YOÜ AND I -- R
[title] Yoü and I
[author] kissontheneck [a.k.a. fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta
[beta] None, so, you know.
[rating] R-ish?, language and sexual situations
[word count] 5314
[summary] David's been gone for two years, but now he's back in town.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Angsty, song!fic
[author's note] Oh. I was opening random half-written fics and WIPs today and clicked on this one not even remembering having started it. It was 3/4 of the way done, but needed a conflict that I just couldn't come up with. Enter real life David Archuleta, who ultimately provided one. Sure to be the first in a long line of Missionary Coping Fics. Just in case you've never heard of Lady Gaga, may I present this song to you now.
YOÜ AND I
It’s been a long time since I came around
Been a long time but I’m back in town
This time I’m not leaving without you
According to David's sources, Cook is still living in Kansas City, though the Kansas part of it, not the Missouri part. He always thought it was weird that it straddled two states anyway, and he arbitrarily liked the Kansas side better just because it made more sense really. Besides, teasing Cook about the Missouri part not being true Kansas City had been fun just to see that face Cook made when he said it. It was the one way he'd known how to successfully get the Missouri native genuinely wound up.
It's how David started calling him Kansas City as a nickname, which even he admitted was sort of dumb. In retaliation Cook decided to start calling him Utah, which was just as ridiculous, but it made them both laugh whenever one would call the other by their geographical descriptors.
Of course, that was back when they actually spent time in the same room together, let alone the same time zone. It's been a while since David's been in Kansas City, ages it seems like now. Even though a lot of the city is as anonymous as it ever was to him, and the major landscapes are exactly the same, somehow as he says the familiar street signs while he drives by they sound different, even in his own voice. When he parks and gets out right by the stop sign at the corner that still has the huge dent in the pole, it's somehow like he's never seen it before. As he starts the five block walk with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, it feels like he's been away for decades.
He could've gotten out right in front of his destination, but after some consideration David decided he'd give himself a little bit of a run up, as it were. A running long jump instead of the standing jump always seemed easier somehow. But even then, the little space between the record store and the shoe repair shop with the peeling red-painted door seems to come up on him way too quickly. He stands outside of it holding his breath for the longest time. He glances over the faded letters on the sign that's barely hanging on above him and swallows hard. He waits. He's inches away. It's now, now, now or never. Now. NOW.
David isn't even sure Cook still works at this bar.
He pushes on the door and steps inside where it already seems like night even at four in the afternoon. He can't help his eyes immediately darting in the direction of the bartender, whose back is turned as he systematically wipes a row of glasses on the counter.
He said sit back down where you belong
In the corner of my bar with your high heels on
Sit back down on the couch where we
Made love the first time and you said to me
Two-thirty glowed up from David's phone and he gave a slight sigh. He'd possibly checked it about eighty times in the last half-hour, or at least enough for him to see the battery percentage bar go down a couple notches from overuse. Maybe he didn't know how long it took to close a bar, and he didn't mind waiting for Cook at all, but he'd started yawning ages ago. A nice set of fresh sheets sounded like the best thing in the world to him right about now.
It was strange how quiet the bar was with no one in it. The last of the slurring, talking-too-loud patrons had ambled out almost perfectly on time much to his surprise; he'd figured there'd be more protest or something. But David Cook was a professional, good with words and charm and very convincing. It helped that Cook handed out reams of free drink tickets, which seemed totally insane to David, but Cook assured him that it made people happy and that he really only ever got a handful of them turned back in to him. (He picked up a lot more of them in the parking lot than were ever redeemed, in fact.)
David propped his head up with his hand, leaning hard into the table. Eyes drooping, the temptation to stretch out in the booth sounded better all the time. Just as he'd almost convinced himself it wouldn't be so bad to do so, a startling nudge on his shoulder made his eyes fly open as Cook squished himself unnecessarily close to David, two drinks in hand.
"You're gonna have to get used to being up this late," Cook said, grinning as he pushed a tall glass in David's direction. "If you wanna hang out with me when I'm awake anyway."
David's body must have felt like ridiculing him just then because he yawned deeply, and Cook burst out laughing. As much as he wanted to be annoyed by that, David couldn't help but smile meekly and pull the glass closer to himself, inspecting it carefully.
"What's this?" he asked, watching as a cube of ice shifted, releasing a cherry to sink to the bottom of the pale-pink beverage.
"Cherry-lime spritzer," Cook answered as he cupped his hand around his own glass, a short tumbler of ice and amber liquid. "I figured you could handle it and it's a little less embarrassing than a Shirley Temple."
If it hadn't been for the fact that Cook was grinning into his own glass now, David might have been offended. Maybe not properly offended, but a little put out at least. Instead he plucked out a second cherry that hovered just below the surface by its stem, dangling it a second until it stopped dripping.
"This has alcohol?" David asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already. He popped the cherry into his mouth and grimaced a little at the taste. Yes, it did.
"Mmm hmm," Cook hummed, swishing his glass so the ice clinked. "Like a miniscule amount, you won't even know."
David raised an eyebrow, peering at Cook out of the corner of his eye. "Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?"
If Cook had been taking a drink at that moment it would've ended up all across the table; he sputtered and nearly stopped breathing he was laughing so hard.
"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse and cheeks bright pink. "You figured out my plan, dang it." He took another swig of his drink, still chuckling.
"Well, in that case," David replied, drawing the glass to his lips. It smelled overwhelmingly of lime and the bubbles that rose from it tickled his nose. Not really knowing what he was in for, he took in an entire mouthful before putting the glass back down. Cook stared at him in disbelief as he held it in his mouth a second before finally swallowing, his lips burning ever so slightly, though not totally unpleasantly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and blinked up at Cook.
"What the..." Cook trailed a second and David grinned. It occurred to him that Cook probably never expected him to take a single sip. Still dumbfounded, Cook opened and closed his mouth at least three times without saying a word.
"What?" David asked, feeling his cheeks warm. As much as he'd wanted to go to bed just minutes before, this playfulness had woken him up considerably. He licked his lips purposefully, noticing a distinct twitch in Cook's eye as he did so.
