Fic: Twenty thousand kilometres to go - Part II
Title: Twenty thousand kilometres to go - Part II
Pairing: Cookleta
Rating: PG
Word Count: 691
Summary: David Archuleta starts giving out shirtless pictures - but only Cook gets one, haha.
Disclaimer: I'd pay a bit of monies to own them, but I don't think that they would agree.
At the next rest stop, an island of a strip mall floating in relentless pavement, David slinks up to Michael Johns, who is aiming his camera at the endless expanse of interstate.
"The beauty of an American landscape," Michael quips, and hooks the camera back around his wrist. "What, David," he prompts, falling in step beside him.
"Oh," says David, and he tugs a crumpled twenty out of his jeans. "I'll buy you a McFlurry," he offers, because Michael Johns, being a foreign import, secretly loves American fast food. Michael starts smiling in an extremely pleased way before David tugs the bill slightly out of his grasp - "If you give me that camera," he finishes. Before Michael can wipe the befuddled expression off his face, David unwinds the camera from his wrist, hands him the bill, and marches off. He gets the shirtless photo printed once, and promptly deletes it.
Later, on the bus, Michael is sitting complacently at a table, his feet propped up on the opposite seat, and his laptop open - and David can't exactly see the screen, but he can make out long limbs and tangled hair, so he decides to drop the camera quickly on the table - he doesn't really want to go near the table, it's probably contaminated with Michael Johns and a bit of whatever he is watching.
“They’re only lesbians,” Michael calls after him, and Cook comes out from the rear of the bus, laughing, his left hand stained with pen - he must have been writing.
Cook looks up and sees David, and he gives David a quick, fleeting glance before he sits down across from Michael - “No, I’d rather not watch…” - and pushes at the top of the laptop until it closes with a soft click.
David steels himself and walks - casually, he hopes - through to the rear of the bus, swings himself up on Cook's bed - and sits casually on it, swinging his feet. Humpty Dumpty echoes ominously in his head - “…had a great fall.” As quickly as he can, he takes the printed photo and stuffs it in Cook's sheets. He leaps off the bunk and goes to sit on his own, extends his legs in a casual position, puts an ear bud in and tries to pretend that his face hasn't turned a brilliant shade of red. He is still gazing absently at his iPod - which is incidentally not playing anything - when Cook comes back in.
David covertly observes Cook by peeking through his eyelashes - his face looks guarded and his eyes have identical smudges of purple beneath them, puffy and weary. Cook's leaning his head against the bunk - he got top because Michael won the coin toss - and his hair is longer now, falling in his eyes - his train of thoughts is interrupted by Jason's sleepy voice.
"Well... I'm back on the tour bus - it's kind of loud in here... Anyway, David Archuleta is on the bunk above me, can't see what he's doing," says Jason, and David glances down only to see a disembodied hand holding a camera and panning around the bus.
"Um, hi," he calls, and the camera bobs in response.
"Don't aim that here," says Cook's voice hurriedly, "I'm changing," and David turns completely red and averts his eyes.
"And David Cook is changing," finishes Jason, and the camera stops panning. Jason's voice returns - "… Thank you all for coming to see us in Newark for both last night and the night before that. Um, I hope you all are having a good summer… I’ll keep you posted.”
“Bye,” says Cook helpfully, and he swings his guitar over his head and heads back to the front. David follows him, he wonders why he thought Cook might’ve stuck around looking for shirtless pictures of David Archuleta in his sheets.
But Cook must have done just that at some point in the day, because at the worn, secluded lobster shack where they've all gathered for dinner, Cook tosses a napkin at him, and scrawled on it is - nice picture.
Pairing: Cookleta
Rating: PG
Word Count: 691
Summary: David Archuleta starts giving out shirtless pictures - but only Cook gets one, haha.
Disclaimer: I'd pay a bit of monies to own them, but I don't think that they would agree.
At the next rest stop, an island of a strip mall floating in relentless pavement, David slinks up to Michael Johns, who is aiming his camera at the endless expanse of interstate.
"The beauty of an American landscape," Michael quips, and hooks the camera back around his wrist. "What, David," he prompts, falling in step beside him.
"Oh," says David, and he tugs a crumpled twenty out of his jeans. "I'll buy you a McFlurry," he offers, because Michael Johns, being a foreign import, secretly loves American fast food. Michael starts smiling in an extremely pleased way before David tugs the bill slightly out of his grasp - "If you give me that camera," he finishes. Before Michael can wipe the befuddled expression off his face, David unwinds the camera from his wrist, hands him the bill, and marches off. He gets the shirtless photo printed once, and promptly deletes it.
Later, on the bus, Michael is sitting complacently at a table, his feet propped up on the opposite seat, and his laptop open - and David can't exactly see the screen, but he can make out long limbs and tangled hair, so he decides to drop the camera quickly on the table - he doesn't really want to go near the table, it's probably contaminated with Michael Johns and a bit of whatever he is watching.
“They’re only lesbians,” Michael calls after him, and Cook comes out from the rear of the bus, laughing, his left hand stained with pen - he must have been writing.
Cook looks up and sees David, and he gives David a quick, fleeting glance before he sits down across from Michael - “No, I’d rather not watch…” - and pushes at the top of the laptop until it closes with a soft click.
David steels himself and walks - casually, he hopes - through to the rear of the bus, swings himself up on Cook's bed - and sits casually on it, swinging his feet. Humpty Dumpty echoes ominously in his head - “…had a great fall.” As quickly as he can, he takes the printed photo and stuffs it in Cook's sheets. He leaps off the bunk and goes to sit on his own, extends his legs in a casual position, puts an ear bud in and tries to pretend that his face hasn't turned a brilliant shade of red. He is still gazing absently at his iPod - which is incidentally not playing anything - when Cook comes back in.
David covertly observes Cook by peeking through his eyelashes - his face looks guarded and his eyes have identical smudges of purple beneath them, puffy and weary. Cook's leaning his head against the bunk - he got top because Michael won the coin toss - and his hair is longer now, falling in his eyes - his train of thoughts is interrupted by Jason's sleepy voice.
"Well... I'm back on the tour bus - it's kind of loud in here... Anyway, David Archuleta is on the bunk above me, can't see what he's doing," says Jason, and David glances down only to see a disembodied hand holding a camera and panning around the bus.
"Um, hi," he calls, and the camera bobs in response.
"Don't aim that here," says Cook's voice hurriedly, "I'm changing," and David turns completely red and averts his eyes.
"And David Cook is changing," finishes Jason, and the camera stops panning. Jason's voice returns - "… Thank you all for coming to see us in Newark for both last night and the night before that. Um, I hope you all are having a good summer… I’ll keep you posted.”
“Bye,” says Cook helpfully, and he swings his guitar over his head and heads back to the front. David follows him, he wonders why he thought Cook might’ve stuck around looking for shirtless pictures of David Archuleta in his sheets.
But Cook must have done just that at some point in the day, because at the worn, secluded lobster shack where they've all gathered for dinner, Cook tosses a napkin at him, and scrawled on it is - nice picture.