ZERO GRAVITY -- PG
[title] Zero Gravity
[author] kissontheneck [a.k.a. fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta
[beta] None. You may harrass me if there are verb tense problems, LOL.
[rating] PG, language
[word count] 1717
[summary] The difference one person can make.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Serious run-on sentences, but that's typical of me anyway, I suppose.
[author's notes] Just a little thing to celebrate my dear slashophile's birthday. Happy birthday, dear! Having you around is like zero gravity. :)
ZERO GRAVITY
It's raining. Of course it is. After today, it would be almost inappropriate for it to be doing anything else. Heavy, freezing cold rain, and it's dumping across your back as you try to hustle from the driveway and into the house, almost slipping in the grass because really, your boots have no traction at all and you shouldn't have tried to cut across the lawn like that. And coming up the front steps? The pools of water gathering are like a trap and you do slip and knock your knees against them and curse and even have to take a moment before you can get back up, your jeans now soaked because you sat straight down on the porch and now your ass is entirely soaked and freezing.
A perfect ending to a perfect day, you think sarcastically. This day that was a disaster from the start when you woke up late; despite your alarm being set correctly, you slept right through it. David was out of town until sometime today, and so the back-up alarm that you preferred -- him gently touching you and saying he was going for his run -- hadn't been there, and somehow you ignored the annoying one and kept on sleeping on. Then Andy called you from the studio wondering where the hell you were and you dressed in such a hurry that you didn't realize until Neal was laughing about it that you had put your shirt on inside out. Of course, once you turned it around -- right in the middle of the studio, to some intern's delight -- there was a giant stain right in the middle of it. Fuck.
Your hands hit the edge of the top step and you push yourself up, now completely saturated with rainwater, which is still cascading down from the sky in sheets, and you may as well be drowning for as thick as it is against you. Just as you shove your hand into your pocket for the keys, the porch light goes out and you freeze in disbelief. There is no reason why it should, no one ever turns it off as it is one that turns on and off according to the daylight and so you know it just burnt out on its own. You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, cursing loudly against the darkness, a rumbling shout pushing out of your throat and into the frigid air.
The session was also a complete disaster, you were so off the whole time. At first it was your drowsiness, but even as your brain started warming up, you just couldn't get into the music; couldn't get the timing right or the words. And the more you realized it, the more it irritated you, which only made it worse, of course, and a three-hour session turned into eight and you still didn't get everything done that you needed to. Not to mention that even when you finally got a good take on something, there were technical problems in the booth, which added more than an hour to that studio time and when Joey tried to make light of the situation, you barked at him unnecessarily and he scampered off to find something to drink, Andy raising his brow at you in disbelief.
You fumble the keys in your hand and squint in the dim moonlight, struggling to grab the right one. Your hands are slick with water and you drop the whole bundle of keys on the porch, dangerously close to the crack where it meets the house. Grabbing them you think this is the only good thing that has happened to you all day, even though it takes you three tries to get the right key into the slot, and once you step inside, you drop the keys again and curse.
You were relieved to leave the studio and turned down the offer of going to the bar with the guys. An ice cold beer sounded great just then, but your head was pounding and you were irritated beyond belief and you felt bad about snapping at Joey and you didn't want that to happen again, as it surely would. You coasted through a drive-thru because you were starving for anything, and predictably, they fucked up your order. Your hamburger was overcooked, the fries colder than the graying sky, and they gave you a strawberry milkshake instead of chocolate, which in itself isn't so bad except that the thing tasted like shit and you nearly chucked it out the window on the freeway. You should've gone back and complained, but right then your bones were aching to settle in at home and besides, you probably should keep away from anyone even remotely related to annoying you lest you murder someone.
Water pools in the entryway as you peel off your jacket and hook it on the coat rack, though it immediately slips to the floor and you just let it lay there because knowing your luck today, you'd probably lean over to get it and pull a muscle in your back or something. You kick off your boots and water dumps out of them, seeping across the tile and meeting the carpet. David would have a fit if he saw you stride past it untouched as you make a beeline upstairs to get some fucking dry clothes.
