Oh, yeah," David muttered, feeling mortified. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought. What a stupid thing to say, Archuleta.
"Um, the bathroom is just in there," David said, pointing to the closet-sized space adjoining his room. "You should, uh, comb your hair. My dad's kind of wacky about being cleaned up at the table."
"Not a problem." Cook peeled off the leather jacket he had been wearing and flung it onto the bed. David became suddenly aware of Cook's tattoos and wondered if he should say something about them too. Before he could decide, Cook reached out and laid a hand on the guitar case in gesture of taking it. David started -- he had forgotten he was still holding it. He handed it over silently, smiled awkwardly, and then dashed out of the room and up the stairs.
"Dad brought the air mattress in from the garage," his mother said as soon as he stepped into the kitchen. "He's left it at the top of the basement stairs for you. David, go ahead and grab the Sunday dishes, okay? Let's make David feel special, okay?"
"That's so funny, Mommy, when you say David and David in the same sentence." Amber was hovering about her mother's workspace in the kitchen, but not really helping do anything. David glared at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.
"It is funny, isn't it, honey?" David could tell his mother was only partially involved in the conversation. She was trying to concentrate on mixing a salad with her hands.
"I think he's cute," Amber went on. "The other David, I mean. David James isn't cute at all."
"Shut up, Amber," David replied, annoyed.
"Shut up, Amber," Amber repeated mockingly.
"Amber--" David started.
"David, what are you doing? You've got three forks here and no water glass over there." His mother had turned her attention to the table now, however, seemingly ignorant of her children's petty behavior. "I don't know where your head's been lately, David. It seems like you're getting more forgetful and more distracted these days. Nothing's troubling you, is it?"
"Maybe he has a girlfriend!" Amber's face sparked with electricity at her own suggestion.
"I don't have a girlfriend," David replied, almost defiantly. "I most definitely do not."
"David has a girlfriend, David has a girlfriend," Amber repeated in a sing-song voice as she skipped around the kitchen table.
"I don't have a girlfriend!" David shouted, putting extra force on the knife he was currently putting down.
"David has a girlfriend?" Jazzy had come in now, a look on her face like the thought of her brother being near a girl repulsed her.
"I don't have a girlfriend," David repeated, trying to sound more civilized. "Amber's just being weird."
"Girlfriend, girlfriend, David has a girlfriend," Amber continued, though now not really paying attention to any of her siblings at all.
"David has a girlfriend?" Claudia's voice matched the horrified look on her face as she entered the room.
"NO," David said, throwing down the stack of cloth napkins in his hand in complete frustration. "I. DO. NOT. Have a--"
"Oooh, you," Claudia replied, her face relaxing. "I thought you meant Hottie Downstairs. Had me worried there for a second."
"Claudia!" Mrs. Archuleta scolded. "Do not... do not talk that way in front of your siblings."
David closed his eyes. He became suddenly aware that he was clenching his jaw and that his teeth were beginning to hurt. Maybe if he ran downstairs right now, gave Cook all the cash in his wallet and directed him to the nearest hotel, he could still save him from the circus unfolding before him. And maybe, just maybe, when he opened his eyes, they would all disappear.
No such luck. Not only were they still there, but they were all silent and staring at him.
"Honey," his mother said, "are you sure you're okay? You look stressed."
"I'm okay, Mom," he lied. As if he needed a heart-to-heart with his mom in the middle of the kitchen with all of his sisters looking on.
"Why don't you go on down and get David?" his mother suggested. "Claudia can finish up here."
"What?" Claudia protested.
"Claudia, you're already in trouble for leaving school when you had a political science exam today."
"Oh, just a weekly exam," she muttered in reply and grabbed up the napkins David and strewn onto the table.
"Well, your father isn't paying university education prices -- out of state, no less -- for you to skip class for no reason."
"Mom, I --"
David took the opportunity to slip out of the room and down the hall. Dear God, he thought. Please save me from my family. Please let Cook not run away in horror. Please, please, please.
He rounded the corner and started down the basement stairs. "Cook, it's time for --" He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly tripping down the last two steps. Cook had not only combed his hair, but had changed his clothes too. He'd put on a clean pair of jeans, new ones. A button-down shirt, a gray striped vest, and a skinny tie now took up residence on Cook's torso. New boots that David hadn't seen before completed the ensemble. Suddenly, he felt ridiculous in his old blue jeans and plain black t-shirt. Cook was leaning over the pool table, cue in hand, lining up a shot. David swallowed hard.
"Um," he squeaked. "Dinner. It's, uh. Dinner's ready."
The clash of billiard balls rang in David's ears and he watched as two balls, one solid and one striped, followed one another into the corner pocket nearest him.
"Damn, got 'em both," Cook said, looking up.
"That's bad?" David asked, confused.
"Well, if I were playing against someone else it would have been." Cook smiled. "I'll teach you after dinner, eh? Or are you totally not interested?"
