Oneshot: I'm in the belly of the whale.
Title: I'm in the belly of the whale.
Pairing: David Archuleta/David Cook
Summary: Neal may not talk much, but he does think. Too much sometimes.
Rating: PG-13 for Neal's language.
Word Count: 2, 760
Chapter: 1/1
Disclaimer: All of this is fictional and made for fun. I make no profit off of this or claim any rights. I don't own either David.
Inspired by: The awesomeness that is Neal.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When it’s finally fucking over, you’re twenty seven going on fifty. It’s been nearly a year in the making, but the Declaration Tour officially ends its run on January 21, 2010. And while you live and breathe music and the tour was all sorts of epic, you’re ready to crash and burn. Only, you think, you have to continue working on the next MWK project and Burn Halo has another record in the works. Oh yeah, and there was that whole David Cook and the Anthemic thing that you had going on too. Holy fuckin’ shit. If you can still feel your fingers after all of this is said and done, you’ll feel like you’ve really accomplished something.
Dragging your feet through the hallway, you wonder if this was how Dave felt when that Idol ordeal was in full effect, performing on the tour and working on his album and then jumping into another tour.
All you know right now is that you’re mentally and physically exhausted and the other boys are too. Dave included.
That much was evident from the way he made it clear when he had opted out of the bar hopping celebration that the rest of you had went to. And what the hell? Who the fuck said no to a drinking opportunity? You admit that you’re exhausted, yeah, but you know that you would have to be about-to-fall-into-a-coma exhausted before you said no to alcohol.
Dave was different though, apparently. Different, that is, in that he has definitely changed in the past couple of years. And you aren’t sure if you hated or loved it, but you are pretty sure that you are just kind of tolerant of it. In the end, Dave is still Dave, right? He still finds amusement in crosswords, can’t pull out a funny joke out of his hat to save his life, and still cannot beat you in a game of beer pong, though not many could.
But, yeah, he’s changed since American Idol. Since his little boy toy came into the picture. Okay, so maybe it was douchey or insensitive for you to refer to him as Dave’s boy toy. That’s what it seems to be half of the time, like their little thing that they had going on was a yoyo. One day they were up, the next they were down, and that was no way for a relationship to go. And it pisses the hell out of you because either Dave is either stoked for a performance or a Debbie Downer that looks like he’s been ran over by a fucking train and you don’t want to pity him because he’d laid down on those tracks by choice, but it is hard to ignore Dave’s sulking. You and the rest of the band do a pretty bang up job of lifting his spirits when need be, but he isn’t himself, not truly, until he made up with the boy toy again. That infuriates the hell out of you.
Because to you, it isn’t a real relationship. Not really. Not when they cannot be open about it to the media, to the public, to the world. What kind of relationship is one that has to be kept behind the doors of a tour bus or a hotel room? Maybe you’re behind the times, but back when you were growing up, that sort of relationship was called a fling, an affair, a booty call for Christ’s sake. Not a relationship by any means.
Yeah, yeah, there is that whole ‘holy fuck, they’re both guys, how nasty is that’ issue that would be sure to follow, but damn, Dave ought to have enough balls at this point in his life to be honest with himself. There wouldn’t have to be any of that ‘outing’ business if he had been open from the get go. You have point blank told this to Dave on numerous occasions and he sort of shrugs it off. But you know that it gets to him. Because, well, you just know him. And the way his eyes glaze over darkly whenever you mention it tells you that he agrees but has to keep his tongue in his cheek. That’s how you know that if it was up to him, he would be open to it, about it. Which leads you to want to throttle the kid even more because that was bullshit, that he didn’t want to go public with their relationship.
Because to you, that says that he doesn’t take it as seriously as he should, which he is still a fuckin’ teenager, a sheltered one at that who flinched at any sort of cuss word for fuck’s sake, so how could he really take a relationship seriously anyway? As his friend, you think, you know that Dave deserves better than a closeted relationship, no pun intended because you really couldn’t give a rat’s ass if it is with a woman or a man, you simply want it to be a sincere, honest relationship. Dave deserves at least that. You try to keep your mouth shut, though, because when the kid is there with Dave, you see it.