Cook gazed another second before groping for his glass again and downing the last half-inch of brown liquid as if he needed the courage it afforded him. The glass clapped heavily on the wooden table and Cook reached out to cup David's neck, pulling the latter practically into his lap. He licked the alcohol from his lips before pressing them tightly to David's, pushing him forcibly against the red leather of the booth seat. The next thing David knew, his partner's knee had wedged between his, invading his space just as the tongue tinged with bitter alcohol now invaded his mouth. David dug his fingers into Cook's hair, allowing it to slide though them, and Cook pressed David harder into the booth, just about straddling him now.
"Your kisses," David heaved as he attempted to breathe, adrenaline now racing through his veins. "They... you taste like whiskey or whatever."
A purring laugh rumbled in Cook's chest as he swept his hands through David's hair, then pushed him down onto his back, sending his legs sprawling. The dark corner of the bar created stark shadows across Cook's cheeks, turning his devilish smile even more wicked. Arching himself forward, his pulsing groin meeting David's, Cook nudged his chin almost imperceptibly along his boyfriend's and whispered, "I love you so much, Utah."
"I love you too, KC," David replied, sinking his fingertips behind Cook's belt and tugging. "I love you too."
On my birthday you sang me "Heart of Gold"
With a guitar humming and no clothes
Cook wasn't technically naked, actually, since he was still wearing briefs. But from David's perspective the guitar covered his middle pretty completely. Five minutes prior, David had been kicked back on the bed, sunken into the mass of pillows and reading the new book his mom had sent him for his birthday. He liked how crisp new books were, liked cracking the cover for the first time. He was distracted two minutes later by Cook ambling into the room, presumably naked except for his best acoustic guitar and strumming out one of David's very favorite songs. It was like some silly romantic comedy (which it turns out Cook liked quite a lot, so David had seen plenty by now), Cook moseying across the room singing Neil Young. David couldn't help the chuckle under his breath, not to mention the blush at his cheeks even though he'd seen Cook naked before.
Cook stroked the last chord just as he climbed awkwardly onto the bed, settling on his knees at David's feet. He grinned broadly as he continued to pluck randomly at strings.
"What are you doing?" David asked through a laugh.
"Singing you a song," Cook answered as if he'd said he was making him a sandwich.
"Oh, I see," David replied, feigning more interest in his book as he brought it back up to his chest. "It was very nice, thank you."
"David!" Cook reached out and grabbed David's book by the spine, yanking it out of his grasp and tossing it onto the bedside table. "I'm naked here! Come on!"
"And December, so you're clearly totally insane," David said, folding his arms. "I thought I bought you new pajamas for Christmas."
Cook's face contorted into some combination of disbelief and confusion, which made David laugh. Slowly, a reluctant smile grew on Cook's lips and he sighed.
"Why are you so mean to me?" he asked.
"Because you like it when I abuse you," David replied.
"Mmm, that is true," Cook agreed. He strummed a few random chords again then asked, "Any requests for your birthday?"
"Is it my birthday?" David asked innocently. Again Cook looked scandalized.
"You know, I could just leave," he said, adjusting the tuning on one of the strings. "Come on, I'll play whatever you want. Just remember, I'm a wanna-be rock star so I only know three chords. Go easy on me."
"It's my experience that you prefer it when people go really hard on you," David replied completely straight-faced.
Cook's fingers fell across the guitar strings, muting them. Narrowing his brow, he smirked and bit his bottom lip.
"Damn it, Utah, you're making me crazy here."
He relieved himself of the instrument, pulling the strap quickly over his head and sliding it gently across the empty expanse of the bed. A second later and he was straddling David's hips, fingering his belt buckle feverishly. Watching his boyfriend paw at his waist made David hard almost immediately, not that the nakedness and romantic birthday singing hadn't already been helping in that department. Cook's own erection pulsed at David's thigh, and he arched into it almost unconsciously, a soft moan escaping from his lips.
Cook's lips had traveled halfway down David's now naked chest when his phone rang from the bedside table. Against his better judgment, he reached for it, peering at the number for only a fraction of a second before thumping Cook on the top of the head to get him to stop.
"Hang on a second, it's my mom."
"Fuck's sake, Archuleta, you're about to get sucked off on your birthday and you take a call from your mom?" Cook collapsed into David's chest, causing him to expel a very audible "Oof!" sound.
"Shhh," David warned as he punched the answer button. "Mama, hola! Cómo está?"
Immediately David's mother flew into a whirlwind of Spanish, starting with an exuberant rendition of "Feliz Cumpleaños" and was somewhere in the middle of recounting Daniel's recent basketball game when David felt the scratch of beard whisker on his stomach again. Clapping his hand over the phone he hissed, "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting bored down here," Cook whined, now pressing his lips along David's hip. He drug the tip of his tongue further down the tanned skin and David very nearly kneed him in the ribs he jerked so hard.
"Stop it!" he demanded, even though he was laughing. "I'm on the phone, for goodness sake! With my mother!"
"You're not very adventurous at all," Cook mumbled, pulling his nose across David's belly button. Hands slipping under his hips, Cook continued the path downward inch by inch.
"Stop, stop, stop!" David protested, now trying to flail his trapped legs while simultaneously holding back the giggles crowding in his throat. "Stoooop!"
"Mijo, are you okay?"
David's breath left him entirely for a moment before he could bring himself to say anything, and even when he did he was certain it must've sounded very gaspy.
"No, I'm fine, Mama." He took a deep breath before continuing even though Cook's beard now threatened the inside of his thigh. "I'm gonna have to go, a friend of mine just showed up and we're going to go have dinner. Uh huh, yep. I love you too, Mama, I'll talk to you later. Adios."
As soon as David heard the click of his mother hanging up, he tossed the phone across the bed and pushed at Cook's shoulder, declaring, "I hate you so much."
"Mhmm," Cook hummed, digging his fingers into David's sides. "Let's see how long that lasts, shall we?"
There's only three men that I'mma serve my whole life,
It's my daddy, and Nebraska, and Jesus Christ
"We need to talk."
David said it before Cook even had a chance to sit down. He'd put this conversation off too long already, and he knew Cook had started picking up on that ages ago. Besides that, he knew if he didn't get it out right away he'd quickly become consumed by the weight of it and build a protective wall of silence around himself instead.
