Fic: Walk Away
Title: Walk Away
Characters: Cook/Freddie
Rating: PG-13
Words: 541
Summary: He's fucked up again
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: This was written for the Queerly Awesome ficathon, but the journal was deleted, so I'm just gonna repost it here :)
He’s fucked up again. He only knows it because Freddie’s looking at him in that way he does, and Cook knows it must have been his fault, because it’s always his fault, even if he doesn’t even know what he’s fucking done.
“Mate, I’m only having a laugh, yeah?” He appeals. “Don’t be an arse.”
Freddie shakes his head, makes to leave, but thinks again and checks back. “It’s always a fucking joke with you, isn’t it?” He pushes his hand firmly against Cook’s chest. It settles over Cook’s pounding heart. It’s warm, a sharp contrast to the cold air.
“What the hell is up with you?”
Freddie’s fingers dig into Cook’s chest briefly before releasing, his hand sliding down Cook’s shirt, and eventually dangling lamely by his side. He’s still looking at Cook, but it’s different this time, more curious this time, not angry anymore. “Fucking hell Cook, you don’t…” But Freddie never bothers to finish it, instead turning his back and walking away.
Cook watches Freddie go while swaying slightly, the alcohol in his system making things like standing up seem impossible. His chest feels colder than the rest of him. “Freds,” he calls, his voice sounding hoarse.
Freddie doesn’t stop immediately, and Cook feels panic set in, because one time soon Freddie won’t stop for him, and Cook dreads it, that moment, spends half his life fearing it, and it seems he spends the other half actively trying to make it happen.
“Freds,” he calls again, and this time he does stop, hesitates only a little.
Cook breathes a sigh of relief, looks up towards the sky. He nearly lost Freddie then, and he can’t. He can’t do that.
Freddie’s watching him, and Cook stops thinking when he notices, because he’s just so glad to see that stupid bastard’s face again.
“I’m sorry,” Cook says.
Freddie licks his lips. “You don’t even know why I’m mad.”
Cook shrugs. “Yeah. I’m still sorry though.”
Freddie stares him down from what must be ten meters away, but the distance doesn’t lessen the force. “You said you loved me.” His voice comes out clear and hits Cook square in the chest. “You kissed me.” He pauses. “I…” His voice catches in his throat this time, and there’s another pause before Freddie turns away again.
There’s one thing that Cook knows for certain, and it’s that his is a quick temper, a red mist, and he’s not in control anymore. He’s just so fucking angry that Freddie can do that to him, every time; make him feel by just walking away. He runs the distance to catch up with Freddie, spins him around by the arm when he gets there. He doesn’t stop to look him in the eye, rather uses both his hands to pull him down within reach. His kiss is forceful, desperate, all these pent up emotions that he didn’t even know he fucking had, spilling out everywhere, and soon he’s got Freddie backed up against the wall, pinning him in place with his hips.
“I’m fucking sorry,” he pants, still clinging to Freddie’s face.
Freddie nods, bunching his fist in Cook’s shirt and pulling him closer again. “It’s ok,” he says on Cook’s lips. “We’re gonna be ok.”
Characters: Cook/Freddie
Rating: PG-13
Words: 541
Summary: He's fucked up again
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: This was written for the Queerly Awesome ficathon, but the journal was deleted, so I'm just gonna repost it here :)
He’s fucked up again. He only knows it because Freddie’s looking at him in that way he does, and Cook knows it must have been his fault, because it’s always his fault, even if he doesn’t even know what he’s fucking done.
“Mate, I’m only having a laugh, yeah?” He appeals. “Don’t be an arse.”
Freddie shakes his head, makes to leave, but thinks again and checks back. “It’s always a fucking joke with you, isn’t it?” He pushes his hand firmly against Cook’s chest. It settles over Cook’s pounding heart. It’s warm, a sharp contrast to the cold air.
“What the hell is up with you?”
Freddie’s fingers dig into Cook’s chest briefly before releasing, his hand sliding down Cook’s shirt, and eventually dangling lamely by his side. He’s still looking at Cook, but it’s different this time, more curious this time, not angry anymore. “Fucking hell Cook, you don’t…” But Freddie never bothers to finish it, instead turning his back and walking away.
Cook watches Freddie go while swaying slightly, the alcohol in his system making things like standing up seem impossible. His chest feels colder than the rest of him. “Freds,” he calls, his voice sounding hoarse.
Freddie doesn’t stop immediately, and Cook feels panic set in, because one time soon Freddie won’t stop for him, and Cook dreads it, that moment, spends half his life fearing it, and it seems he spends the other half actively trying to make it happen.
“Freds,” he calls again, and this time he does stop, hesitates only a little.
Cook breathes a sigh of relief, looks up towards the sky. He nearly lost Freddie then, and he can’t. He can’t do that.
Freddie’s watching him, and Cook stops thinking when he notices, because he’s just so glad to see that stupid bastard’s face again.
“I’m sorry,” Cook says.
Freddie licks his lips. “You don’t even know why I’m mad.”
Cook shrugs. “Yeah. I’m still sorry though.”
Freddie stares him down from what must be ten meters away, but the distance doesn’t lessen the force. “You said you loved me.” His voice comes out clear and hits Cook square in the chest. “You kissed me.” He pauses. “I…” His voice catches in his throat this time, and there’s another pause before Freddie turns away again.
There’s one thing that Cook knows for certain, and it’s that his is a quick temper, a red mist, and he’s not in control anymore. He’s just so fucking angry that Freddie can do that to him, every time; make him feel by just walking away. He runs the distance to catch up with Freddie, spins him around by the arm when he gets there. He doesn’t stop to look him in the eye, rather uses both his hands to pull him down within reach. His kiss is forceful, desperate, all these pent up emotions that he didn’t even know he fucking had, spilling out everywhere, and soon he’s got Freddie backed up against the wall, pinning him in place with his hips.
“I’m fucking sorry,” he pants, still clinging to Freddie’s face.
Freddie nods, bunching his fist in Cook’s shirt and pulling him closer again. “It’s ok,” he says on Cook’s lips. “We’re gonna be ok.”