The drive home was four fucking hours. It usually takes almost two as it is, but this traffic is the worst you've ever seen without there being some horrendous pile-up on the interstate. You played your music loudly, which didn't help your headache, and at some point you took a phone call from your manager and nearly started a fight over the stupidest fucking thing. You even hung up without saying goodbye and made a mental note to return the call tomorrow and apologize. But damn it, you felt like hell and were not in the mood. You were nearly in a car accident when you were just a half a mile from home, because some asshole couldn't use his blinker properly, and when you turned into the drive, your car groaned as if it was just as angry as you were, and seemed to sigh when you clicked off the ignition.
Your clothes pile on the floor as you peel each piece off, and you stride to your dresser and fish around for something comfortable, realizing that you haven't done laundry in ages and you're lucky to find one last t-shirt and one last pair of track pants tucked at the back of the drawer. It's a good thing too -- you were about ready to curse David being so small that you can't wear any of his clothes, because of course, his dresser is always full of clean clothes. Always.
You slump down the stairs and into the kitchen, fling open the fridge and grab a beer. The ridges of the cap cut into your fingers as you twist it off and down the whole damn thing standing right there with the door still standing open. You slam the empty bottle onto the counter, grab another one out of the fridge and this time wait until you've dropped yourself on the living room couch before you force it open, take a swig and set it down noisily on the coffee table. The clock on the stereo tells you it's almost midnight, and you flip on the TV, not really caring what is on it. You crane your neck back, stretching the muscles that are killing you right now, and suddenly, there is noise from across the house.
There is the sound of the door closing as softly as possible, a gasp, a mutter, the sound of keys being tossed on the small entryway table. Something about these sounds makes you relax a little more into the couch. You hear David walk gently across the house, and his soft voice hits you like a splash of water in the face.
"David? Are you awake still?"
You can feel him getting closer, even without seeing him, and you groan gently when your shoulders are met with delicate hands that automatically begin kneading against your neck.
"Sorry I'm so late. My flight was delayed. You okay? The entryway is a mess and--"
Regardless of the words, the sound that emanates from his vocal cords eases your mind somehow. Your shoulders relax against his touch and your heart stops aching quite so much.
"Sort of a rough day," you say, sighing.
He leans down around your face, the necklace he's wearing swings against your cheek as he presses a kiss to your temple. Your head is clearing up, miraculously. Your body is easing out of the tense state of aggravation and feeling is again seeping into your heart, like the rainwater into your entryway carpet.
"Want to talk about it?"
His breath on your skin sends electricity across your body and you can barely shake out a no. His thumbs push into the nape of your neck and the world disappears for a second as you're lost in nothing but the empty space around you and his touch.
You gesture for him to come around and sit by you and he obliges, sinking into the well-worn space next to you. He looks at you, intensity in his sparkling eyes, and all remaining pain in your heart disappears, replaced by that indefinable surge of comfort he brings you. His hand is on your arm, just barely hanging on, but it's like the weight of all his love is channeled through the touch and you feel your insides burst in changing spirit. In fact, you can't even remember why you were so upset in the first place.
You tug him into your embrace, kissing the top of his head. He giggles and breathes out heavily against your chest, and you hold him like you're never going to let go.
"Thank you," you whisper into his hair. It's soft and smells like rain.
He readjusts himself against you, curling his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your sternum. "What? What for?"
You stroke the hair at the nape of his neck and sigh as your eyes fall closed. "Just... thank you."
~~~~~♥~~~~~
I'm not asking for an explanation
All I know is that you take me away...
Nothing brings me down
When you're around
It's like zero gravity
The world just disappears
When you're here
It's zero gravity
When things get messed up
You lift my head up
And I get lost in the clouds
There's no sense of time
With you and I
It's zero gravity
-- David Archuleta, "Zero Gravity"
~~~~~♥~~~~~
[author] kissontheneck [a.k.a. fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta
[beta] None. You may harrass me if there are verb tense problems, LOL.