"Okay," Cook replied seriously, pulling off his sunglasses as he settled across the table from his boyfriend. David had picked the outdoor café because it seemed safer. No one could yell, and walking away would probably be easier than if he'd been sitting in one of Cook's squashy living room chairs.
Unfortunately, as the sun lit up Cook's shining hazel eyes, that lump David had feared showed up in his throat anyway.
"I've decided something," he said, diverting his gaze over Cook's shoulder. Maybe he couldn't look his lover in the face and deliver the news after all.
Cook didn't say anything, instead opting to bore his own gaze right between David's eyes, or at least that's how it felt.
"I, uh, thought a lot about this and it's been really hard." David paused to breathe because his body was starting to betray him already -- he moved his hands off the table and to his sides due to their visible shaking.
"David, just say it," Cook prompted, and David wondered if he already knew. They'd kind of discussed it before, but ages ago when it didn't seem very likely. They'd made jokes and rolled around on the couch and kissed through Lady and the Tramp. No, it didn't seem possible then, and David thought he'd settled on the life he would lead with Cook from then on.
Turns out though, that life doesn't lock into place when a person is twenty years old, and God doesn't stop calling either. Because David kept up his church life as best he could given the circumstances, and Cook had been okay with that. They were both willing to compromise, though clearly David had compromised a little more. Technically, he couldn't keep up this hybrid of a life, but he was doing it anyway. He’d come to terms with the contradiction between his religion and his heart, and he still didn't regret going ahead with it.
David swallowed hard and forced himself to look at his boyfriend. Cook's jaw was firmly set, his brow scrunched like when he was trying to learn a new song. But his eyes -- those dang eyes -- were soft and sad already. He surely knew what was coming.
"I'm going to do my mission," David spat out and immediately looked down at his hands. Already his heart seared as it tore right in half. Tingling teased his eyes and he held his breath for a long moment until he realized Cook hadn't even budged. Peering up, he caught Cook's unchanged expression and his heart broke a little more.
"Oh," Cook finally said, leaning back away from the table. "I see."
This wasn't what David had expected. Although Cook was sensitive, he could be vocal and would fight for what he wanted. So wasn't he going to fight? In those three little words of defeat was he saying that David wasn't worth the fight?
"Try not to be so broken up about it," David said quietly, now fiddling with the place setting in front of him.
"Will it help if I protest?" Cook asked. "Will it make you stay?"
David shook his head and Cook sighed.
"I already know it's important to you and that I can't change your conviction. I don’t want to," Cook said, and David had to admit that though his boyfriend's words were clipped, he still sounded understanding. "How long will you be gone?"
David sighed and snuck a glance back across the table. "Two years."
"Where does that leave us then?"
"I dunno."
The heaviness of the following silence just about crushed David entirely. Cook moved uneasily in his chair, alternating between leaning on the table and not.
"Are we breaking up?" he asked at length, and David felt like he could die right then.
"I... I don't want to," he answered honestly. And now they'd arrived at the hardest part of all. "But it might be best."
And David really did think it'd be best, he'd concluded that long before this conversation had ever started. Two years was a lot to ask of someone’s life, and Cook didn’t deserve being put on hold while David went away to grow, adventure, and change the world. One far outweighed the other.
"I see," Cook said again, and this time there was definite pain behind the words. "You're breaking my heart, Utah."
Geez, did he have to use that nickname now? Sadly, David replied, "Yeah, I know."
Cook cleared his throat and glanced away, and David knew he wouldn't say much more now. His boyfriend might have been more outgoing in general, but he knew they both floundered when it came to dealing with strong emotions in the moment. After another long silence, David pushed away from the table and began busying himself with his coat. There was no way he could sit there drowning in Cook's broken heart for very much longer.
"I'd like to see you again before I leave," David said hopefully, but when he'd turned again he found Cook on his feet with his sunglasses pressed back on his face.
"Yeah, sure thing," he said as he groped for the keys in his pocket. "I look forward to it."
But David was better at reading Cook than that, even as he hid behind those large, reflective aviators. Cook was mad, heartbroken, and probably just wanted that moment to be the very last between them. David didn't blame him. He didn't know what else to do, and maybe Cook didn't either.
Cook distanced himself after that day, failing to reply to David's texts and impersonal e-mails. Despite how painful that was, David understood. Cook supported his choice, he had no doubt, but couldn’t deny the pain it caused either. It’d been better to have a clean break. Two weeks later, David drove home to Salt Lake in silence, the dusty Midwest seeming emptier than ever. His last night home he tried calling Cook one last time to say goodbye, and this time Cook answered and told him to take care of himself. They both promised to write, but neither ever did.
It's been two years since I let you go,
I couldn’t listen to a joke or rock 'n roll
David awoke, for the five hundred and eighty-sixth time, to the sounds of roosters and Spanish music outside his window. He didn't mind it, actually, as it'd become the soundtrack to his time in South America. He wasn't allowed a television or radio of his own, and for the most part he'd been okay with that -- both were very distracting to the work he and his companions were supposed to be accomplishing. But he selfishly soaked in the intruding music each morning because there was no way he could live without it; after God, music was his life.
But within a few minutes he could hear one of his friends bustling around in the kitchen and he remembered that today they had to travel a couple miles out of the village to revisit a woman who lived with no one else but her dog and chickens. She'd really taken to David the first time they'd gone, and insisted he and his partner come back again to talk more. And of course he would, because that was the whole point, after all.
After a quick wash up and breakfast, David and his assigned partner, Jeremy, headed out on the dirt road to the woman’s - Gloria’s -- house. Even early in the morning the temperature was already creeping upwards of 80, and David could feel the sweat forming at his collar already. Still, he had grown very serious about this work and couldn't let a little heat stroke stop him from delivering the message. The cheerful Peruvian woman was expecting them, and David never broke a date.
Upon reaching Gloria's home, she waved the boys in happily and immediately offered them something to eat. They politely refused as they found spots in the middle of her living room and rid themselves of the bookbags they both carried. Somewhere David could hear a radio playing faintly, just loud enough for him to make out English lyrics and tunes that were distinctly American. Frankly, he wasn't surprised; when David said they had come from America, Gloria about burst. She loved America, was learning English, tried to find books about the presidents and so on and so on. It hadn't been difficult to cultivate a report with this woman whatsoever. And Jeremy said David's glowing smile hadn't been a bad thing either. He'd teased him for a week that Gloria had some sort of crush on him.
