various comment!fics
The bar is dirty and run-down and smells like smoke. Archie’s squeezed into some booth in the corner, and the seats are uncomfortable and he thinks he’s sitting in gum and he just really, really doesn’t know what he’s doing there. He thinks to himself that learning how to say no to Cook and his friends could really be useful in the future.
Neal plunks a glass of green beer in front of him. “Drink up, princess,” Neal says, and Archie thinks that’s just rude.
“Oh, um. Neal,” Archie says. “That’s really, um, nice of you? Haha. It’s just, I don’t drink.” And Archie really thought that Neal knew that, because gosh, how many times does he need to say it? But apparently Neal doesn’t know that and now Archie has to be all rude and stuff and totally turn down Neal’s generosity.
“Come on, Arch,” Andy says. He just got a haircut and Archie thinks it looks good, only it’s a bit uneven in the back, not that Archie would say anything. “It’s good and good for you.”
“No, that’s really um. Not the case,” Archie says, pointedly looking around at everyone’s green drinks. “It’s empty calories, for one, and in the long run it can depress your immune system or even cause liver problems and-oh, I see. That was a joke.”
Kyle says, “Yeah, Archie, just ignore those assholes. They’re just a bunch of hooligans looking for trouble.” And Archie thinks that’s great and stuff, that Kyle’s sticking up for him, only Cook’s sitting right there and he’s not saying anything, just watching them with a small smile on his face, and Archie would never do that, would never hang Cook out to dry like that.
Neal holds up a finger. “Correction: not an asshole,” he says. “I am a gentleman and a motherfucking scholar.”
“Except maybe not that first part,” Andy says. “But the scholar part? Yeah, okay. I’ll back you on that.”
And Archie thinks that this is great-they’re all talking amongst themselves and so no one will notice if he just slides his glass away a little bit. Only that’s not the case at all and Neal’s sliding it back and saying, “Archie. Archie. It’s Saint Patrick’s day.”
Archie says, “I know. That’s why I’m wearing a green shirt. Isn’t that, um. Enough?”
Neal groans. “No. Now just take a fucking sip, come on.”
“I told you guys, I don’t drink!” Archie says, and this peer pressure thing? Totally not cool.
But then Cook’s saying, “Just a sip, Arch, trust me,” and Cook wouldn’t really do wrong by him, Archie doesn’t think, and so he sighs and picks up his glass and everyone cheers.
“Um. A toast first, maybe?” he suggests, but that’s really just because he feels like he’s walking the plank and he wants as much time before taking the plunge as possible.
Cook raises his glass. “Here’s to a long life and a merry one!” he says in an Irish accent, and they all laugh, although Archie doesn’t get what’s so funny.
“A quick death and an easy one!” Kyle adds.
Andy waggles his eyebrows, “A pretty girl and an honest one!”
And then Neal’s saying, “A cold beer-and another one!” and oh gosh, Archie really hopes this isn’t the case. But then everyone’s drinking their beers and so Archie just decides, what the heck, and he takes a sip. He doesn’t know what he was expecting.
“This is, um. Really, really. Um. Good?” Archie says. “Actually, no. It’s not. I hate beer and I can’t believe I let you convince me to drink it.”
Neal claps him on the shoulder. “It’s nasty because it’s non-alcoholic, Archuleta.”
“Yeah,” Cook says, nudging Archie’s knee underneath the table with his own. “Come on-virtue protected.”
And it’s too loud in the bar and there’s too much smoke, and Archie hates non-alcoholic beer, even if it’s green, and he doesn’t fit in at bars and he can’t get comfortable, but still. They’re not laughing at him and they’re all treating him like he’s one of them and Archie thinks that’s pretty great because they’re all a million times cooler than he is.
Later, Andy volunteers him to buy the next round and at first, Archie thinks that’s pretty lame, but then he remembers that it’s St. Patrick’s Day and that green beer isn’t a regular occurrence, and so he gives in. They toast again, and Archie is most definitely sitting in gum, but it’s okay because his friends are great and his beer is non-alcoholic and his mom knows how to get gum out of clothing, no problem.
Prompt: Marking
Pairing: Neal/Kyle
Word Count: 903
Rating: PG-13
They’re sitting in the parked tour bus and the rest of the guys are all out, so it’s just the two of them, just Neal and Kyle and nobody else. They’ve all been busy, so this is the first real downtime that Neal’s had in ages, and he’s spending it doing nothing, spending it watching Kyle read Modern Drummer while he thinks out some guitar riffs in his head. Kyle’s wearing a tank top-the striped one that Neal loves-and grey jeans that he had cut into shorts. Neal can’t stop looking at him.
A part of him recognizes that it’s hard not to stare at Kyle and his miles and miles of unmarked, unblemished skin, and he’s suddenly taken by the fact that Kyle doesn’t have a single tattoo. Maybe it’s just the heat, because Neal sees Kyle all the time, when they’re crammed together in a bunk or shoved up against a bathroom wall somewhere, or when they’re at Neal’s house and Mr. Sixx is snoring at the foot of the bed, so it’s nothing new. It shouldn’t be anything new.