"Oh, I'm, uh... yeah, I'm interested," David replied. "Sure."
"It's a date then." David felt his cheeks heat up, and he hoped to God he wasn't blushing.
Upon entering the dining area, David was shocked to find his family already seated all around the table (a task that usually took several minutes, or sometimes never happened at all), and they all fell silent when he and Cook entered the room. However, Amber couldn't resist but break the silence in a totally inappropriate way.
"Finally," she said, "I'm starving!" She reached for the small dish of black olives that sat directly in front of her.
"Amber!" Mrs. Archuleta scolded. "You know better. Grace first."
Amber drew her hand back, looking grumpy.
The two empty chairs left were next to one another, with Claudia on one side and Amber on the other. David sighed. He didn't want Cook next to either of them, but in the end, he decided to protect Cook from Amber. She was clearly more unpredicable.
He slid into his chair and Amber thrust out her hand to him immediately. He grabbed it out of habit, but then turned to Cook and stared, alternatively between him and his hand.
"Oh, David," Mrs. Archuleta said as if she'd just remembered something. "If you don't normally say grace, it's okay. You can sit it out."
"No, no, Mrs. Archuleta, it's fine." He grabbed Claudia's and then David's hands, completing the circle around the table.
David felt his stomach trying to escape through his throat. Cook's hands were rough, with callused fingertips and chewed fingernails. Even so, the feel of Cook's skin clasping around his was bordering on unbearable. The prayer passed without his notice, and all too soon Cook's fingers were unwrapping from his.
His mother had made one of his favorite meals, one he usually only got on his birthday -- butternut squash ravioli with chili oil and roasted pumpkin seeds. His father found it "too daring." David found his father "not daring enough", but never told him so. Regardless, David ate about two bites before he decided he shouldn't force himself to eat when he didn't feel like eating. His stomach was still trying to escape, after all. Cook, however, cleared his plate twice before leaning back in his chair and unbuttoning his vest. David caught Claudia eyeing him as he did so.
"Mom, can I be excused, please?" David asked, interupting her conversaton with his brother. His mother looked him over.
"Sure," she said uncertainly. "You haven't eaten a thing, David." He just looked back at her. Something in her eyes told him that she understood, or at least got that he had had his fill of the family for today. David pushed back in his chair and then stood up. Unfortunately, this was exactly when Claudia decided to say to Cook, "David, why don't you join us for a game? We often play games after dinner." David shot daggars at his sister. He felt his hands squeezing into fists.
"Awesome," Cook replied. "Whatta we got?"
"Scrabble?" Claudia suggested, batting her heavily make-up laden eyes.
I'm so smothering her in her sleep tonight, David thought angrily.
"It's my favorite game," Cook said, a huge smile filling his face. "I'm a huge word nerd. Though it's really my brother Andrew who's the ace at that game."
David sat by as his stupid sister, mother and brother challenged Cook to three rounds of Scrabble before his mother realized the time and set off to make Amber and Jazzy go to bed. Daniel yawned and announced his plan to go to bed as well. Claudia however, now clearly realizing her opportunity to monopolize Cook's attention, offered one more Scrabble challenge to him while trying to suppress a yawn.
"Well, I'd better not," Cook answered, stretching his arms above his head. "I sort of promised your brother a lesson at the ol' billiards table tonight."
Claudia's face sank, but David could tell she was trying to think of something fast. Let it go, Claudia, for God's sake, let it go.
Finally, she stood up, stretched and said, "Okay. Well, catch you guys in the morning. Night." As she passed, her hand drug across Cook's shoulder gently, though her eyes were like icicles piercing through David's heart.
"You still up for it, Archuleta?" Cook's eyes were tired, but willing. His hair was slightly ruffled from when he had run his hands through it trying to figure out what the hell to do with a rack that included a Q, Y, L, P and X.
"Yeah," David whispered. He hadn't spoken for hours and his voice was weak and sounded foreign to him.
Back downstairs, Cook began racking the balls. David had had to chase Amber and Jazzy out of the basement twice before his father very loudly and sternly threatened them to get to bed or they'd never see the light of day again. David made sure he locked the basement door behind them.
"Your family's amazing," Cook said, laughing to himself. David looked incredulous.
"Are you completely out of your mind, Cook? They're insane."
"Eh, but you can tell they still love one another."
"If you say so," David replied, now grabbing a cue. In an effort to look like he knew what he was doing, he grabbed a cube of the blue chalk from the cue rack and smoothed it across the tip of the cue.
"Okay, so to begin," Cook started, taking the wooden triangle from off the table surface and hanging it back on it's hook on the wall, "you go down to the other end and break these up, okay?"
"O... kay." David wandered to the other end and then stood staring at the table, knowing he was forgetting something, but not sure what.
"Oh, it'd help if you had this, I suppose." Cook leaned across the table and rolled the cue ball to David's end. His handcuff necklace swung wildly, gracing the tabletop. "Just put it anywhere down there and hit it into these ones."