So they talked for a bit, updating about family news and such. Much to David's delight she had scribbled some notes on the materials they had left with her last time, and as she finished up about her son's trip to the next village to find work, David looked over her scribbles, preparing to tackle the big issues now. Without thinking, he swept his hand across his sweaty brow, and Gloria jumped to her feet immediately.
"You want drink water?" she asked in her broken English, and David glanced up, surprised by the break in her story.
"Oh, sure," he replied. "Si, gracias," he added, attempting to be more clear. She beamed and swept into the small adjoining kitchen.
"It's so hot," Jeremy complained as soon as Gloria was out of earshot. "How do people live here?"
Jeremy had been complaining about the weather in South America since day one.
"I don't know," David replied, "they're just used to it. They acclimate from birth."
"Acclimate?"
"Adjust to the climate," David clarified, realizing he sounded like a dictionary. It was strange because he'd never really been like that before, but had picked up the habit of throwing new vocabulary around for some reason.
Jeremy slumped back and decided to suffer in silence as David tried to make out some of Gloria's written questions. He was trying to decide if she'd written a Q or a G when the radio music caught his attention again. Drifting from the page, he listened harder, now trying to decide if American music was broadcast in the area or if Gloria had gotten her hands on some old cassette tapes at the village market. Either way, one thing was for certain: the radio had been pumping out some very distinct classic rock ever since they'd arrived.
It was surreal being flooded with these familiar tunes, American rock music that he hadn't heard in a lifetime it seemed. A new song faded in that sounded so familiar, yet so distant that David had to concentrate to remember where he'd heard it before.
Gloria whisked back in and Jeremy about leapt at her offer of water, guzzling half the glass right away. David on the other hand took his glass mindlessly, barely gripping hard enough to keep from dropping it. Gloria launched into conversation again, but suddenly David didn't seem to understand any Spanish whatsoever. He'd been caught up in the guitar chords, the gentle strums, and the imagery that came flooding in all at once uninvited. Hand shaking, he placed his glass on the floor and closed his eyes briefly in hopes of calming himself.
"Heart of Gold" had started playing on the radio, and David thought he might just break right in two.
Something, something about this place
Something ‘bout lonely nights and my lipstick on your face
Something, something about my cool Nebraska guy
Yeah, something about
Baby, yoü and I
The bartender apparently hasn't heard David come in, mostly because he's half-distracted by a baseball game on the large flat screen spanning one corner of the room. There was a time when David didn't know a lot about sports, but he'd been around this bar long enough to recognize the Yankees and Royals uniforms even from a distance. The Royals are down by two.
David watches a moment, unmoving. A strange flood of familiarity pours over him, but one that seems more like a dream than anything else. The shapes in the room are the same; same tables, chairs, neon beer signs. Same Kansas City sports memorabilia, but more. The bar itself has hardly changed, and neither has its keeper, whose fingers play at the glass he holds in his hands now. Simple quirks almost make David's heart stop: the twist of the bartender's head as he cranes to watch the game, the way he leans halfway on the back counter almost knocking his row of glasses on the floor, the way he breathes.
It's too surreal. Overwhelmingly surreal, and for the first time in a thousand miles he panics, ready to back away while he still can. His hand is pawing the door when something happens in the game that causes the stadium to go absolutely insane and to elicit a very rough, "What the hell was that?" from the bartender. The sound pins David to the spot as the familiar surroundings are fleshed out with sweet words, frustrated words, laughing words. Words that are suddenly cut loose from that part of his brain that had been silencing them for two years now. The bartender is still ranting at the screen when the glass in his hand slips and smashes onto the floor.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
His silhouette disappears beneath the bar and David hears the distinct sound of the larger pieces of glass getting tossed into the small garbage can he knows is back there. A second later and the man is back up, half-twisted in a reach for a nearby broom when he freezes mid-turn, his eyes locked solidly in David's direction. He blinks and then:
"David?"
The voice that was loud and gravelly thirty seconds ago is now soft and vulnerable. David holds his breath for what feels like a very long time before letting it out. His hand slips off the door and he crosses the room.
As he gets closer, David takes in this man he hasn't seen in ages. Cook needs a haircut, even with the strange gravity-defying, purposely-mussed thing he's got going on at present. For a second David wonders if it's still as soft as he remembers it, if Cook still uses that leave-in conditioner he turned him on to. It'd be silky to the touch if he did.
David diverts his attention back to Cook's face, his heart-piercing gaze. For eleven hundred miles he'd practiced what he would say in this moment. The niceties, the explanations -- the apologies. It seemed, however, that's he'd left them all in the car as he drew the most absolute blank now. A thousand miles of repeated lines are no match for those steely blue eyes.
"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world," Cook mumbles, nearly inaudible.
"What?" David says hoarsely, then clears his throat. "What?" he repeats.
"Nothing," Cook replies solemnly. He folds his towel loosely and lets it drop on the bar in front of him. "Can I get you a drink, stranger?"
It's been too long for David to be able to tell if Cook is playing or trying to hurt his feelings. Either way, the word stranger cuts into his heart with a serrated edge.
"Yeah," he says. He smoothes his fingers along the polished edge of the bar. "Cherry-lime spritzer?"
A beat goes by before Cook grabs a tall glass; wordlessly he adds ice, seltzer, two cherries. He omits the white wine and over pours the grenadine. He squeezes half a lime in with one hand, then adds a wedge on the rim before poking in two skinny bar straws. A napkin goes down on the bar in front of David, the glass squared in its middle.
"Anything else?" Cook asks. His eyes are tired, dull, but possibly hopeful. At least, David tries to read hopeful in the listless pools that once shone so brightly.
"Yeah," David replies, his fingers fondling the base of his glass. "And a double whiskey on the rocks for my boyfriend."
Cook's brow arches and he asks, "Is he joining you?"
"I hope so," David answers. "Even if it takes a while. I'll wait."
It's the longest ten seconds of David's life before Cook pulls up a short glass, scoops ice into it, and places it firmly on the bar, filling it with whiskey.
"I have a feeling he won't make you wait too long, Utah."