[rating] PG, language
[word count] 1717
[summary] The difference one person can make.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Serious run-on sentences, but that's typical of me anyway, I suppose.
[author's notes] Just a little thing to celebrate my dear slashophile's birthday. Happy birthday, dear! Having you around is like zero gravity. :)
ZERO GRAVITY
It's raining. Of course it is. After today, it would be almost inappropriate for it to be doing anything else. Heavy, freezing cold rain, and it's dumping across your back as you try to hustle from the driveway and into the house, almost slipping in the grass because really, your boots have no traction at all and you shouldn't have tried to cut across the lawn like that. And coming up the front steps? The pools of water gathering are like a trap and you do slip and knock your knees against them and curse and even have to take a moment before you can get back up, your jeans now soaked because you sat straight down on the porch and now your ass is entirely soaked and freezing.
A perfect ending to a perfect day, you think sarcastically. This day that was a disaster from the start when you woke up late; despite your alarm being set correctly, you slept right through it. David was out of town until sometime today, and so the back-up alarm that you preferred -- him gently touching you and saying he was going for his run -- hadn't been there, and somehow you ignored the annoying one and kept on sleeping on. Then Andy called you from the studio wondering where the hell you were and you dressed in such a hurry that you didn't realize until Neal was laughing about it that you had put your shirt on inside out. Of course, once you turned it around -- right in the middle of the studio, to some intern's delight -- there was a giant stain right in the middle of it. Fuck.
Your hands hit the edge of the top step and you push yourself up, now completely saturated with rainwater, which is still cascading down from the sky in sheets, and you may as well be drowning for as thick as it is against you. Just as you shove your hand into your pocket for the keys, the porch light goes out and you freeze in disbelief. There is no reason why it should, no one ever turns it off as it is one that turns on and off according to the daylight and so you know it just burnt out on its own. You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, cursing loudly against the darkness, a rumbling shout pushing out of your throat and into the frigid air.
The session was also a complete disaster, you were so off the whole time. At first it was your drowsiness, but even as your brain started warming up, you just couldn't get into the music; couldn't get the timing right or the words. And the more you realized it, the more it irritated you, which only made it worse, of course, and a three-hour session turned into eight and you still didn't get everything done that you needed to. Not to mention that even when you finally got a good take on something, there were technical problems in the booth, which added more than an hour to that studio time and when Joey tried to make light of the situation, you barked at him unnecessarily and he scampered off to find something to drink, Andy raising his brow at you in disbelief.
You fumble the keys in your hand and squint in the dim moonlight, struggling to grab the right one. Your hands are slick with water and you drop the whole bundle of keys on the porch, dangerously close to the crack where it meets the house. Grabbing them you think this is the only good thing that has happened to you all day, even though it takes you three tries to get the right key into the slot, and once you step inside, you drop the keys again and curse.
You were relieved to leave the studio and turned down the offer of going to the bar with the guys. An ice cold beer sounded great just then, but your head was pounding and you were irritated beyond belief and you felt bad about snapping at Joey and you didn't want that to happen again, as it surely would. You coasted through a drive-thru because you were starving for anything, and predictably, they fucked up your order. Your hamburger was overcooked, the fries colder than the graying sky, and they gave you a strawberry milkshake instead of chocolate, which in itself isn't so bad except that the thing tasted like shit and you nearly chucked it out the window on the freeway. You should've gone back and complained, but right then your bones were aching to settle in at home and besides, you probably should keep away from anyone even remotely related to annoying you lest you murder someone.
Water pools in the entryway as you peel off your jacket and hook it on the coat rack, though it immediately slips to the floor and you just let it lay there because knowing your luck today, you'd probably lean over to get it and pull a muscle in your back or something. You kick off your boots and water dumps out of them, seeping across the tile and meeting the carpet. David would have a fit if he saw you stride past it untouched as you make a beeline upstairs to get some fucking dry clothes.