David was suddenly overtaken by the tremendous desire to be doing anything else but this. Still, he shakily placed the cue ball right in front of him, taking a lot of time trying to line it up perfectly with the triangle of balls at the other end. He was certain that Cook must think he's the hugest dork in the world and was probably laughing silently from the other end of the room. However, when he finally snuck a peek up at him, he was just waiting patiently, arms folded, shirt tails half untucked.
"Like this?" David asked wearily.
"It's perfect. Now line up your stick and hit it as hard as you can." Cook was now leaning against the chest freezer behind him, one leg crossed in front of him, arms also crossed over his little pooch of a belly that David found strangely attractive.
David did as instructed. He tried lining up the cue as best he could, but he'd never been good at this sort of thing, especially when perspective judgement came into play.
"Archie."
"Huh?"
"Bend over more."
"What?"
"Bend." Cook pointed at his own waist. "Lean over the table more."
"Oh."
Stupid, Archuleta. You're amazingly stupid.
"Good. Now just go for it."
David tried. However, he somehow fumbled the stick in his right hand and jabbed his left hand with the point, leaving a blue streak across his thumb and forefinger.
"Okay," Cook said slowly. David was humiliated. For real now, he wished it would end... and that he'd disappear.
"Try again, Archie. This time, hold the cue more like this." Cook bent his hand awkwardly, picking up another cue to demonstrate exactly which fingers to wrap around and which not.
"Oh... uh, okay." David spent a moment trying to mimic Cook's instructions. One finger over, two over, none, back to one. Swapped sides, angles and grips. Finally, he felt somewhat comfortable, or at least found an arrangement that felt less uncomfortable than any other. He shot again, this time hitting the cue ball, which hit the other balls. But not quite hard enough. The balls barely transferred the energy from the front to the back line.
"Wow, I'm totally useless," David commented, trying to smile. He ran his fingers through his hair, nervously.
"Here, watch me." Cook came around with his cue, lined up the cue ball and bent gracefully over the table. David could see the gap of skin between Cook's shirt and pants again, which made his stomach flip over, so he looked away.
"Don't be afraid to hit it really hard," Cook was saying as he ran the cue back and forth between his fingers. "Just have a little confidence, do the best you can, and --"
Cook shot so hard that David thought for sure one of the balls had cracked in half.
"... there you go." Cook swirled around and bowed. The balls had scattered around the entire table, some still coasting from one side to the other.
"Looks like none went in, so... your turn, buddy."
David was extremely nervous. He really didn't want to play anymore, he'd made enough of a fool of himself. But Cook was clearly enjoying himself, and was being so patient with him. He sidled up to the table again and took aim. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and --
"Yahoo!" came Cook's jubilant voice. "You got one in! So now you're just gonna go after the solid colored balls and I've got stripes. Good job!"
David opened his eyes. He hadn't seen what he'd done at all. Looking across the table, however, he could tell that some sort of jumbling had occurred, and apparently, it was good.
"You get to go again," Cook instructed, a giant, goofy grin on his face.
David straightened up and observed the table. He picked out what he figured should be a pretty easy shot.
"Good choice," Cook encouraged as soon as it was apparent what David was intending to do. David was relieved, and his heart rate lessoned a little. If he was doing well, it wasn't quite so nerve-wrecking. Again, he assumed his least-uncomfortable position, lined up the shot... and biffed it completely.
"Oh, hell, Archie, I just realized something. I'm an idiot." Cook set down his cue and came over to where David was standing.
"You didn't make me miss," David said sheepishly.
"Yes, I did. You're shooting right-handed."
"W... whuh?"
Cook gestured again. "I don't know why you're doing it, I thought you were left-handed, like me."
"I, um, I don't know either. I guess, from over here it looked... gosh."
David awkwardly fumbled the cue as he tried to turn himself around now. He was still trying to figure out how to approach the table when he felt Cook's hand suddenly on his waist, pushing his hips into a better position. David's heart rate sky-rocketed. Two hands now, one on either hip. He stood paralyzed.
"Okay, that's better. Now do this." Cook's hands moved over David's, and the same sensation from earlier at the dinner table filled him again, except doubly. Chills raced through his entire body, and he strained to keep himself calm.
"Okay, how's this feel? Better, right?"
"Yes! Uh, yes, it's fine," David somehow managed to say, though the words sounded like they were coming from somewhere else.
"Good. Now for this you're going to have to lean a little awkwardly, but I'll help you."
OhGod, OhGod, OhGod, OhGod, was all that David could think. Cook was right up behind him. How the hell -- how in the hell was he going to... to...
But apparently Cook was getting impatient because he put one hand back on David's waist, the other on the opposite shoulder and pushed him forward so that he was properly leaning over the table.
Oh. God.
Cook was decidedly taller than David, and as such, was able to wrap himself around him like a glove. Or at least a mitten. This also put Cook's mouth right behind David's right ear, and as a result, Cook lowered his voice.