It’s been a long time since I came around
Been a long time but I’m back in town
This time I’m not leaving without you
♥
[author] kissontheneck [a.k.a. fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta
[beta] None, so, you know.
[rating] R-ish?, language and sexual situations
[word count] 5314
[summary] David's been gone for two years, but now he's back in town.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Angsty, song!fic
[author's note] Oh. I was opening random half-written fics and WIPs today and clicked on this one not even remembering having started it. It was 3/4 of the way done, but needed a conflict that I just couldn't come up with. Enter real life David Archuleta, who ultimately provided one. Sure to be the first in a long line of Missionary Coping Fics. Just in case you've never heard of Lady Gaga, may I present this song to you now.
YOÜ AND I
It’s been a long time since I came around
Been a long time but I’m back in town
This time I’m not leaving without you
According to David's sources, Cook is still living in Kansas City, though the Kansas part of it, not the Missouri part. He always thought it was weird that it straddled two states anyway, and he arbitrarily liked the Kansas side better just because it made more sense really. Besides, teasing Cook about the Missouri part not being true Kansas City had been fun just to see that face Cook made when he said it. It was the one way he'd known how to successfully get the Missouri native genuinely wound up.
It's how David started calling him Kansas City as a nickname, which even he admitted was sort of dumb. In retaliation Cook decided to start calling him Utah, which was just as ridiculous, but it made them both laugh whenever one would call the other by their geographical descriptors.
Of course, that was back when they actually spent time in the same room together, let alone the same time zone. It's been a while since David's been in Kansas City, ages it seems like now. Even though a lot of the city is as anonymous as it ever was to him, and the major landscapes are exactly the same, somehow as he says the familiar street signs while he drives by they sound different, even in his own voice. When he parks and gets out right by the stop sign at the corner that still has the huge dent in the pole, it's somehow like he's never seen it before. As he starts the five block walk with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, it feels like he's been away for decades.
He could've gotten out right in front of his destination, but after some consideration David decided he'd give himself a little bit of a run up, as it were. A running long jump instead of the standing jump always seemed easier somehow. But even then, the little space between the record store and the shoe repair shop with the peeling red-painted door seems to come up on him way too quickly. He stands outside of it holding his breath for the longest time. He glances over the faded letters on the sign that's barely hanging on above him and swallows hard. He waits. He's inches away. It's now, now, now or never. Now. NOW.
David isn't even sure Cook still works at this bar.
He pushes on the door and steps inside where it already seems like night even at four in the afternoon. He can't help his eyes immediately darting in the direction of the bartender, whose back is turned as he systematically wipes a row of glasses on the counter.
He said sit back down where you belong
In the corner of my bar with your high heels on
Sit back down on the couch where we
Made love the first time and you said to me
Two-thirty glowed up from David's phone and he gave a slight sigh. He'd possibly checked it about eighty times in the last half-hour, or at least enough for him to see the battery percentage bar go down a couple notches from overuse. Maybe he didn't know how long it took to close a bar, and he didn't mind waiting for Cook at all, but he'd started yawning ages ago. A nice set of fresh sheets sounded like the best thing in the world to him right about now.
It was strange how quiet the bar was with no one in it. The last of the slurring, talking-too-loud patrons had ambled out almost perfectly on time much to his surprise; he'd figured there'd be more protest or something. But David Cook was a professional, good with words and charm and very convincing. It helped that Cook handed out reams of free drink tickets, which seemed totally insane to David, but Cook assured him that it made people happy and that he really only ever got a handful of them turned back in to him. (He picked up a lot more of them in the parking lot than were ever redeemed, in fact.)
David propped his head up with his hand, leaning hard into the table. Eyes drooping, the temptation to stretch out in the booth sounded better all the time. Just as he'd almost convinced himself it wouldn't be so bad to do so, a startling nudge on his shoulder made his eyes fly open as Cook squished himself unnecessarily close to David, two drinks in hand.
"You're gonna have to get used to being up this late," Cook said, grinning as he pushed a tall glass in David's direction. "If you wanna hang out with me when I'm awake anyway."
David's body must have felt like ridiculing him just then because he yawned deeply, and Cook burst out laughing. As much as he wanted to be annoyed by that, David couldn't help but smile meekly and pull the glass closer to himself, inspecting it carefully.
"What's this?" he asked, watching as a cube of ice shifted, releasing a cherry to sink to the bottom of the pale-pink beverage.
"Cherry-lime spritzer," Cook answered as he cupped his hand around his own glass, a short tumbler of ice and amber liquid. "I figured you could handle it and it's a little less embarrassing than a Shirley Temple."
If it hadn't been for the fact that Cook was grinning into his own glass now, David might have been offended. Maybe not properly offended, but a little put out at least. Instead he plucked out a second cherry that hovered just below the surface by its stem, dangling it a second until it stopped dripping.
"This has alcohol?" David asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already. He popped the cherry into his mouth and grimaced a little at the taste. Yes, it did.
"Mmm hmm," Cook hummed, swishing his glass so the ice clinked. "Like a miniscule amount, you won't even know."
David raised an eyebrow, peering at Cook out of the corner of his eye. "Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?"
If Cook had been taking a drink at that moment it would've ended up all across the table; he sputtered and nearly stopped breathing he was laughing so hard.
"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse and cheeks bright pink. "You figured out my plan, dang it." He took another swig of his drink, still chuckling.
"Well, in that case," David replied, drawing the glass to his lips. It smelled overwhelmingly of lime and the bubbles that rose from it tickled his nose. Not really knowing what he was in for, he took in an entire mouthful before putting the glass back down. Cook stared at him in disbelief as he held it in his mouth a second before finally swallowing, his lips burning ever so slightly, though not totally unpleasantly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and blinked up at Cook.
"What the..." Cook trailed a second and David grinned. It occurred to him that Cook probably never expected him to take a single sip. Still dumbfounded, Cook opened and closed his mouth at least three times without saying a word.
"What?" David asked, feeling his cheeks warm. As much as he'd wanted to go to bed just minutes before, this playfulness had woken him up considerably. He licked his lips purposefully, noticing a distinct twitch in Cook's eye as he did so.
