Ours Chapter 12
Title: Ours
Pairing(s): David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: PG to NC-17
Genre: AU
Disclaimer: The real-life characters do not belong to me, and the story is fictional.
Summary: A year after his high school graduation, David is living with Cook in L.A., but keeping their love hidden from the public eye brings up obstacles that threaten their relationship.
Author's Notes: This fic was originally posted at cookleta from September 2008 to October 2009. :)
12
Four Months Later. December 28, 2008.
I. David Cook.
“Arch,” I whispered, placing a hand on David’s shoulder.
“Mmm, ten minutes,” came his answer. He burrowed further into the sheets until all I could see were the tips of his dark hair from underneath the covers.
“Not today, babe.” Chuckling, I pulled him out of his warm cocoon.
“And whose fault was it that I couldn’t sleep last night?” he grumbled, running his fingers through his disheveled hair, cringing at the sunlight shining through the windows.
I coughed and focused on a spot behind him on the wall. I had to admit that his question - or accusation - had made me a bit sheepish. To put it simply, I’d kept him up with the excuse that it was, well, the eve of his twentieth birthday. Finally, I glanced back at David, who was still pouting and rubbing his eyes to wake up. Grinning, I reached out and took his hands in mine, away from his face, and leaned in to kiss him.
“Forgive me?” I pleaded. “You know, since it’s your birthday and all?” The logic made no sense even to me, and he rolled his eyes at me, but the corners of his mouth were already twitching into a smile.
“You’re cooking breakfast.”
“Anything you ask.”
Sighing, he sat up and leaned against the headboard. His cheeks flushed a bright red when he saw his t-shirt and pajama pants strewn on the floor next to the bed, unmoved from last night.
“Uh, Cook?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you, um… get me some… clothes?”
For obvious reasons, it amused me so much how embarrassed David could become with situations that should be like second nature, considering the length of time we’ve been together. I didn’t mind one bit, though; he was just as charming when he blushed.
“Hmm, you should just wear the sheet,” I teased. “Like that one time at the hotel when you opened the door thinking it was me but actually -”
“Cook,” he cut me off with a warning tone.
“Only you could look hot with a toga.”
“Fine, I won’t get out of bed then,” he threw out the ultimatum, crossing his arms.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Archuleta.”
He tried to quickly get off the bed but his speed didn’t beat my dash, and within seconds I had picked him up.
“You always do this!” he complained, not even bothering to squirm out of my arms.
“And it’s oh-so fun,” I said, my eyes undoubtedly twinkling with mischief.
I let him down next to the door to the walk-in closet and he scrambled inside, the sheet wrapped around his waist. He yelled at me from inside to stop laughing, and I replied ‘never’ before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
+
David’s favorite “food” is lettuce.
Yesterday afternoon, I wracked my brain for meals that used lettuce as the primary ingredient. Using my breadth of culinary knowledge, the best idea I came up with was, of course, salad. You can’t exactly serve salad for breakfast, so I went with the next best option: chocolate chip pancakes.
David doesn’t really have a sweet tooth, but he has a weakness for chocolate, so I grabbed from the pantry bags of milk chocolate chips and white chocolate chips that we bought last week for cookies. I set a bowl of fruit and some yogurt on the table as well. I needed to be sure that David had a filling breakfast… today especially.
“Ooh, it smells good in here,” David commented as he sauntered into the kitchen.
“I’m getting better, I hope.”
“We’ll see,” he said slyly.
“Here, come taste one,” I told him, plating a giant pancake.
He pulled a fork from the drawer and used its side to cut into the fluffy, cooked batter. I watched as the piece disappeared into his mouth. Bits of the melted chocolate didn’t quite make it past his lips, and I choked a little when the end of his tongue slid out to lick it off. His eyes traveled this way and that while he savored the flavor. I twiddled my thumbs, waiting for the verdict.
“It’s delicious, Cook.”
Score.
“That’s a relief.”
He grinned and covered my lips with his. The kiss tasted of chocolate, sweet and swirling on my palette.
+
Doing the dishes took at least twice as long as eating breakfast because David decided that it would be funny to start dabbing my nose with the soap foam. This led to chasing him around the island, then having to wipe the wet hardwood floor. By the time all the cleaning was done, it was closer to lunch.
“Are you ready for your present?”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“That’s ridiculous. You only turn twenty once.”
“That’s what you said when I turned nineteen,” he countered, drying the damp hem of my shirt with a towel.
“And I’ll say it every year for the rest of your life.” I gathered him into my arms and kissed the top of his head.
“Alright, you win,” he yielded.
I walked over to the cabinet above the phone.
“You hid it behind the phonebook?” I heard David ask incredulously.
“Hey, shh.”