"See how you can see better if you're really close to the table?" Cook nearly whispered. David was shaking now, he couldn't help it. He also felt like he would vomit at any second, so he closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally.
"D... D-D-David..."
"Yeah, Archie?" The words slid across David's ear like a hot summer breeze. David could have sworn he was whispering more than was necessary.
He swallowed hard. "I... I sort of... um, I..."
Cook laughed softly and his head dropped into the crook of David's neck. The prickly scruff against David's skin made him stiffen up, in more ways than one. He let go of the pool cue in alarm and squirmed. Now what was he going to do? He'd never exactly been in this position before... literally and figuratively.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Cook cooed, like a mother calming a crying child. "It's okay. It's okay. Are you all right? Do you want to stop?"
Stop? Stop what? David was so out of his element at this point that the words meant absolutely nothing to him. He wasn't exactly clear on what was happening nor whether he did or did not want any part of it.
Cook slid his hands down David's sides, landing firmly on his hips. David gasped, closed his eyes again, and tried to operate his limbs. However, his arms seemed to have completely lost their functionality, as had the entire part of his brain that controlled communication.
Cook hooked his arms around David's middle. "It's okay, Archie, I know all about it. I know, okay?"
David's voice shook as much as his body. "W-What?"
"I know you like me, it's okay. There's nothing wrong."
Warmth suddenly rushed through David's entire body. He propped up on his arms and pushed against Cook in order to face him. Looking at him properly was terrifying, however, he needed to look at him. Needed to see his lips moving.
"What?" he repeated.
"I know you like me. I know you sometimes stare."
"H-How? How did you..."
"Well, no offense, but you're young and inexperienced, so most of the time, the signs are pretty obvious," Cook answered, his voice on the cusp of laughter. "Sure, sometimes it takes the help of a dreadlocked hippie, Australian-mouthed rocker and an Irish songbird to point it out at first, but once you're looking, you see every twitch of the eye."
David gulped. "I didn't... don't... haven't been sure what it is I'm feeling. But I -- what about you? You..."
"The worst part, eh? Discovering you like another man but don't know if he could even possibly like you back, let alone if he would." Cook closed the gap between them and continued, "I admit, I was flattered, but shocked. It was definitely something new to me, to say the least. But I guess the idea grew on me. It took some soul-searching, talking with close friends... You'll be very happy to know that Carly was very concerned about how this would effect you... very insistant upon me being gentle with you."
David raised his eyebrows. "You call this gentle?" He managed a laugh.
Cook broke into a small chuckle as well. "Well, I was trying, but I guess I got impatient. You know how I am -- once I get the adrenaline rush, it's difficult not to go full-force forward and not look back."
They were both silent a moment. David didn't know where to look now, as looking into Cook's eyes was both exhilerating and terrifying at the same time. Cook, however, never broke his line of sight.
Finally, he spoke again. "Where's this lesson end tonight, Archie? It's up to you."
"I --" David wasn't exactly sure what to say. He thought perhaps he didn't exactly know his decision yet. He still wasn't sure if what Cook was saying actually matched up with those feelings he'd been having. He didn't know anything right now.
"Don't rush. Remember, I'm under strict regulation from Carly."
"Stop talking about Carly already, you're totally ruining this!"
They both laughed.
"I'm... uh, gosh. Well, you know, I've never..." The floor became suddenly very interesting to David.
"Virgin," Cook finished for him.
"Yeah."
"Completely, I suppose."
How, David wondered, could one be only partially virgin, he did not know.
"What?"
Cook smirked. "Sorry, I just meant... you've never been with a girl either."
"Oh," David replied. "No. No, I haven't... I... I'm so --
"Do not say embarrassed. Don't even. I am too... with boys anyway."
David was staring at Cook's mouth. It had very suddenly seemed very desirable to him, and he watched the subtle movements his lips made when he spoke. They were currently wet, and plump and delicious looking. Cook licked them when he trailed off of his last sentence...
Planting his hands firmly on the back of Cook's head, David pulled the bed-headed rocker close to him and pressed his lips firmly on those lips. Cook seemed taken by surprise, but then fell quickly into the kiss, parting his lips enough to lead David further. They sort of mouthed at one another like fish out of water for a moment, then laughed between kisses. Then Cook pushed David to arm's length away and smiled deviously.
"Now it's test time, Archie. What have I taught you today?"
David was perplexed. His mind, emotions, vision and central nervous system were all on the fritz.
"Jesus, you spend an hour showing a guy how to play pool, and this is the thanks he gets? Why do I even bother?"
David strained to remember the last hour, but it had become a fog. But before he could completely make the connection, Cook's hands had moved down to his belt and were unbuckling it. David just watched him, as if some sort of outside observer. The next thing he knew, Cook's hands were caressing the flesh just inside the waist of David's jeans, his face again in the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply as if he were trying to inhale him.