Cook gazed another second before groping for his glass again and downing the last half-inch of brown liquid as if he needed the courage it afforded him. The glass clapped heavily on the wooden table and Cook reached out to cup David's neck, pulling the latter practically into his lap. He licked the alcohol from his lips before pressing them tightly to David's, pushing him forcibly against the red leather of the booth seat. The next thing David knew, his partner's knee had wedged between his, invading his space just as the tongue tinged with bitter alcohol now invaded his mouth. David dug his fingers into Cook's hair, allowing it to slide though them, and Cook pressed David harder into the booth, just about straddling him now.
"Your kisses," David heaved as he attempted to breathe, adrenaline now racing through his veins. "They... you taste like whiskey or whatever."
A purring laugh rumbled in Cook's chest as he swept his hands through David's hair, then pushed him down onto his back, sending his legs sprawling. The dark corner of the bar created stark shadows across Cook's cheeks, turning his devilish smile even more wicked. Arching himself forward, his pulsing groin meeting David's, Cook nudged his chin almost imperceptibly along his boyfriend's and whispered, "I love you so much, Utah."
"I love you too, KC," David replied, sinking his fingertips behind Cook's belt and tugging. "I love you too."
On my birthday you sang me "Heart of Gold"
With a guitar humming and no clothes
Cook wasn't technically naked, actually, since he was still wearing briefs. But from David's perspective the guitar covered his middle pretty completely. Five minutes prior, David had been kicked back on the bed, sunken into the mass of pillows and reading the new book his mom had sent him for his birthday. He liked how crisp new books were, liked cracking the cover for the first time. He was distracted two minutes later by Cook ambling into the room, presumably naked except for his best acoustic guitar and strumming out one of David's very favorite songs. It was like some silly romantic comedy (which it turns out Cook liked quite a lot, so David had seen plenty by now), Cook moseying across the room singing Neil Young. David couldn't help the chuckle under his breath, not to mention the blush at his cheeks even though he'd seen Cook naked before.
Cook stroked the last chord just as he climbed awkwardly onto the bed, settling on his knees at David's feet. He grinned broadly as he continued to pluck randomly at strings.
"What are you doing?" David asked through a laugh.
"Singing you a song," Cook answered as if he'd said he was making him a sandwich.
"Oh, I see," David replied, feigning more interest in his book as he brought it back up to his chest. "It was very nice, thank you."
"David!" Cook reached out and grabbed David's book by the spine, yanking it out of his grasp and tossing it onto the bedside table. "I'm naked here! Come on!"
"And December, so you're clearly totally insane," David said, folding his arms. "I thought I bought you new pajamas for Christmas."
Cook's face contorted into some combination of disbelief and confusion, which made David laugh. Slowly, a reluctant smile grew on Cook's lips and he sighed.
"Why are you so mean to me?" he asked.
"Because you like it when I abuse you," David replied.
"Mmm, that is true," Cook agreed. He strummed a few random chords again then asked, "Any requests for your birthday?"
"Is it my birthday?" David asked innocently. Again Cook looked scandalized.
"You know, I could just leave," he said, adjusting the tuning on one of the strings. "Come on, I'll play whatever you want. Just remember, I'm a wanna-be rock star so I only know three chords. Go easy on me."
"It's my experience that you prefer it when people go really hard on you," David replied completely straight-faced.
Cook's fingers fell across the guitar strings, muting them. Narrowing his brow, he smirked and bit his bottom lip.
"Damn it, Utah, you're making me crazy here."
He relieved himself of the instrument, pulling the strap quickly over his head and sliding it gently across the empty expanse of the bed. A second later and he was straddling David's hips, fingering his belt buckle feverishly. Watching his boyfriend paw at his waist made David hard almost immediately, not that the nakedness and romantic birthday singing hadn't already been helping in that department. Cook's own erection pulsed at David's thigh, and he arched into it almost unconsciously, a soft moan escaping from his lips.
Cook's lips had traveled halfway down David's now naked chest when his phone rang from the bedside table. Against his better judgment, he reached for it, peering at the number for only a fraction of a second before thumping Cook on the top of the head to get him to stop.
"Hang on a second, it's my mom."
"Fuck's sake, Archuleta, you're about to get sucked off on your birthday and you take a call from your mom?" Cook collapsed into David's chest, causing him to expel a very audible "Oof!" sound.
"Shhh," David warned as he punched the answer button. "Mama, hola! Cómo está?"
Immediately David's mother flew into a whirlwind of Spanish, starting with an exuberant rendition of "Feliz Cumpleaños" and was somewhere in the middle of recounting Daniel's recent basketball game when David felt the scratch of beard whisker on his stomach again. Clapping his hand over the phone he hissed, "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting bored down here," Cook whined, now pressing his lips along David's hip. He drug the tip of his tongue further down the tanned skin and David very nearly kneed him in the ribs he jerked so hard.
"Stop it!" he demanded, even though he was laughing. "I'm on the phone, for goodness sake! With my mother!"
"You're not very adventurous at all," Cook mumbled, pulling his nose across David's belly button. Hands slipping under his hips, Cook continued the path downward inch by inch.
"Stop, stop, stop!" David protested, now trying to flail his trapped legs while simultaneously holding back the giggles crowding in his throat. "Stoooop!"
"Mijo, are you okay?"
David's breath left him entirely for a moment before he could bring himself to say anything, and even when he did he was certain it must've sounded very gaspy.
"No, I'm fine, Mama." He took a deep breath before continuing even though Cook's beard now threatened the inside of his thigh. "I'm gonna have to go, a friend of mine just showed up and we're going to go have dinner. Uh huh, yep. I love you too, Mama, I'll talk to you later. Adios."
As soon as David heard the click of his mother hanging up, he tossed the phone across the bed and pushed at Cook's shoulder, declaring, "I hate you so much."
"Mhmm," Cook hummed, digging his fingers into David's sides. "Let's see how long that lasts, shall we?"
There's only three men that I'mma serve my whole life,
It's my daddy, and Nebraska, and Jesus Christ
"We need to talk."
David said it before Cook even had a chance to sit down. He'd put this conversation off too long already, and he knew Cook had started picking up on that ages ago. Besides that, he knew if he didn't get it out right away he'd quickly become consumed by the weight of it and build a protective wall of silence around himself instead.