I found the medium-sized box I’d hidden a few days ago, apart from all the Christmas gifts.
“Should I close my eyes?”
“Well if you did, I might just end up madly kissing you instead.”
Laughing at his dark look, I put out my palms so he could see, the box on top of them. He unwrapped the ribbon and wrapping paper, his curious eyes wide just as they were three days ago, then accentuated by the colorful lights on the tree.
“Cook…”
He gazed at the silver watch placed in black velvet, and at me, a soft smile gracing his lips. Inwardly, I immediately relaxed - glad to see that he seemed to like it. I’d caught him lingering at the window two weeks ago when we had gone Christmas shopping. I knew too well that he wasn’t the type to say what he wanted, so it was up to me to not make him ask.
“Do you like it?”
“I… How did you…?”
“It’s what boyfriends do,” I shrugged. “Put it on.”
He pulled the chain out, set the case on the counter, and draped the watch over his slender wrist. The slim silver accessory matched his porcelain skin perfectly.
“I love it… Thank you, Cook,” he murmured.
“Happy birthday, Arch… But we’re not done yet.”
“Hmm?”
“Part two is waiting. Come on, grab your coat.”
“My… But… Wait, there’s -”
I just flashed him a smile and led him out of the apartment, getting our coats on the way.
II. David Archuleta.
Breakfast and the unexpected present were enough, but Cook and I were soon in the car, driving to an undisclosed location. As we drove into the heart of Los Angeles, Cook placed something in my lap.
“Before I forget…” he trailed, keeping his eyes on the road.
I looked down at the eye mask he’d given me. I figured that Cook had gone through a lot of trouble to prepare the surprise he had in store for me, so I obliged and covered my eyes with the silk mask.
With just darkness and Cook’s voice to keep me company, I lost track of direction and time, and before I knew it I felt the car slow to a halt. I heard the door click open and close, then Cook’s footsteps rounding around the back to the passenger side. He guided me out of the car and through a series of doors and an elevator, telling me to turn left or right so I wouldn’t run into anything.
The warmth of Cook’s palms covered my ears for a short moment, and then lifted, along with the eye mask. I squinted for a bit at the sudden light. When my vision focused again, I saw a familiar office, familiar paintings…
“Arch,” Cook called, slinging his arm around my shoulder.
I looked up at him, expectant. He smiled.
“Arch, are you ready to meet our son?”
+
Upon hearing Cook’s question, I unknowingly held my breath until my chest began to hurt.
“Our… son?”
The words came out but they were so new to me, so strange. It was as if I’d listened to myself speak for the first time.
“Whenever you’re ready, I can bring him to you,” offered Heather, beaming at both of us.
“I’m… ready,” I told her, nodding firmly.
Cook gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and we waited while Heather went into the nursery. My heart was pounding. Cook and I had received a call from Heather earlier this month that the process was almost finished, that she’d found the perfect baby boy. I’d waited for her to give us the final call so I could meet him, but apparently Cook had taken care of it already. I had no idea that today would be the day - my birthday, no less.
We saw Heather come through the door seconds after I whispered my “thank you” in Cook’s ear, and we both took in deep breaths when we saw him in the crook of her arm.
He was sleeping, wrapped in a fleece blanket. Tears welled up as I absorbed the details of our tiny son, his eyelashes, coincidentally dark like mine, fluttering against his flawless skin. The color of his hair, amazingly, matched Cook’s. I reached out and slipped a finger underneath his hand, and gasped when his doll-like digits curled around it.
“Heather, he’s beautiful… Cook, it’s our son…”
“I can’t wait for him to wake up,” he chuckled.
“He’s… ours,” I repeated, the last word lingering on my tongue and spreading through my heart like a blessing.
+
“Arch?”
I looked up from my shopping list - everything from diapers to a stroller - at Cook who had come out of the guest bedroom we had yet to transform for the newest addition to our family.
“What is it?”
“He’s awake.”
I stood up so quickly that the memo pad slipped off my lap, and I made a beeline to the room with Cook right behind me.
I burst out laughing when I found him lying on his stomach on the corner of the bed, concentrating on an object he was holding in his hands.
“Is that your glove, Cook?”
“Why yes, it is. Boy knows his Northface.”
“… I’m going to grab my camera.”
A minute later, we were taking turns clicking away with the camera, leaving the flash off so he wouldn’t be alarmed. Cook brought in my laptop so we could upload them right away.
“We should send these to our families,” Cook suggested.
“Yeah,” I answered, still mesmerized by the baby in both the pictures and on the bed next to me, “He’s a miracle, isn’t he?”
Cook picked him up, at which he let out the cutest laugh, and plopped down on the mattress. He leaned forward and glanced at the computer screen, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“He is a miracle,” he agreed. “Our miracle.”