The way that your friend looks at this kid, like he’s fallen from the skies or something with white feathery wings and a halo for accessories. He’s so smitten and yeah, it’s a bit sickening to see him act like he is a fresh-faced teenager who can’t control his hormones like the person that he was smitten over, but it makes him happy, and that’s sort of what really matters when it all boils down. But fuck if you don’t want to pounce that kid like a hyena on a defenseless puppy whenever he does something that upsets your friend.
Now that the tour is over though and both of them have time to actually breathe and evaluate their relationship for what it was, maybe they would realize how faulty it is, how unhealthy it is.
Okay, if you were to say all of this to someone, you were pretty sure that they would assume that you despise the kid with your very being, but you don’t. He’s a nice kid and all, but perhaps that’s part of the problem. He’s a people pleaser and as long as he considered what people would think of his actions, made his decisions based on what was expected of him rather than what he wanted to do, what he felt was right, well, you can’t see his relationship with Dave going anywhere, in all honesty. Really, some people would consider this selfless of him to do, to put others before himself, but hell if you believe that. You think that makes him selfish.
Because, hello, what about Dave? What about his feelings? What about what he wants? Didn’t that matter? It appears to you that the kid is too busy trying to shelter himself, to protect himself from all of the controversy that could come with such a relationship to be concerned about what Dave is feeling about the whole thing. And that pisses you off.
Fuck it. You’ve had enough of these thoughts for the night. You hate times like these, where you are muddling around in your thoughts that run in circles. None of this isn’t something that you’ve told yourself before. What good was it when Dave didn’t listen to you anyway? Besides, all of this thinking was putting a damper on your high. Not a drug high, because you don’t do that messed up shit despite speculations of otherwise, but spending the night celebrating, partying, drinking it up definitely had hit the spot for you. Though, you admit that you really aren’t the biggest fan of LA, really, it doesn’t live up to the hype for you. But whatever.
A little after two, the lot of you had came stumbling into the door, and you had barely hit the mattress before you’d zonked out. It’s around four now. What are you doing up? Hell if you know. But since you were, you decided to quench that craving for some water, the taste of a salty dog leaving your mouth irritatingly dry. You were feeling the start of a headache coming on too, so you may as well start chugging down the Tylenol and get a head start. Going into the kitchen of Dave’s house, you open the door to find just what you are wanting aligned all along the side of the fridge. Sweet.
Chugging down the cool, life reviving substance with a pill from the bottle above the sink, you only then register the quiet lull of the television coming from the living room. Which, who in the hell would be up at this time of night other than yourself? Fuck, you hope that Kyle isn’t sleep walking again.
When you go into the kitchen to find out, you half wish that it would have been, because at least that would have been amusing. Instead of finding the drummer, however, you find David squared on the couch.
The older one, Dave, is spread across the other’s lap. He’s curled against him like an infant experiencing the rooting reflex, and really, you don’t like that analogy, so you think of another one.
It’s sort of like when it’s just you and your guitar and a blank sheet meant for music. You love being on stage, but when it’s lyrics time and you’re sitting in the sanctity of your room, preparing lyrics for one album or another, it’s a whole different experience. It’s a bit personal, honestly, depending on the song, and it’s definitely calming in a way you really don’t like to admit.
Anyway, that’s where Dave seems to be, in his comfort zone of sorts. Which you can’t say it really surprises you because he’s a rather physical person, a people person through and through. Add that into the mix that he’s a crier (something you don’t really mind because Dave doesn’t mind that he’s that way), and well, you got Dave, who was clingy to those that he cared about, relying on them for support.
With the little David, there is no exception to this. In fact, it seems that this clinginess is amplified quite a bit whenever the teenager is around. Like right now, Dave’s head is resting on the other’s knee and his legs are bent so that he can fit onto the couch and it can’t be comfortable.
You wonder if you should feel like a creeper for watching the two of them like they are without announcing your presence, but you’ve never been one for too many words. Besides, Dave is turned away from you, buried into David’s shirt. The kid’s attention is on Dave’s, looking down at him with a softened expression and fingers running through highlighted strands.