"Okay," Cook replied seriously, pulling off his sunglasses as he settled across the table from his boyfriend. David had picked the outdoor café because it seemed safer. No one could yell, and walking away would probably be easier than if he'd been sitting in one of Cook's squashy living room chairs.
Unfortunately, as the sun lit up Cook's shining hazel eyes, that lump David had feared showed up in his throat anyway.
"I've decided something," he said, diverting his gaze over Cook's shoulder. Maybe he couldn't look his lover in the face and deliver the news after all.
Cook didn't say anything, instead opting to bore his own gaze right between David's eyes, or at least that's how it felt.
"I, uh, thought a lot about this and it's been really hard." David paused to breathe because his body was starting to betray him already -- he moved his hands off the table and to his sides due to their visible shaking.
"David, just say it," Cook prompted, and David wondered if he already knew. They'd kind of discussed it before, but ages ago when it didn't seem very likely. They'd made jokes and rolled around on the couch and kissed through Lady and the Tramp. No, it didn't seem possible then, and David thought he'd settled on the life he would lead with Cook from then on.
Turns out though, that life doesn't lock into place when a person is twenty years old, and God doesn't stop calling either. Because David kept up his church life as best he could given the circumstances, and Cook had been okay with that. They were both willing to compromise, though clearly David had compromised a little more. Technically, he couldn't keep up this hybrid of a life, but he was doing it anyway. He’d come to terms with the contradiction between his religion and his heart, and he still didn't regret going ahead with it.
David swallowed hard and forced himself to look at his boyfriend. Cook's jaw was firmly set, his brow scrunched like when he was trying to learn a new song. But his eyes -- those dang eyes -- were soft and sad already. He surely knew what was coming.
"I'm going to do my mission," David spat out and immediately looked down at his hands. Already his heart seared as it tore right in half. Tingling teased his eyes and he held his breath for a long moment until he realized Cook hadn't even budged. Peering up, he caught Cook's unchanged expression and his heart broke a little more.
"Oh," Cook finally said, leaning back away from the table. "I see."
This wasn't what David had expected. Although Cook was sensitive, he could be vocal and would fight for what he wanted. So wasn't he going to fight? In those three little words of defeat was he saying that David wasn't worth the fight?
"Try not to be so broken up about it," David said quietly, now fiddling with the place setting in front of him.
"Will it help if I protest?" Cook asked. "Will it make you stay?"
David shook his head and Cook sighed.
"I already know it's important to you and that I can't change your conviction. I don’t want to," Cook said, and David had to admit that though his boyfriend's words were clipped, he still sounded understanding. "How long will you be gone?"
David sighed and snuck a glance back across the table. "Two years."
"Where does that leave us then?"
"I dunno."
The heaviness of the following silence just about crushed David entirely. Cook moved uneasily in his chair, alternating between leaning on the table and not.
"Are we breaking up?" he asked at length, and David felt like he could die right then.
"I... I don't want to," he answered honestly. And now they'd arrived at the hardest part of all. "But it might be best."
And David really did think it'd be best, he'd concluded that long before this conversation had ever started. Two years was a lot to ask of someone’s life, and Cook didn’t deserve being put on hold while David went away to grow, adventure, and change the world. One far outweighed the other.
"I see," Cook said again, and this time there was definite pain behind the words. "You're breaking my heart, Utah."
Geez, did he have to use that nickname now? Sadly, David replied, "Yeah, I know."
Cook cleared his throat and glanced away, and David knew he wouldn't say much more now. His boyfriend might have been more outgoing in general, but he knew they both floundered when it came to dealing with strong emotions in the moment. After another long silence, David pushed away from the table and began busying himself with his coat. There was no way he could sit there drowning in Cook's broken heart for very much longer.
"I'd like to see you again before I leave," David said hopefully, but when he'd turned again he found Cook on his feet with his sunglasses pressed back on his face.
"Yeah, sure thing," he said as he groped for the keys in his pocket. "I look forward to it."
But David was better at reading Cook than that, even as he hid behind those large, reflective aviators. Cook was mad, heartbroken, and probably just wanted that moment to be the very last between them. David didn't blame him. He didn't know what else to do, and maybe Cook didn't either.
Cook distanced himself after that day, failing to reply to David's texts and impersonal e-mails. Despite how painful that was, David understood. Cook supported his choice, he had no doubt, but couldn’t deny the pain it caused either. It’d been better to have a clean break. Two weeks later, David drove home to Salt Lake in silence, the dusty Midwest seeming emptier than ever. His last night home he tried calling Cook one last time to say goodbye, and this time Cook answered and told him to take care of himself. They both promised to write, but neither ever did.
It's been two years since I let you go,
I couldn’t listen to a joke or rock 'n roll
David awoke, for the five hundred and eighty-sixth time, to the sounds of roosters and Spanish music outside his window. He didn't mind it, actually, as it'd become the soundtrack to his time in South America. He wasn't allowed a television or radio of his own, and for the most part he'd been okay with that -- both were very distracting to the work he and his companions were supposed to be accomplishing. But he selfishly soaked in the intruding music each morning because there was no way he could live without it; after God, music was his life.
But within a few minutes he could hear one of his friends bustling around in the kitchen and he remembered that today they had to travel a couple miles out of the village to revisit a woman who lived with no one else but her dog and chickens. She'd really taken to David the first time they'd gone, and insisted he and his partner come back again to talk more. And of course he would, because that was the whole point, after all.
After a quick wash up and breakfast, David and his assigned partner, Jeremy, headed out on the dirt road to the woman’s - Gloria’s -- house. Even early in the morning the temperature was already creeping upwards of 80, and David could feel the sweat forming at his collar already. Still, he had grown very serious about this work and couldn't let a little heat stroke stop him from delivering the message. The cheerful Peruvian woman was expecting them, and David never broke a date.
Upon reaching Gloria's home, she waved the boys in happily and immediately offered them something to eat. They politely refused as they found spots in the middle of her living room and rid themselves of the bookbags they both carried. Somewhere David could hear a radio playing faintly, just loud enough for him to make out English lyrics and tunes that were distinctly American. Frankly, he wasn't surprised; when David said they had come from America, Gloria about burst. She loved America, was learning English, tried to find books about the presidents and so on and so on. It hadn't been difficult to cultivate a report with this woman whatsoever. And Jeremy said David's glowing smile hadn't been a bad thing either. He'd teased him for a week that Gloria had some sort of crush on him.