Pairing(s): David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: PG to NC-17
Genre: AU
Disclaimer: The real-life characters do not belong to me, and the story is fictional.
Summary: A year after his high school graduation, David is living with Cook in L.A., but keeping their love hidden from the public eye brings up obstacles that threaten their relationship.
Author's Notes: This fic was originally posted at cookleta from September 2008 to October 2009. :)
12
Four Months Later. December 28, 2008.
I. David Cook.
“Arch,” I whispered, placing a hand on David’s shoulder.
“Mmm, ten minutes,” came his answer. He burrowed further into the sheets until all I could see were the tips of his dark hair from underneath the covers.
“Not today, babe.” Chuckling, I pulled him out of his warm cocoon.
“And whose fault was it that I couldn’t sleep last night?” he grumbled, running his fingers through his disheveled hair, cringing at the sunlight shining through the windows.
I coughed and focused on a spot behind him on the wall. I had to admit that his question - or accusation - had made me a bit sheepish. To put it simply, I’d kept him up with the excuse that it was, well, the eve of his twentieth birthday. Finally, I glanced back at David, who was still pouting and rubbing his eyes to wake up. Grinning, I reached out and took his hands in mine, away from his face, and leaned in to kiss him.
“Forgive me?” I pleaded. “You know, since it’s your birthday and all?” The logic made no sense even to me, and he rolled his eyes at me, but the corners of his mouth were already twitching into a smile.
“You’re cooking breakfast.”
“Anything you ask.”
Sighing, he sat up and leaned against the headboard. His cheeks flushed a bright red when he saw his t-shirt and pajama pants strewn on the floor next to the bed, unmoved from last night.
“Uh, Cook?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you, um… get me some… clothes?”
For obvious reasons, it amused me so much how embarrassed David could become with situations that should be like second nature, considering the length of time we’ve been together. I didn’t mind one bit, though; he was just as charming when he blushed.
“Hmm, you should just wear the sheet,” I teased. “Like that one time at the hotel when you opened the door thinking it was me but actually -”
“Cook,” he cut me off with a warning tone.
“Only you could look hot with a toga.”
“Fine, I won’t get out of bed then,” he threw out the ultimatum, crossing his arms.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Archuleta.”
He tried to quickly get off the bed but his speed didn’t beat my dash, and within seconds I had picked him up.
“You always do this!” he complained, not even bothering to squirm out of my arms.
“And it’s oh-so fun,” I said, my eyes undoubtedly twinkling with mischief.
I let him down next to the door to the walk-in closet and he scrambled inside, the sheet wrapped around his waist. He yelled at me from inside to stop laughing, and I replied ‘never’ before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
+
David’s favorite “food” is lettuce.
Yesterday afternoon, I wracked my brain for meals that used lettuce as the primary ingredient. Using my breadth of culinary knowledge, the best idea I came up with was, of course, salad. You can’t exactly serve salad for breakfast, so I went with the next best option: chocolate chip pancakes.
David doesn’t really have a sweet tooth, but he has a weakness for chocolate, so I grabbed from the pantry bags of milk chocolate chips and white chocolate chips that we bought last week for cookies. I set a bowl of fruit and some yogurt on the table as well. I needed to be sure that David had a filling breakfast… today especially.
“Ooh, it smells good in here,” David commented as he sauntered into the kitchen.
“I’m getting better, I hope.”
“We’ll see,” he said slyly.
“Here, come taste one,” I told him, plating a giant pancake.
He pulled a fork from the drawer and used its side to cut into the fluffy, cooked batter. I watched as the piece disappeared into his mouth. Bits of the melted chocolate didn’t quite make it past his lips, and I choked a little when the end of his tongue slid out to lick it off. His eyes traveled this way and that while he savored the flavor. I twiddled my thumbs, waiting for the verdict.
“It’s delicious, Cook.”
Score.
“That’s a relief.”
He grinned and covered my lips with his. The kiss tasted of chocolate, sweet and swirling on my palette.
+
Doing the dishes took at least twice as long as eating breakfast because David decided that it would be funny to start dabbing my nose with the soap foam. This led to chasing him around the island, then having to wipe the wet hardwood floor. By the time all the cleaning was done, it was closer to lunch.
“Are you ready for your present?”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“That’s ridiculous. You only turn twenty once.”
“That’s what you said when I turned nineteen,” he countered, drying the damp hem of my shirt with a towel.
“And I’ll say it every year for the rest of your life.” I gathered him into my arms and kissed the top of his head.
“Alright, you win,” he yielded.
I walked over to the cabinet above the phone.
“You hid it behind the phonebook?” I heard David ask incredulously.
“Hey, shh.”