Then he’s gazing up and the light coming from the television allows you to see his widened eyes staring at you. You’re staring back and yeah, it’s fuckin’ awkward. He’s sitting there while you’re standing there and it’s not like you really have anything to say. Well, you do, but you knew if you opened your mouth and spoke your piece, Dave wouldn’t be very happy with you the next day.
He’s turning away from you settling his gaze back onto Dave, chomping on his lower lip in what you assume is a nervous gesture, starting to trace his fingers along Dave’s cheekbone.
Okay, so it’s pretty damn obvious that he’s aware that you aren’t his biggest fan. Taking a step forward, he’s probably stunned that you’re even talking to him, “Need help getting him back into bed?” Stuffing your hands in your pockets and leaning on one leg, you use the bottle in your hand to point towards the sleeping form in front of you.
Then the teen is staring at you like he didn’t expect you to offer to help him in any way. Which is probably the exact thought that is actually running through his head. You weren’t exactly offering him help. Well, you were, but it was more Dave that you were looking out for. And in the magical circle of things, it was you you were looking out for because you didn’t want to hear the griping of how the man’s back hurt or was all in knots or some shit like that. If you’ve told him once you’ve told him a thousand times, you do not give backrubs. Foot massages either. That shit is nasty.
You take another swig of the water while you wait for the kid to answer, having tossed the bottle cap who knows where when you’d opened it. It was sort of a habit by now.
He shakes his head meekly before looking back down at Dave. “He, um, he was having trouble sleeping , that’s why we came in here, and now that he’s finally asleep, I don’t want to risk it, you know?”
You remember Dave mentioning the kid had a press thing in the morning and what the fuck? Why did your brain select to remember that information out of everything? Probably because Dave had said it like mantra all the way to the house, mumbling about how he was likely to zonk out for the night and then not get to spend time with him in the morning and how it was unfair and how if it weren’t for this or that. Well, point was, you know that he has a thing in the morning he may need sleep for.
From the way that his back is angled on the couch and the way that Dave’s large cranium is probably causing his legs to be numb, you doubt that he’ll get any sleep that way.
“He has all tomorrow to sleep. I’m kind of curious to hear what sound his head will make on the wooden floor.” Then the concrete vs. air argument would finally be settled.
The kid doesn’t seem to know how to take a joke, cradling the sleeping form’s head in his hands and his mouth opening similarly to a fish’s out of water. “Oh my gosh, no.” It’s only then that you take in account that he’s whispering really lowly. And you think this is the closest you’ve ever seen the guy angry. You wouldn't doubt that this was the closest he would ever be to angry.
While your mind isn’t all that hazy anymore, you’re still a little too tipsy to comprehend your own voice level. Not that Dave wouldn’t sleep through a hurricane anyway.
Alright, you get the point and your legs are feeling wobbly anyway, so you turn, take a step forward, before you crane your head over your shoulder, clucking your tongue against the top palate of your mouth curiously. “So, you’re just goin’ to sit here until he wakes up?” It’s uncharacteristic of you, to talk this much, but you want to know.
There’s another shy nod and his eyes haven’t left Dave’s face. The expression you can make out in the dim light half tempts you to gag, if you’re being honest.
“You’re aware that that might not be until three o’clock tomorrow?” Especially since there was no performance tomorrow night to worry about getting up for.
Another nod. This time, with words to go along with it, “Yeah. Um, I-I have the time, so. Yeah, I have tomorrow off.” This guy needs to come with a translator, but you get what that sentence is saying, the implied now that should follow it.
You walk back to your room without another word or glance, twirling the half-drank water bottle in your hand.
When you get back to bed, you’ll want to sleep, but like most nights, you’ll end up thinking instead. You’ll mull over thoughts that have nothing to do with booze or music and you’ll want to get rid of them, but they won’t go away.
You talk too little and think too much. You get that.
It’s as irritating as fuck sometimes but that’s how it goes down.
Tonight, albeit a bit begrudgingly, you’ll decide that okay, so maybe you can cut little David some slack.
But you swear to the Jack Daniel Gods above that you still wouldn’t hesitate to kick his small ass if it came to that. It’s just that now, that seems less likely.
You went to a bar, played beer pong, and actually talked to Dave’s kid without being tempted to throw a punch.