"You smell good," Cook breathed. "You always smell so good."
"You uh, smell dirty," David said honestly. Cook laughed.
"Ever the romantic, I see."
"Sorry."
Cook pulled away again to turn David back around. The last hour suddenly hit David like a ton of bricks. Oh yes, hands on the table, lean forward... way forward... close to the table...
Cook kissed David's neck as he fumbled with his own belt while also hungrily pressing himself against the 18 year old's back. It was a less than smooth transition, but finally, Cook whispered, "Next exercise of the lesson?", his whiskers tickling David's ear. David could only manage to grunt a fairly positive sounding noise -- it was taking most of the rest of his concentration to will his knees not to give out, as they had suddenly gone to jelly.
"Do not hesitate telling me to stop, you hear me? I'm deadly serious," Cook warned, though he didn't sound deadly serious given he was breathing heavily, moaning, and so obviously hungry for this. But David trusted him more than anyone, and knew he meant what he said.
Cook gripped David's hips, digging his fingers into the creases of them. Gently, he leaned into David, pausing as if waiting for a green light in traffic. Then he nudged him again, his cock pulsing against him. Cook ran both of his hands up David's body and then along either arm, resting them finally on top of David's hands and interlacing his fingers with his. David found incredible comfort in this and attempted to clasp his hands tighter with Cook's. Cook squeezed David's hands and pushed his hips against David's sleek body.
David found himself very perplexed. His heart was flying because having Cook's hands on him was so comforting, so sensual. However, at the same time, while he now admitted that his feelings for Cook must have been beyond platonic love, he had not completely considered the situation this far yet. It wasn't that he didn't want anything to be happening, just more that this was more Olympic diving while he was still learning to swim.
"Any last words?" Cook breathed into David's neck. His breath was hot and heavy, and David liked how it hung on his skin.
"W-what?"
Cook laughed. "Any last words before you become a man?"
David coughed harshly. "Um, gosh, I--"
Cook laughed again. "That's probably appropriate," he replied.
Slowly, Cook pushed into David, and David squelched in response. A strange combination of pain and pleasure overtook him. He was slightly uncomfortable, slightly unable to breathe, and slightly scared to death. Cook pulled back and pushed forward again... and again... and again. David's hands scraped against the table, and he'd forgotten it was a pool table until his right hand slipped and accidentally knocked against a couple of the balls and they clacked against one another. A green-striped ball slowly rolled past his face and plunked into a side pocket.
"What color?" Cook asked. His pokey chin dug into David's shoulder as he kissed it.
"Green," David answered. "Green stripe."
"Oooh," Cook moaned, thrusting a little harder. "Scratch, that's one of mine."
David had no idea what that meant. It didn't matter at the moment for he was much too distracted by the realization that his and Cook's bodies were nearly perfectly cupped together, Cook's belly to chest matching up square inch by square inch between his own lower back and shoulder blades. The mass acreage of Cook skin touching his made his entire torso go numb.
Cook was hitting his stride now, still gripping David's hands and breathing heavily in his ear. David remained somewhat anxious, for he had not forgotten that he was in his parents house, doing this thing that he'd always been told was... well, he didn't want to think about it. However, he knew he definitely didn't completely agree. That, however, did not make him consider that he might also be wrong, because who was he? He'd been taught that he wasn't the one who made the rules for his life, it was... it was...
"Nnngg, God," Cook groaned. His hands were sweaty, slipping from David's fingers. He tried desperately to wipe his hands across the table felt.
"Archie, I'm... I'm about to come, okay? I just... wanted to... let you know..." David closed his eyes, feeling like it was somehow what he was supposed to do. Cook's breathing was becoming quicker and shallower and when Cook's breath caught in his throat, David knew that that was it. With Cook's release came a verbal release that David could only describe as an anguished roar, which he found half titillating and half frightening.
Cook fell forward into David; David's knees slammed into the side of the table. David shoved his face into his arm, clamping his teeth down into his forearm so as to keep from hollering out. Cook's shout had sent the fear of God into his heart, and he was petrified that someone must have heard him upstairs, regardless of the fact that directly above them was the kitchen and dining room and that no one would be up there at this hour.
Cook had collapsed his face into the small of David's back, his hot breath pouring out of his mouth. He licked his lips and the tip of his tongue touched David's skin, which made him shiver slightly. Cook kissed David just there, then halfway up his back, then trailed the kisses up his shoulder and to his milky white neck. David was shaking again, and Cook squeezed him tighter to himself and whispered in his ear.
"You okay?" he asked. He smoothed his fingertips across David's belly.
"Mmm," was all David could manage. Cook was unknowingly tickling him.
Cook gave one last quick squeeze before grabbing David's arms and turning him to face him again. David's face was very close to Cook's, so close in fact that it wasn't possible to see his entire face all at once. Cook smirked.
"How's it going?" he asked.
Lips. All David could really see was lips. Still wet, still plump, still... everything in the entire universe wrapped up into one set of delicious lips.