I found the medium-sized box I’d hidden a few days ago, apart from all the Christmas gifts.
“Should I close my eyes?”
“Well if you did, I might just end up madly kissing you instead.”
Laughing at his dark look, I put out my palms so he could see, the box on top of them. He unwrapped the ribbon and wrapping paper, his curious eyes wide just as they were three days ago, then accentuated by the colorful lights on the tree.
“Cook…”
He gazed at the silver watch placed in black velvet, and at me, a soft smile gracing his lips. Inwardly, I immediately relaxed - glad to see that he seemed to like it. I’d caught him lingering at the window two weeks ago when we had gone Christmas shopping. I knew too well that he wasn’t the type to say what he wanted, so it was up to me to not make him ask.
“Do you like it?”
“I… How did you…?”
“It’s what boyfriends do,” I shrugged. “Put it on.”
He pulled the chain out, set the case on the counter, and draped the watch over his slender wrist. The slim silver accessory matched his porcelain skin perfectly.
“I love it… Thank you, Cook,” he murmured.
“Happy birthday, Arch… But we’re not done yet.”
“Hmm?”
“Part two is waiting. Come on, grab your coat.”
“My… But… Wait, there’s -”
I just flashed him a smile and led him out of the apartment, getting our coats on the way.
II. David Archuleta.
Breakfast and the unexpected present were enough, but Cook and I were soon in the car, driving to an undisclosed location. As we drove into the heart of Los Angeles, Cook placed something in my lap.
“Before I forget…” he trailed, keeping his eyes on the road.
I looked down at the eye mask he’d given me. I figured that Cook had gone through a lot of trouble to prepare the surprise he had in store for me, so I obliged and covered my eyes with the silk mask.
With just darkness and Cook’s voice to keep me company, I lost track of direction and time, and before I knew it I felt the car slow to a halt. I heard the door click open and close, then Cook’s footsteps rounding around the back to the passenger side. He guided me out of the car and through a series of doors and an elevator, telling me to turn left or right so I wouldn’t run into anything.
The warmth of Cook’s palms covered my ears for a short moment, and then lifted, along with the eye mask. I squinted for a bit at the sudden light. When my vision focused again, I saw a familiar office, familiar paintings…
“Arch,” Cook called, slinging his arm around my shoulder.
I looked up at him, expectant. He smiled.
“Arch, are you ready to meet our son?”
+
Upon hearing Cook’s question, I unknowingly held my breath until my chest began to hurt.
“Our… son?”
The words came out but they were so new to me, so strange. It was as if I’d listened to myself speak for the first time.
“Whenever you’re ready, I can bring him to you,” offered Heather, beaming at both of us.
“I’m… ready,” I told her, nodding firmly.
Cook gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and we waited while Heather went into the nursery. My heart was pounding. Cook and I had received a call from Heather earlier this month that the process was almost finished, that she’d found the perfect baby boy. I’d waited for her to give us the final call so I could meet him, but apparently Cook had taken care of it already. I had no idea that today would be the day - my birthday, no less.
We saw Heather come through the door seconds after I whispered my “thank you” in Cook’s ear, and we both took in deep breaths when we saw him in the crook of her arm.
He was sleeping, wrapped in a fleece blanket. Tears welled up as I absorbed the details of our tiny son, his eyelashes, coincidentally dark like mine, fluttering against his flawless skin. The color of his hair, amazingly, matched Cook’s. I reached out and slipped a finger underneath his hand, and gasped when his doll-like digits curled around it.
“Heather, he’s beautiful… Cook, it’s our son…”
“I can’t wait for him to wake up,” he chuckled.
“He’s… ours,” I repeated, the last word lingering on my tongue and spreading through my heart like a blessing.
+
“Arch?”
I looked up from my shopping list - everything from diapers to a stroller - at Cook who had come out of the guest bedroom we had yet to transform for the newest addition to our family.
“What is it?”
“He’s awake.”
I stood up so quickly that the memo pad slipped off my lap, and I made a beeline to the room with Cook right behind me.
I burst out laughing when I found him lying on his stomach on the corner of the bed, concentrating on an object he was holding in his hands.
“Is that your glove, Cook?”
“Why yes, it is. Boy knows his Northface.”
“… I’m going to grab my camera.”
A minute later, we were taking turns clicking away with the camera, leaving the flash off so he wouldn’t be alarmed. Cook brought in my laptop so we could upload them right away.
“We should send these to our families,” Cook suggested.
“Yeah,” I answered, still mesmerized by the baby in both the pictures and on the bed next to me, “He’s a miracle, isn’t he?”
Cook picked him up, at which he let out the cutest laugh, and plopped down on the mattress. He leaned forward and glanced at the computer screen, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“He is a miracle,” he agreed. “Our miracle.”