It was a good day.
Pairing: David Archuleta/David Cook
Summary: Neal may not talk much, but he does think. Too much sometimes.
Rating: PG-13 for Neal's language.
Word Count: 2, 760
Chapter: 1/1
Disclaimer: All of this is fictional and made for fun. I make no profit off of this or claim any rights. I don't own either David.
Inspired by: The awesomeness that is Neal.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When it’s finally fucking over, you’re twenty seven going on fifty. It’s been nearly a year in the making, but the Declaration Tour officially ends its run on January 21, 2010. And while you live and breathe music and the tour was all sorts of epic, you’re ready to crash and burn. Only, you think, you have to continue working on the next MWK project and Burn Halo has another record in the works. Oh yeah, and there was that whole David Cook and the Anthemic thing that you had going on too. Holy fuckin’ shit. If you can still feel your fingers after all of this is said and done, you’ll feel like you’ve really accomplished something.
Dragging your feet through the hallway, you wonder if this was how Dave felt when that Idol ordeal was in full effect, performing on the tour and working on his album and then jumping into another tour.
All you know right now is that you’re mentally and physically exhausted and the other boys are too. Dave included.
That much was evident from the way he made it clear when he had opted out of the bar hopping celebration that the rest of you had went to. And what the hell? Who the fuck said no to a drinking opportunity? You admit that you’re exhausted, yeah, but you know that you would have to be about-to-fall-into-a-coma exhausted before you said no to alcohol.
Dave was different though, apparently. Different, that is, in that he has definitely changed in the past couple of years. And you aren’t sure if you hated or loved it, but you are pretty sure that you are just kind of tolerant of it. In the end, Dave is still Dave, right? He still finds amusement in crosswords, can’t pull out a funny joke out of his hat to save his life, and still cannot beat you in a game of beer pong, though not many could.
But, yeah, he’s changed since American Idol. Since his little boy toy came into the picture. Okay, so maybe it was douchey or insensitive for you to refer to him as Dave’s boy toy. That’s what it seems to be half of the time, like their little thing that they had going on was a yoyo. One day they were up, the next they were down, and that was no way for a relationship to go. And it pisses the hell out of you because either Dave is either stoked for a performance or a Debbie Downer that looks like he’s been ran over by a fucking train and you don’t want to pity him because he’d laid down on those tracks by choice, but it is hard to ignore Dave’s sulking. You and the rest of the band do a pretty bang up job of lifting his spirits when need be, but he isn’t himself, not truly, until he made up with the boy toy again. That infuriates the hell out of you.
Because to you, it isn’t a real relationship. Not really. Not when they cannot be open about it to the media, to the public, to the world. What kind of relationship is one that has to be kept behind the doors of a tour bus or a hotel room? Maybe you’re behind the times, but back when you were growing up, that sort of relationship was called a fling, an affair, a booty call for Christ’s sake. Not a relationship by any means.
Yeah, yeah, there is that whole ‘holy fuck, they’re both guys, how nasty is that’ issue that would be sure to follow, but damn, Dave ought to have enough balls at this point in his life to be honest with himself. There wouldn’t have to be any of that ‘outing’ business if he had been open from the get go. You have point blank told this to Dave on numerous occasions and he sort of shrugs it off. But you know that it gets to him. Because, well, you just know him. And the way his eyes glaze over darkly whenever you mention it tells you that he agrees but has to keep his tongue in his cheek. That’s how you know that if it was up to him, he would be open to it, about it. Which leads you to want to throttle the kid even more because that was bullshit, that he didn’t want to go public with their relationship.
Because to you, that says that he doesn’t take it as seriously as he should, which he is still a fuckin’ teenager, a sheltered one at that who flinched at any sort of cuss word for fuck’s sake, so how could he really take a relationship seriously anyway? As his friend, you think, you know that Dave deserves better than a closeted relationship, no pun intended because you really couldn’t give a rat’s ass if it is with a woman or a man, you simply want it to be a sincere, honest relationship. Dave deserves at least that. You try to keep your mouth shut, though, because when the kid is there with Dave, you see it.