Kyle turns to look at him and catches Neal staring. “What?” he asks, and Neal notices that his hair is getting long again, that it’s almost time for a haircut. Then Kyle smiles, small and barely noticeable, and that makes something in Neal’s chest feel tight, makes him feel hot, and he thinks that he shouldn’t be wearing a denim jacket in the summer.
“Nothing,” Neal says. There’s a pause-and pretty long one-and Kyle turns around to open up a window. “It’s just,” Neal says, “have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?”
“Shit,” Kyle says. “You had me thinking that, I don’t know, something was wrong or whatever.” And Neal takes that as a no, knows he shouldn’t have even bothered to ask that question because he’s asked it hundreds of times before, back when he used to try to get Kyle to say, Yes, or to say, Okay, I know what I want. He used to really want Kyle to get one, used to want to watch him being inked, but now Neal’s not so sure why that was. Now, all he can think of is how much skin there is for him to mark up, for him to bite and suck and discolor.
“Still no plans to get my face on your shoulder blade?” Neal asks.
Kyle laughs a little and then slouches down in his seat, resting his head against the wall behind him. All Neal can see are the smooth, clean lines of Kyle’s collarbones, of his Adam’s apple, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s sliding closer to Kyle and running his fingers along the side of Kyle’s neck.
“Hey,” Kyle says. “Hey, what?”
Neal says, “Nothing,” and “Fuck,” and, “You have no idea what you do to me.” He slides his hand underneath Kyle’s shirt, and the skin there is soft under Neal’s rough fingertips. He stroke’s Kyle’s hip with his thumb, and then tucks his fingertips into the waistband of Kyle’s jeans.
Kyle leans forward, mashes his nose against Neal’s cheek, and says, “Shit, Neal. Neal. We don’t have time.”
And they don’t, Neal knows they don’t, but he wants to have Kyle laid out beneath him, wants to take his time marking Kyle’s perfect skin with his mouth and with his teeth, and he wants to bite Kyle’s skin so everyone will know with just one glance that Kyle is taken, that’s Kyle is Neal’s.
Only then the door to the bus opens and Cook walks in, so Neal moves his hands but stays close enough that the heat from Kyle’s shoulder blends into his.
“Oh, hey,” Cook says. “No need to stop on account of me.” Neal’s going to say something back, something sharp and dry, but Cook keeps on walking towards the bunks and Neal stays quiet.
“The rest of the guys will be back soon,” Kyle says. He looks like Neal feels-turned on and left high and dry.
“Yeah,” Neal says. He shrugs apologetically, sorry, and Kyle seems to get it.
“Later, alright?” Kyle asks. “After the show.”
“Alright,” Neal says, and he moves to get up, to get ready, but then he rethinks it and stays seated. He wraps his fingers around Kyle’s wrist and Kyle’s thin enough that Neal’s fingertips meet on the other side.
Kyle doesn’t say anything as Neal places a kiss to the underside of his wrist, and he doesn’t say anything as Neal drags his mouth up Kyle’s arm, letting the cool metal of his lip rings slide against Kyle’s skin.
Neal kisses the sensitive skin on the inside of Kyle’s elbow-once, twice, three times-and then bites down, just on the right side of painful. He can hear Kyle’s breath hitch when he does that, and again when he licks and sucks the skin.
Kyle says, “Neal,” and it sounds shaky. Neal loves that he’s the one who made Kyle sound like that, that he’s the only one who’s allowed to make Kyle sound like that, and he sucks hard before pulling away.
With his thumb, Neal wipes away the saliva left in the crook of Kyle’s elbow. The skin there is already turning red, and Neal can’t help but press his thumb down hard.
Kyle hisses a breath and Neal says, “After the show.”
Prompt: Cookleta Sexytimes in Public
Pairing: Cookleta
Word Count: 828
Rating: NC-17
Archie’s never been one for public displays of affection, not really, and a part of him really thinks that upsets Cook. And he doesn’t want to upset Cook, because Cook mean so much more than the world to him, but Archie just thinks that private stuff should stay private and that if he wants to kiss Cook until his lips bruise? Well, he’ll do that at home, where no one’s there to watch them or see them or take photos or point or do anything.
And Cook knows this. They’ve talked about it a lot because that was a big thing for them, and so Archie thinks that they’re on the same page. But then they go to a baseball game that Cook’s singing the anthem at and Archie really wants to support him, so he puts on a jersey and a baseball hat-even though he hates hat hair-and they go.
The singing goes fine, and they sign some autographs afterwards, and then Cook leans over and says in his ear, “I could really go for a hotdog right now.”
Archie leads the way and Cook follows him close behind, which Archie has reasoned is Cook’s way of holding Archie’s hand, even when he can’t.
They’re close to the concession stand when Cook reaches forward and yanks on Archie’s collar, dragging him into a little corner half hidden by abandoned cotton candy carts.
“What? Cook-” Archie gets out, but then Cook is pushing him up against the wall, and it’s hard and rough against his back and Cook’s kissing him on the mouth just as hard, just as rough.
