Fic: The Night Before (David Cook/David Archuleta)
Title: The Night Before
Author: delilah_joy
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: American Idol RPF
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta
Length: 2400 words
Warning: MPreg. But I've been told it's a good mpreg story for readers who usually don't like mpreg. :)
A/N: Written for the AI Holiday Bash.
The Night Before
Cook woke up slowly. He’d never been big on naps, even as a kid, but these last couple of months, he couldn’t get through an afternoon without one. When he opened his eyes, he saw David sitting in the armchair across the room, reading a magazine.
“You’re home early,” Cook said. He was still sleepy; it was tempting to just lie back down and close his eyes for another hour.
“Yeah, my phone was out of power, and I didn’t have the charger. I got worried that you wouldn’t be able to reach me.”
“You know, we’ve still got two weeks to go. Try not to get crazy just yet.” Cook sat up and put a hand to his throat to untangle the silver chain that held his wedding ring. It hadn’t fit on his finger since the seventh month.
“I’m not getting crazy,” Archie said, smiling. “Babies come when they want to come.”
Cook ran a hand over his belly. It was insane how big he was. He literally had not seen his feet in weeks. “I think this one’s happy where she is.” He was quiet for a minute. “Hey, come here, quick.”
Archie got up from his chair and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Here?” he asked, letting Cook guide his hand to the right place. His eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh, I totally felt that.”
“That’s our girl,” Cook said. “Elizabeth Lupe Cook-Archuleta. Or Archuleta-Cook.”
David shook his head. “I still don’t like the hyphenation. She’ll be, like, six before she can say her whole name.”
“Not this girl,” Cook said, putting his hand over Archie’s. “This girl’s a genius.”
***
Everyone had always imagined that Archie would be the one to have a baby. In a way, that kind of annoyed Cook. They were both guys--wasn’t that kind of the point of the gay thing?--and he knew none of their friends would ever ask, “So, which one of you is the woman?” But once the new advances in male pregnancy technology started making headlines, he started getting daily e-mail from Johns with subjects like “Re: Knocking Archie Up.” When they went to visit Brooke and her new baby, Cook was the one who asked about prenatal vitamins, but Archie was the one she bombarded with information about nutrition and morning sickness. And when pictures of the two of them walking into the fertility clinic hit the tabloids, Archie was the one Perez drew a giant belly on.
And honestly, if that’s the way things had worked out, it would’ve been fine with Cook. He’d always figured that when he became a dad, he’d kind of be on the sidelines, at least for the pregnancy and birth part of it. He would’ve been happy to make midnight ice cream runs and rub swollen feet. To be the one ducking the mood-swing missiles instead of launching them himself. But this was new territory, and in the end, it wasn’t their choice to make. They both went through the testing and the hormone trials and the pre-surgical abdominal ultrasounds, and it turned out that Cook was almost twice as likely to be able to carry a child to term without complications. Boom, decision made: Archie’s bun, Cook’s oven.
They selected an egg donor from an online catalogue, which was completely surreal--they actually had an argument about whether it was more important to pick a donor who was tall, so that the baby would have a fighting chance in the height category, or a donor who had similar coloring to Cook’s, so that the baby would resemble them both. In the end, they picked a 23-year-old woman with a college degree and a family history free of genetic diseases. They never learned her name, but they did know that she liked animals, played the cello, was of medium height and had green eyes.
It would’ve been nice if they could’ve made a baby together, the way most couples did. There was something elegant about that: making love to create life. But it didn’t matter, not really. They’d never sit around arguing whose nose she had, but she was their baby in all the important ways. Right from that first morning when Cook peed on the test stick, and he and David stood together in the bathroom, watching that miraculous second line appear, he knew this was going to be their kid. He knew they were in this together.
***
Cook walked out of the bathroom for the six hundredth time today, to find Archie standing in front of the open refrigerator.
“Gotta watch those things every minute,” he said.
Archie laughed and closed the door. “I wanted to cook tonight. Make something healthy and nutritious for, like, building strong bones or whatever. But unless you want a carrot omelet, we’re kind of out of luck.”