So they talked for a bit, updating about family news and such. Much to David's delight she had scribbled some notes on the materials they had left with her last time, and as she finished up about her son's trip to the next village to find work, David looked over her scribbles, preparing to tackle the big issues now. Without thinking, he swept his hand across his sweaty brow, and Gloria jumped to her feet immediately.
"You want drink water?" she asked in her broken English, and David glanced up, surprised by the break in her story.
"Oh, sure," he replied. "Si, gracias," he added, attempting to be more clear. She beamed and swept into the small adjoining kitchen.
"It's so hot," Jeremy complained as soon as Gloria was out of earshot. "How do people live here?"
Jeremy had been complaining about the weather in South America since day one.
"I don't know," David replied, "they're just used to it. They acclimate from birth."
"Acclimate?"
"Adjust to the climate," David clarified, realizing he sounded like a dictionary. It was strange because he'd never really been like that before, but had picked up the habit of throwing new vocabulary around for some reason.
Jeremy slumped back and decided to suffer in silence as David tried to make out some of Gloria's written questions. He was trying to decide if she'd written a Q or a G when the radio music caught his attention again. Drifting from the page, he listened harder, now trying to decide if American music was broadcast in the area or if Gloria had gotten her hands on some old cassette tapes at the village market. Either way, one thing was for certain: the radio had been pumping out some very distinct classic rock ever since they'd arrived.
It was surreal being flooded with these familiar tunes, American rock music that he hadn't heard in a lifetime it seemed. A new song faded in that sounded so familiar, yet so distant that David had to concentrate to remember where he'd heard it before.
Gloria whisked back in and Jeremy about leapt at her offer of water, guzzling half the glass right away. David on the other hand took his glass mindlessly, barely gripping hard enough to keep from dropping it. Gloria launched into conversation again, but suddenly David didn't seem to understand any Spanish whatsoever. He'd been caught up in the guitar chords, the gentle strums, and the imagery that came flooding in all at once uninvited. Hand shaking, he placed his glass on the floor and closed his eyes briefly in hopes of calming himself.
"Heart of Gold" had started playing on the radio, and David thought he might just break right in two.
Something, something about this place
Something ‘bout lonely nights and my lipstick on your face
Something, something about my cool Nebraska guy
Yeah, something about
Baby, yoü and I
The bartender apparently hasn't heard David come in, mostly because he's half-distracted by a baseball game on the large flat screen spanning one corner of the room. There was a time when David didn't know a lot about sports, but he'd been around this bar long enough to recognize the Yankees and Royals uniforms even from a distance. The Royals are down by two.
David watches a moment, unmoving. A strange flood of familiarity pours over him, but one that seems more like a dream than anything else. The shapes in the room are the same; same tables, chairs, neon beer signs. Same Kansas City sports memorabilia, but more. The bar itself has hardly changed, and neither has its keeper, whose fingers play at the glass he holds in his hands now. Simple quirks almost make David's heart stop: the twist of the bartender's head as he cranes to watch the game, the way he leans halfway on the back counter almost knocking his row of glasses on the floor, the way he breathes.
It's too surreal. Overwhelmingly surreal, and for the first time in a thousand miles he panics, ready to back away while he still can. His hand is pawing the door when something happens in the game that causes the stadium to go absolutely insane and to elicit a very rough, "What the hell was that?" from the bartender. The sound pins David to the spot as the familiar surroundings are fleshed out with sweet words, frustrated words, laughing words. Words that are suddenly cut loose from that part of his brain that had been silencing them for two years now. The bartender is still ranting at the screen when the glass in his hand slips and smashes onto the floor.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
His silhouette disappears beneath the bar and David hears the distinct sound of the larger pieces of glass getting tossed into the small garbage can he knows is back there. A second later and the man is back up, half-twisted in a reach for a nearby broom when he freezes mid-turn, his eyes locked solidly in David's direction. He blinks and then:
"David?"
The voice that was loud and gravelly thirty seconds ago is now soft and vulnerable. David holds his breath for what feels like a very long time before letting it out. His hand slips off the door and he crosses the room.
As he gets closer, David takes in this man he hasn't seen in ages. Cook needs a haircut, even with the strange gravity-defying, purposely-mussed thing he's got going on at present. For a second David wonders if it's still as soft as he remembers it, if Cook still uses that leave-in conditioner he turned him on to. It'd be silky to the touch if he did.
David diverts his attention back to Cook's face, his heart-piercing gaze. For eleven hundred miles he'd practiced what he would say in this moment. The niceties, the explanations -- the apologies. It seemed, however, that's he'd left them all in the car as he drew the most absolute blank now. A thousand miles of repeated lines are no match for those steely blue eyes.
"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world," Cook mumbles, nearly inaudible.
"What?" David says hoarsely, then clears his throat. "What?" he repeats.
"Nothing," Cook replies solemnly. He folds his towel loosely and lets it drop on the bar in front of him. "Can I get you a drink, stranger?"
It's been too long for David to be able to tell if Cook is playing or trying to hurt his feelings. Either way, the word stranger cuts into his heart with a serrated edge.
"Yeah," he says. He smoothes his fingers along the polished edge of the bar. "Cherry-lime spritzer?"
A beat goes by before Cook grabs a tall glass; wordlessly he adds ice, seltzer, two cherries. He omits the white wine and over pours the grenadine. He squeezes half a lime in with one hand, then adds a wedge on the rim before poking in two skinny bar straws. A napkin goes down on the bar in front of David, the glass squared in its middle.
"Anything else?" Cook asks. His eyes are tired, dull, but possibly hopeful. At least, David tries to read hopeful in the listless pools that once shone so brightly.
"Yeah," David replies, his fingers fondling the base of his glass. "And a double whiskey on the rocks for my boyfriend."
Cook's brow arches and he asks, "Is he joining you?"
"I hope so," David answers. "Even if it takes a while. I'll wait."
It's the longest ten seconds of David's life before Cook pulls up a short glass, scoops ice into it, and places it firmly on the bar, filling it with whiskey.
"I have a feeling he won't make you wait too long, Utah."
It’s been a long time since I came around
Been a long time but I’m back in town
This time I’m not leaving without you
♥