The way that your friend looks at this kid, like he’s fallen from the skies or something with white feathery wings and a halo for accessories. He’s so smitten and yeah, it’s a bit sickening to see him act like he is a fresh-faced teenager who can’t control his hormones like the person that he was smitten over, but it makes him happy, and that’s sort of what really matters when it all boils down. But fuck if you don’t want to pounce that kid like a hyena on a defenseless puppy whenever he does something that upsets your friend.
Now that the tour is over though and both of them have time to actually breathe and evaluate their relationship for what it was, maybe they would realize how faulty it is, how unhealthy it is.
Okay, if you were to say all of this to someone, you were pretty sure that they would assume that you despise the kid with your very being, but you don’t. He’s a nice kid and all, but perhaps that’s part of the problem. He’s a people pleaser and as long as he considered what people would think of his actions, made his decisions based on what was expected of him rather than what he wanted to do, what he felt was right, well, you can’t see his relationship with Dave going anywhere, in all honesty. Really, some people would consider this selfless of him to do, to put others before himself, but hell if you believe that. You think that makes him selfish.
Because, hello, what about Dave? What about his feelings? What about what he wants? Didn’t that matter? It appears to you that the kid is too busy trying to shelter himself, to protect himself from all of the controversy that could come with such a relationship to be concerned about what Dave is feeling about the whole thing. And that pisses you off.
Fuck it. You’ve had enough of these thoughts for the night. You hate times like these, where you are muddling around in your thoughts that run in circles. None of this isn’t something that you’ve told yourself before. What good was it when Dave didn’t listen to you anyway? Besides, all of this thinking was putting a damper on your high. Not a drug high, because you don’t do that messed up shit despite speculations of otherwise, but spending the night celebrating, partying, drinking it up definitely had hit the spot for you. Though, you admit that you really aren’t the biggest fan of LA, really, it doesn’t live up to the hype for you. But whatever.
A little after two, the lot of you had came stumbling into the door, and you had barely hit the mattress before you’d zonked out. It’s around four now. What are you doing up? Hell if you know. But since you were, you decided to quench that craving for some water, the taste of a salty dog leaving your mouth irritatingly dry. You were feeling the start of a headache coming on too, so you may as well start chugging down the Tylenol and get a head start. Going into the kitchen of Dave’s house, you open the door to find just what you are wanting aligned all along the side of the fridge. Sweet.
Chugging down the cool, life reviving substance with a pill from the bottle above the sink, you only then register the quiet lull of the television coming from the living room. Which, who in the hell would be up at this time of night other than yourself? Fuck, you hope that Kyle isn’t sleep walking again.
When you go into the kitchen to find out, you half wish that it would have been, because at least that would have been amusing. Instead of finding the drummer, however, you find David squared on the couch.
The older one, Dave, is spread across the other’s lap. He’s curled against him like an infant experiencing the rooting reflex, and really, you don’t like that analogy, so you think of another one.
It’s sort of like when it’s just you and your guitar and a blank sheet meant for music. You love being on stage, but when it’s lyrics time and you’re sitting in the sanctity of your room, preparing lyrics for one album or another, it’s a whole different experience. It’s a bit personal, honestly, depending on the song, and it’s definitely calming in a way you really don’t like to admit.
Anyway, that’s where Dave seems to be, in his comfort zone of sorts. Which you can’t say it really surprises you because he’s a rather physical person, a people person through and through. Add that into the mix that he’s a crier (something you don’t really mind because Dave doesn’t mind that he’s that way), and well, you got Dave, who was clingy to those that he cared about, relying on them for support.
With the little David, there is no exception to this. In fact, it seems that this clinginess is amplified quite a bit whenever the teenager is around. Like right now, Dave’s head is resting on the other’s knee and his legs are bent so that he can fit onto the couch and it can’t be comfortable.
You wonder if you should feel like a creeper for watching the two of them like they are without announcing your presence, but you’ve never been one for too many words. Besides, Dave is turned away from you, buried into David’s shirt. The kid’s attention is on Dave’s, looking down at him with a softened expression and fingers running through highlighted strands.