"Wanna hop up on that table for me, young man?" the lips inquired. David obeyed, struggling to push himself up onto the edge of the table. Cook's hands met his hips and helped him the rest of the way. His legs dangled off and he felt like he was at the doctor's office, except at the doctor's office you got to wear that ridiculous little gown and not be completely exposed to the examiner.
Cook took inventory with his eyes of all that was before him, then wedged himself between David's knees, clasped his hands on either side of his face, and smashed his lips against David's. Sweat dripped down his brow. He breathed in deeply.
Then the lips disappeared. The hands disappeared. The Cook disappeared. David took a deep breath and it turned out he needed it -- the lips had shown up below his waist, along with their friend, the tongue. But one swipe of the tongue down there and David started, feeling like his heart was going to explode and he flailed as if trying to fly away.
Cook drew back sharply. David coughed, then gagged slightly and clasped his hands over his mouth.
"You all right, Archie?" Cook asked, his eyes serious. David tried to smile, but he really couldn't feel his face at all. His eyes stung and he squeezed them tight in an effort to stop what was already happening. Two hot tears streaked down his cheeks.
"David!" Cook whimpered. David could feel the callused hands sweep across his cheeks. "David, I'm sorry." Cook's voice was wavering. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... I should have asked... I --" Even with his eyes still closed, David could tell Cook had covered his own face with his hands.
"N-n-no," David forced out through his own fingers. "No, you're... I'm... fine..." He closed his mouth because he knew if he talked more he would either start sobbing or vomit. Or both.
Cook's hand graced David's temple and softly petted his hairline. "It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" Tears streamed down David's face now. He nodded slowly and chewed his bottom lip. He refused to open his eyes. He couldn't look at Cook now. Not now that this was happening. If ever there were a good time for the Rapture, now sure would have been it.
"Hey, shhh, shh," Cook said soothingly. He pulled David close to him, David sinking his face into Cook's shoulder. He opened his eyes finally and it was like someone had opened a flood gate -- water fell straight out of his eyes and down Cook's chest.
Cook was stroking the back of David's head now, and he began to hum. He rubbed David's back with the other hand and swayed a little.
"When I was little," Cook said softly, still swaying, "whenever I was scared, my mom would hold me in her arms just like this and just hum. Sometimes she never said anything at all, she'd just make up a little melody and hum it."
David sniffed loudly. He felt a little calmer, but still shaken. The giant ball of nerves in his stomach had eased slightly. He was suddenly so incredibly sleepy and cold. Terribly cold. He shivered violently and tried to smoosh closer to Cook's warm body.
Cook stopped humming and looked down at the frail young man in his arms. "Hey, let's get you to bed," he said. He kept one hand on David's shoulder while with the other he tried to pick up their clothes. David still didn't look up at Cook the whole length of the walk to the bedroom. He kept wiping his face and sniffing. Once in his room, he headed straight for his dresser and pulled out new flannel pajamas that he'd gotten for his birthday. They had blue and white vertical stripes and he buttoned them all the way up to the very top button. He finally looked at Cook across the room, who was dressing in boxers and a t-shirt. His hairline was wet with sweat and whisps of his hair stuck to his forehead and neck. David wanted to say something, but didn't know what. He did know, however, that he felt incredibly stupid. He wouldn't blame Cook if he went home and never spoke to him again.
Pulling back the quilt on his bed, he climbed into it, slouching way down into it and pulling the quilt back up as close to his face as possible. He peered across the room at Cook, who was rummaging in his bag. It was pretty obvious that he was just wasting time and not really looking for anything. Another moment passed before Cook peeked out of the corner of his eye at his companion. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping in silence for what seemed like an eternity.
David was so tired. He fought against his eyelids closing, but was losing the battle. He was still awake when he felt the strange combination of soft lips and scratchy scruff press gently against his forehead. He weakly tried pursing out his own lips, but his brain was losing reception, and a millisecond later, all power all together.
~~~~~~
David Cook's eyes fluttered open against the annoyingly bright light. A sliver of sunlight was filtering in from the small window near the ceiling of the room, its path ending directly in his cornea. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. For a half a second, the panic of not knowing where he was entered his heart. He looked about him, taking in the vaguely familiar decor of the small room he found himself in at present, and all at once, his heart turned over. Something about the room made his insides ache; ache with the pain of love or guilt or both.
He yawned. His head was pounding. He closed his eyes and opened them again. As if magically appearing where it hadn't been before, Cook's eye caught a poster on the wall directly in front of him. He squinted to see it more clearly, and the tiny people filling it. He strained to see the writing, but his eyes were still adjusting to the light. "Christmas 1999" he made out at the bottom. Across the top: "Mormon Tabernacle Choir."
His breath caught in his throat. Son of a bitch.
He glanced next to him on the bed, where the soft-skinned boy, barely 18, lay snuggled down under a hideous quilt, breathing heavily.