Cook closed his eyes for a minute, and a look of revulsion crossed his face.
“Oh my gosh,” Archie said. “I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I forgot.” Eggs had been a surefire nausea-trigger since the sixth week in. In seconds, Archie was at Cook’s side, steadying him with both hands, a little more solicitous than was really necessary. “Do you need to sit down?”
Cook shook his head. “No, I’m good. Just no more E-word, okay?”
“I promise,” Archie said, and Cook had to smile at the anxious look on his face.
“Anyway, I’m glad we’re out of everything,” Cook said. “I’ve been thinking about Thai food all day.”
“Okay, but make sure you get something with vegetables. And nothing too spicy--it can send you into early labor. My mom always said that she ate fish with jalapenos the night before I was born.”
***
One of the nice surprises about the pregnancy had been the way Archie had learned to take care of him. They’d tried to avoid the “innocent younger guy/worldly older man” dynamic in their relationship, but...you know, it was there. Cook was genuinely older and more experienced at just about everything, and there was no point in pretending he wasn’t.
But now he needed Archie, in a way he hadn’t before. He was tired and sick and moody and...well, honestly, just kind of vulnerable. (Who knew that getting pregnant would turn him into such a girl?) And Archie was there, ready to be his buffer and his advocate and his anchor. Offering comfort and sympathy and late night onion rings, when necessary. Keeping track. Making sure everything was okay.
***
After the pad se ew and the tom ka gai and the TV shows that kept his mind busy for a little while, Cook found himself back in bed, trying to get comfortable.
“I’m never going to be able to sleep,” he said, turning over again.
Archie curled up next to him, throwing an arm over his belly and burying his face in his neck. “You want another pillow?” he asked sleepily. “Or I could rub your back.”
“Actually...” Cook paused for effect. “I was wondering if you could rub something else.” Pregnancy hormones were weird. Sex sounded like too much work, but he was always horny. He thrust gently against Archie, just kind of letting his erection introduce itself.
Archie laughed. “Well, jeez, don’t be shy.” He ran a hand up and down Cook’s side. “Are you sure?”
“Fuck, yeah. Just don’t...put any pressure on any part of my body.”
“So, what, you want me to send sexy vibes or something?” His touch on Cook’s chest was light, tentative.
“Well, okay, maybe some pressure would be okay. Just apply it judiciously.”
Archie raised himself on one elbow and leaned in to kiss him on the lips, slow and sensuous. “You’re gonna have to tell me,” he whispered, pressing his lips to Cook’s ear. “‘Cause I have no idea what’ll feel okay right now.”
Cook felt, oddly, almost shy. He was huge and unwieldy and kind of embarrassed to ask for anything. He pressed his face to Archie’s neck, gave him a soft kiss. “Could you...just, you know...touch me?”
Archie pulled back and gave him that smile, the one that had first caught hold of him a zillion year ago on Idol. Warm like home, and sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted.
“Oh, baby. Of course I can.”
Then Archie’s hands were all over him, light and firm, exactly where they needed to be. Cook moaned under his breath. It was okay, just for this little slice of time, for it to be all about him. Not to be selfish, but to acknowledge: this is a body that’s been doing extra work. That needs release as much as it needs food and sleep. Everything was physical, just now. And Archie was taking care of him.
The first time they’d been together, they’d done this, just kissing and rubbing each other until they couldn’t stand it anymore. Laughing, after it was over, with sheer amazement. The giddy freedom of finally touching each other, the feeling of connection. They loved each other, and it was complex, and there was more to it than just this. But you couldn’t minimize it. This was the core of everything.
“You’re gorgeous,” Archie said, his voice low and husky. “Want to make you come.”
Cook gasped as he pressed into Archie’s hand, frantic and needy. Even after all this time, hearing Archie talk dirty--or what passed for talking dirty with Archie--sent a thrill through him. They kissed harder, their tongues moving against each other, muscular and wet.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Just a little...fuck...”
“Come on, baby,” Archie whispered. “I want to feel it. Come for me.”