The drive home was four fucking hours. It usually takes almost two as it is, but this traffic is the worst you've ever seen without there being some horrendous pile-up on the interstate. You played your music loudly, which didn't help your headache, and at some point you took a phone call from your manager and nearly started a fight over the stupidest fucking thing. You even hung up without saying goodbye and made a mental note to return the call tomorrow and apologize. But damn it, you felt like hell and were not in the mood. You were nearly in a car accident when you were just a half a mile from home, because some asshole couldn't use his blinker properly, and when you turned into the drive, your car groaned as if it was just as angry as you were, and seemed to sigh when you clicked off the ignition.
Your clothes pile on the floor as you peel each piece off, and you stride to your dresser and fish around for something comfortable, realizing that you haven't done laundry in ages and you're lucky to find one last t-shirt and one last pair of track pants tucked at the back of the drawer. It's a good thing too -- you were about ready to curse David being so small that you can't wear any of his clothes, because of course, his dresser is always full of clean clothes. Always.
You slump down the stairs and into the kitchen, fling open the fridge and grab a beer. The ridges of the cap cut into your fingers as you twist it off and down the whole damn thing standing right there with the door still standing open. You slam the empty bottle onto the counter, grab another one out of the fridge and this time wait until you've dropped yourself on the living room couch before you force it open, take a swig and set it down noisily on the coffee table. The clock on the stereo tells you it's almost midnight, and you flip on the TV, not really caring what is on it. You crane your neck back, stretching the muscles that are killing you right now, and suddenly, there is noise from across the house.
There is the sound of the door closing as softly as possible, a gasp, a mutter, the sound of keys being tossed on the small entryway table. Something about these sounds makes you relax a little more into the couch. You hear David walk gently across the house, and his soft voice hits you like a splash of water in the face.
"David? Are you awake still?"
You can feel him getting closer, even without seeing him, and you groan gently when your shoulders are met with delicate hands that automatically begin kneading against your neck.
"Sorry I'm so late. My flight was delayed. You okay? The entryway is a mess and--"
Regardless of the words, the sound that emanates from his vocal cords eases your mind somehow. Your shoulders relax against his touch and your heart stops aching quite so much.
"Sort of a rough day," you say, sighing.
He leans down around your face, the necklace he's wearing swings against your cheek as he presses a kiss to your temple. Your head is clearing up, miraculously. Your body is easing out of the tense state of aggravation and feeling is again seeping into your heart, like the rainwater into your entryway carpet.
"Want to talk about it?"
His breath on your skin sends electricity across your body and you can barely shake out a no. His thumbs push into the nape of your neck and the world disappears for a second as you're lost in nothing but the empty space around you and his touch.
You gesture for him to come around and sit by you and he obliges, sinking into the well-worn space next to you. He looks at you, intensity in his sparkling eyes, and all remaining pain in your heart disappears, replaced by that indefinable surge of comfort he brings you. His hand is on your arm, just barely hanging on, but it's like the weight of all his love is channeled through the touch and you feel your insides burst in changing spirit. In fact, you can't even remember why you were so upset in the first place.
You tug him into your embrace, kissing the top of his head. He giggles and breathes out heavily against your chest, and you hold him like you're never going to let go.
"Thank you," you whisper into his hair. It's soft and smells like rain.
He readjusts himself against you, curling his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your sternum. "What? What for?"
You stroke the hair at the nape of his neck and sigh as your eyes fall closed. "Just... thank you."
~~~~~♥~~~~~
I'm not asking for an explanation
All I know is that you take me away...
Nothing brings me down
When you're around
It's like zero gravity
The world just disappears
When you're here
It's zero gravity
When things get messed up
You lift my head up
And I get lost in the clouds
There's no sense of time
With you and I
It's zero gravity
-- David Archuleta, "Zero Gravity"
~~~~~♥~~~~~