"What the hell have I done? What the hell." His mind raced now. The answer read like the description from the back of one of those movies they keep in the back of the video store, behind the ugly, questionable curtain: "Scruffy rough and tumble rock star pursues barely 18, naive, Eagle Scout, Mormon boy".
Boy. He wasn't exactly a boy anymore, he supposed. Heck, he may have even single-handedly undone the Mormon part; he wasn't really sure how that worked.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. He was 26. He was fucking 26 and he knew better. Even though David had consented, he should have thought about the fact that... he was a sheltered, barely 18, inexperienced Mormon boy. Fuckfuckfuck.
David stirred next to him, but only to sigh and fall back into the heavy breathing of sleep. There was a blue chalk streak across his cheekbone. Cook reached out and gently smeared it off, rubbing out the dusty powder between his fingers. Then he just stared at him. Stared at the long, jet-black eyelashes pressed lightly into his face. His body slowly rising and falling rythmically. His gently sloping nose, pink lips, slender build...
A frantic buzzing sound startled Cook back from his distraction. His cell phone was ringing, though he had no idea where it was. Just as the ring cycle was ending, he spotted it on the side table just out of his reach.
"1 missed call from Kimberly" the screen informed him. He let his eyes blur the words as if hoping they'd disappear. The phone buzzed again. "1 new text from Kimberly."
He punched the 'read' button and sighed heavily. "Hay u, hope ur havin a good Time. Call when u can. miss u. <3"
He felt like he wanted to throw up. He tossed the phone next to him on the bed and buried his face in his hands. His face was greasy. He smelled like stale sweat. The thought crossed his mind that David probably smelled like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Nothing seemed to funkify that kid. Not sleep, not play, not sex... nothing. He at all times oozed daisies and lavender and butterflies.
The phone buzzed a third time.
"Jesus!" he hissed into his hands. He grabbed the phone defiantly and glared at it, as if it could sense his annoyance and learn to back off.
"1 new text from Carly."
"Where are you?"
With some amount of difficulty due to his pounding head and lingering sleepiness, he tapped out, "SLC."
Faster than he could believe anyone could type on a phone keypad, the response came. "ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?"
"Yes."
"ANNNNDD???"
"I'll talk to you about it later."
"WTF, Cook?! Is he watching you type right now, is that the problem?"
"No. Sleeping."
"Come oooonnn."
"Later, Carly, seriously."
"At least give me a clue. Vague fake code even."
"GOODBYE CARLY."
He needed a shower, badly. And a strong cup of coffee, though he knew this was the last place on earth where he'd get that. He gathered up his clothes and stumbled into the small adjoining bathroom. Standing at the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like utter shit. He needed to shave, but he already knew he hadn't packed his razor. Flipping open the medicine cabinet, he scanned the shelves. Vitamins. Deodorant. Batman Band-Aids. No razors.
Of course not. Archie's soft skin wasn't due to some amazingly close shaving procedure, it was that he didn't shave. Fuckfuckfuck.
He felt like an old man. A dirty, disgusting old man. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Maybe if he scrubbed hard enough, he could rid himself of it, the filth that felt like a thick film suffocating his body. He turned on the faucet and was greeted with instant-hot water. At least Archie's got a grown-up shower, he thought. It was sufficient to relax his muscles, sooth his head, warm his blood.
When he got out, David still hadn't stirred, as far as he could tell. Standing at the sink again, he grabbed David's hairbrush and tried to make his hair behave. His hair had always been in a state of exodus, in one way or another. If it wasn't standing out at odd angles, it was falling out entirely. He was half-temped to double-check the shower to see if it wasn't littered with it. In the end he decided he didn't need to feel any older than he already did.
"You look like you're going to your third grade picture day," he said to his reflection, for he had finally managed to create a part and lay down most of his hair. "Or going to church," he added.
Back in the room, he pulled on his boots, put on his watch and other wrist adornments, and grabbed his phone off the bed and put it in his pocket. Without even glancing at David, he strode out of the room, eyes on the floor, blinders to the pool table as he passed it, and jogged up the steps. It was mid-morning, but he didn't really hear a lot of noise in the house. He rounded the corner to find only David's mom sitting at the kitchen table. A glass of orange juice sat before her and she was browsing what looked like a gardening magazine. She looked up when he walked in.
"Good morning, David," she greeted him. "Sleep well?"
"Like a baby," he responded, trying to smile. He had to concentrate on not accidentally saying, "With your baby."
"David's still asleep?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"He's usually up by now, but you guys were up pretty late playing pool."
Cook's heart stopped. What did she say?
"At least, you were still up when I went to bed and that was pretty late." She nonchalantly flipped the page in her magazine.
Cook stared at the table. He wanted to run away, right now. What if he just got up and made a break for it? He could do it, right? Right?
"I hope we didn't disturb anyone," Cook said, voice cracking.