And he was, god, he was, spurting hot and messy all over Archie’s hand. He made a noise he wasn’t aware of uttering. He could feel it everywhere, the euphoria, the relief. In his legs, in the muscles of his back. In his belly, finally, blessedly quiet.
“God,” he said, already half asleep. “I love you...I should...” He reached a heavy hand toward his lover’s groin, the hardness pressed against his hip, but his movements were half-hearted. “I’m sorry, babe...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Archie said, and when Cook cracked his eyes open, there was that smile again. “Go to sleep. You can owe me one.”
He felt immediately grateful for the permission, and he was gone. Floating, comfortable, and for a moment, weightless.
***
It was 4:17 when he opened his eyes. The room was dark, except for the crimson digits of the alarm clock. There was something...was there something that was different? He had to pee, that wasn’t a surprise. Maybe someday he’d sleep through the night again, but it wasn’t going to be soon.
He hoisted himself up and went to the bathroom, pressing a hand to the small of his back. As he was getting back into bed, he felt it again, the sensation that had woken him up: a tightening across his abdomen. Not painful, but kind of weird. He made a mental note of the time and sat back against the headboard, waiting to see if it would happen again. False labor was as common in male pregnancies as in female ones.
He woke Archie forty minutes later. There was definitely a pattern, and it was getting stronger.
“Hey, Arch,” he said softly. “Time to call Dr. Babson, I think.”
Archie sat up. “Okay,” he said. He shook his head to rouse himself. “You’re having contractions?”
“Yep. They’re about six minutes apart. It started around 4:15.”
Archie nodded. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah. It just got to the point of actually hurting, like, five minutes ago. But it’s still pretty mild.”
“Okay.” Cook watched him pick up his phone from the nightstand and dial with a couple of efficient clicks. When he’d imagined this moment, he’d expected Archie to be at least a little flustered: that whole sitcom thing where the expectant father passes out or leaves for the hospital without his pregnant partner. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption; Archie got flustered when there were too many flavors of ice cream to choose from. But now he was totally calm. He’d been ready for weeks, even if Cook hadn’t. There was already a suitcase in the trunk and a car seat strapped into the back seat, its secure installation approved by someone at the local firehouse. Somehow, Archie knew this stuff: that they needed to get the car seat checked, that they needed the special newborn diapers with a little space cut out for the healing umbilical cord. If the situation were reversed, Cook was pretty sure he’d be freaking out Ricky Ricardo-style. If it were up to him, they probably wouldn’t have any baby gear besides the pair of tiny biker boots he’d found online. (Yes, he’d told Archie. Girl babies can wear them, too. Badass girl babies, anyway.)
Archie hung up and reached out to put his hand on Cook’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”
“Okay. A little scared.”
Archie put his arms around Cook, squeezed him tight. “It’s going to be fine. She said to go to the hospital, and she’ll meet us there. You can have an epidural as soon as we get you checked in. They’ve got to numb you for the c-section anyway.”
Cook nodded but didn’t get up from the bed. He wanted to slow things down, just for a minute. Once they walked out that door, everything would be in motion. Their lives were going to change. It wasn’t going to be just the two of them anymore.
Archie opened a drawer and pulled out some sweatpants (and, man, would Cook be glad when he didn’t have to shop in the men’s XXL section anymore) and an oversized t-shirt that said “I HAVE A ‘CRUSH’ ON DAVID ARCHULETA.” It had been a gag gift at the baby shower. Johns, of course.
“Need help getting dressed?” Archie asked.
Cook shook his head but didn’t move to take the clothes. Archie knelt down, and reached out to put a hand on Cook’s cheek. “David?” he said gently, nudging Cook’s face up until their eyes met. “What’s up?”
Cook tried for a smile, but he knew it was a fairly pathetic attempt. “Are we...tell me I’m being an idiot, but are we gonna be okay?”
Archie’s smile was immediate and reassuring. “Oh my gosh,” he said. “We are going to be great.” He leaned in to kiss Cook on the lips, lingering a minute longer than Cook expected. Then he stood up and offered Cook a hand.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go meet our daughter.”