Then he’s gazing up and the light coming from the television allows you to see his widened eyes staring at you. You’re staring back and yeah, it’s fuckin’ awkward. He’s sitting there while you’re standing there and it’s not like you really have anything to say. Well, you do, but you knew if you opened your mouth and spoke your piece, Dave wouldn’t be very happy with you the next day.
He’s turning away from you settling his gaze back onto Dave, chomping on his lower lip in what you assume is a nervous gesture, starting to trace his fingers along Dave’s cheekbone.
Okay, so it’s pretty damn obvious that he’s aware that you aren’t his biggest fan. Taking a step forward, he’s probably stunned that you’re even talking to him, “Need help getting him back into bed?” Stuffing your hands in your pockets and leaning on one leg, you use the bottle in your hand to point towards the sleeping form in front of you.
Then the teen is staring at you like he didn’t expect you to offer to help him in any way. Which is probably the exact thought that is actually running through his head. You weren’t exactly offering him help. Well, you were, but it was more Dave that you were looking out for. And in the magical circle of things, it was you you were looking out for because you didn’t want to hear the griping of how the man’s back hurt or was all in knots or some shit like that. If you’ve told him once you’ve told him a thousand times, you do not give backrubs. Foot massages either. That shit is nasty.
You take another swig of the water while you wait for the kid to answer, having tossed the bottle cap who knows where when you’d opened it. It was sort of a habit by now.
He shakes his head meekly before looking back down at Dave. “He, um, he was having trouble sleeping , that’s why we came in here, and now that he’s finally asleep, I don’t want to risk it, you know?”
You remember Dave mentioning the kid had a press thing in the morning and what the fuck? Why did your brain select to remember that information out of everything? Probably because Dave had said it like mantra all the way to the house, mumbling about how he was likely to zonk out for the night and then not get to spend time with him in the morning and how it was unfair and how if it weren’t for this or that. Well, point was, you know that he has a thing in the morning he may need sleep for.
From the way that his back is angled on the couch and the way that Dave’s large cranium is probably causing his legs to be numb, you doubt that he’ll get any sleep that way.
“He has all tomorrow to sleep. I’m kind of curious to hear what sound his head will make on the wooden floor.” Then the concrete vs. air argument would finally be settled.
The kid doesn’t seem to know how to take a joke, cradling the sleeping form’s head in his hands and his mouth opening similarly to a fish’s out of water. “Oh my gosh, no.” It’s only then that you take in account that he’s whispering really lowly. And you think this is the closest you’ve ever seen the guy angry. You wouldn't doubt that this was the closest he would ever be to angry.
While your mind isn’t all that hazy anymore, you’re still a little too tipsy to comprehend your own voice level. Not that Dave wouldn’t sleep through a hurricane anyway.
Alright, you get the point and your legs are feeling wobbly anyway, so you turn, take a step forward, before you crane your head over your shoulder, clucking your tongue against the top palate of your mouth curiously. “So, you’re just goin’ to sit here until he wakes up?” It’s uncharacteristic of you, to talk this much, but you want to know.
There’s another shy nod and his eyes haven’t left Dave’s face. The expression you can make out in the dim light half tempts you to gag, if you’re being honest.
“You’re aware that that might not be until three o’clock tomorrow?” Especially since there was no performance tomorrow night to worry about getting up for.
Another nod. This time, with words to go along with it, “Yeah. Um, I-I have the time, so. Yeah, I have tomorrow off.” This guy needs to come with a translator, but you get what that sentence is saying, the implied now that should follow it.
You walk back to your room without another word or glance, twirling the half-drank water bottle in your hand.
When you get back to bed, you’ll want to sleep, but like most nights, you’ll end up thinking instead. You’ll mull over thoughts that have nothing to do with booze or music and you’ll want to get rid of them, but they won’t go away.
You talk too little and think too much. You get that.
It’s as irritating as fuck sometimes but that’s how it goes down.
Tonight, albeit a bit begrudgingly, you’ll decide that okay, so maybe you can cut little David some slack.
But you swear to the Jack Daniel Gods above that you still wouldn’t hesitate to kick his small ass if it came to that. It’s just that now, that seems less likely.
You went to a bar, played beer pong, and actually talked to Dave’s kid without being tempted to throw a punch.
It was a good day.