"Oh, all the bedrooms are on the second floor," Mrs. Archuleta said, still looking at her magazine and not Cook. "No worries. I just sit at the table here sometimes after everyone's gone to bed and enjoy the silence, you know?"
"Y-yeah."
"Hey, I'm off to the Boy Scout leaders thing now, hon, anything you need while I'm out?" Mr. Archuleta had stopped in the doorway and poked his head in. "Good morning, David! Hope you slept well. My boy catching on to the billiard table yet?"
Cook couldn't bring himself to look David's father in the eye. He glanced at the light fixture just behind him. "Oh, he's a natural, all right."
"Really? Because when I tried to show him he was very resistant. Of course, he was doing a lot of recording sessions at the time, so I think maybe he was just burnt." He glanced at his watch. "Okay, I've got to get going. See you guys later."
"Bye, honey," Mrs. Archuleta called without looking up.
Cook closed his eyes. He wanted to go home. He wanted to talk to Carly. He wanted to talk to Andrew and Adam and even his mom. And Kimberly had called. Goddammit, what did she want? What part of "I don't have time for this anymore" didn't she understand? What part of him walking away from her without giving her a hug nor saying goodbye the last time he'd seen her didn't she understand?
"You must be starving, David," Mrs. Archuleta said suddenly. "You missed breakfast, but we've got cereal and some fruit."
"Oh, no thanks," Cook stammered. "I'm not that hungry." He thought again about the coffee and how if he were at home his mom would have already been pouring it for him; rich, strong, French press coffee. He could practically taste it now.
"Juice then?"
"Water would be great, actually." Yes, his throat was incredibly dry.
"You need coffee," she said as if diagnosing an illness.
His eyes snapped to hers, as she was for the first time since he'd sat down looking at him.
Cook fumbled. "I, no... I thought..."
She smirked. "Jeff doesn't know it, but I have coffee stashed for guests. I haven't drank it myself, of course, but I think it's not very good by coffee standards. So I don't know if you want --"
Cook was floored. Who was this woman sitting across from him? It was true he didn't really know her, he'd had more interaction with her husband during Idol and the tour. But even so...
"No, that'd be... that'd be great."
She smiled at him. She moved to get up, but at the last second she paused, the smile softening on her face.
"David."
"Yes, ma'am?"
Her eyes met his again with seriousness and she put her hand on his forearm, gripping it like she didn't want him to get away. Cook swallowed hard.
"You break him, and I break you."
Cook stopped breathing. Her eyes lingered another second, then she let go of his arm and went into the kitchen.
Cook's mind was blank. He didn't know what to think at all. The horror, however, of knowing that she knew, flooded his entire body. At least, he guessed that's what she meant, right? He was incredibly embarrassed and suddenly felt completely exposed and immediately started chastising himself, as if to replace his mother who wasn't there to do it for him. Then again, this meant he had an ally, right? And someone else who didn't think he was a dirty old man? Maybe?
His pocket vibrated, which startled him. He had forgotten that he'd put his phone in his pocket.
"Where are you?"
"In the kitchen, silly."
"I thought maybe you had left."
"All my stuff's down there still, Archie."
"You might have run off in the night."
"And leave my guitar? Never."
"Is it crazy up there?"
"Actually, your mom's the only one around. Come upstairs and talk to me like a man."
"Okay."
Cook realized too late that sarcasm didn't always translate in written communication, and he was sure David probably thought that last comment sounded angry. He'd have to be more careful in the future.
He brought up Carly's last message while he waited. "At least give me a clue. Vague fake code even."
Cook could hear David's footsteps running up the stairs. An instant later he had rounded the corner, still in his pajamas, barefoot, hair rustled.
"Morning, Mom."
"Good morning, David. Hungry?"
"Um, yeah. Yeah, I guess so."
"Good. Have a seat, honey. Now there's two of you I'll just make up something, eh? French toast, David? I know it's your favorite."
How did she know that? Cook wondered. Had he mentioned it in one of those stupid AI "Getting to know the Idols" things or something?
"Yeah." He and David answered at the same time. Cook burst out laughing and David bashfully smiled and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Double batch then," Mrs. Archuleta laughed. "Coming right up." She brought Cook his coffee and set it in front of him. The mug was plain white with black and orange lettering: "Murray High School PTA", it advertised.
Cook, still chuckling, gave his attention back to Carly's message. He knew what he'd write now. He carefully typed out the letters... "Magic rainbows."
He turned off the phone and slid it back into his pocket. He'd let her sit on that for awhile, he decided.
David was looking at him from across the table. "You look happy," he observed.
"I am happy, Archie."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
David's eyes searched Cook's face, as if looking for something else. "I'm happy too," he said shyly.
Cook grinned at him. "Good. Good, good." He took up the coffee mug and could tell by sight that it was instant coffee, and he supposed it was most definitely stale. He gulped it thirstily... It was the worst goddamn coffee he'd ever tasted in his entire life. He let Mrs. Archuleta refill it three more times.
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