“Cook,” Archie says. He tries to push Cook away. “Cook, come on, stop. Anyone could see.”
“No one’s even looking,” Cook says, and he pushes their hips together. Archie can feel how hard Cook is, and that’s making him hard, too.
Cook kisses Archie’s neck. His beard is rough, just like everything else, and his mouth is all lips and tongue and teeth. His fingertips are brushing Archie’s lower stomach, right above the button of his jeans. Archie can feel where his fingertips are raw from the guitar, and how the back of his hand is soft, unexpectedly so, and in direct contrast to everything about the situation.
“Come on, Archie, please,” Cook says. “Just this once.” He grinds their hips together and Archie makes this noise, breathy and hitched, and Cook already knows what he’s going to say.
“Okay, okay, fine, do it.”
Cook doesn’t waste any time. He shoves his hand down Archie’s jeans with some difficulty, but undoing the button and lowering the zipper help some.
Archie gasps the second Cook’s got his hand wrapped around him. Cook knows Archie inside and out, knows everything that Archie loves and everything that drives him crazy, and he’s on edge in minutes, his hips stuttering into Cook’s hand.
Cook presses him harder against the brick.
“Shh,” Cook says. “Hey, Archie. Hey, hey, quiet.”
And Archie didn’t even realize he had been making any noise at all, but he trusts Cook on this one and bites his lip, hiding his face in the crook of Cook’s neck. Cook just jacks him off faster.
“Oh, God, Cook,” he says. “Cook.”
Archie feels Cook rub himself against Archie’s thigh, and Cook’s so hard and Archie thinks, I did that. That’s because of me, and then he’s coming hard and without warning.
He stands there for a minute, his legs not really working as he relies on Cook to keep him upright, trapped between Cook’s body and the wall.
“Oh, right,” Archie says. He’s not really with it. “Let me-”
He reaches for Cook’s jeans, and Cook pulls away.
“Oh, hey,” he says. “I’m good.”
“You’re not good,” Archie says, and then, “Oh. You mean you-?”
Cook looks a little abashed and he says, “You really do a number on me, Archuleta.”
Archie just says, “Good,” and he means it. He doesn’t know what his life would be like if he wasn’t with Cook. He doesn’t want to ever know.
So they stand there for awhile, chest pressed against chest, both of them still breathing heavily.
“What brought this on?” Archie asks.
Cook says, “Well, I just-” He pauses. “You know.”
And Archie does know, because just looking Cook does all the same things to him, and because he needs Cook just as much as Cook needs him.
“I know,” Archie says. He straightens out Cook’s shirt and then his own, and says, “Come on. We’ve got a game to watch.”
Cook tugs him back by his belt loops. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says, and does up Archie’s pants.
“Oh,” Archie says. “Thanks.”
And then Cook separates himself from Archie. He walks close behind-but not close enough to touch-as they head back to their seats with hotdogs and peanuts and Cracker Jacks, and Archie misses the feel of Cook’s hands on his bare skin.
And this is just a little not!fic that I really, really want to see someone write.
Based off of this picture:
Someone needs to totally write me some fic about that, where Cook is a librarian and maybe Archie or someone is, like, I don’t know, a college student or something who keeps coming back to borrow books because he thinks the librarian is hot. Only he wants to impress the hot librarian, so he’s like, “I’ll rent books on String Theory and some Shakespeare and stuff to impress him and then he’ll think I’m all ~learned and stuff!” Only Cook doesn’t know what half that stuff is, but it’s okay because he’s too busy checking out Archie’s butt and texting Neal and stuff to care.
So then Archie keeps coming back because, hello, hot librarian, only then one time he knocks over a whole stand of magazines, and oh my god, how ~embarrassing, because the hot librarian probably saw that and he’d never date Archie, not now that he knows how clumsy and stuff Archie is, and besides, he probably knows that Archie doesn’t really read those books because it’s all gibberish to him, and that thought is just too too ~sad. And so then he sits on the library steps and mourns Cook’s ~loss while listening to his iPod. Only then someone’s tapping on his shoulder and it’s the hot librarian and they start talking and Cook’s all, “Whoa, so you must be crazy smart. What’s your major?” And Archie has to be all, “Um, actually, it’s music. Just… music. I don’t know why I checked out all those books.” And that last part? Totally unnecessary, but it doesn’t even matter because all Cook cares about is Archie’s music major and so they talk about music and instruments and songs and lyrics and at one point, Archie even gives Cook one of his ear buds and they sit there talking and listening to music until it’s, like, all of a sudden getting dark out and then Cook drops Archie home in his shitty two-door car and just as Archie’s getting out, Cook grabs his wrist and asks Archie out, and Archie says, “Yeah. Yeah, I’d, um. Really like that.”
And then it’s only later, way, way later, that Archie admits to checking out books just to impress Cook and that Cook admits to checking out Archie’s ass, and it’s totally embarrassing and stuff to be admitting that, but they’ve been dating for a long time and they’ve seen more embarrassing things in that time (like the first time they had sex, and Cook was so nervous about making igood for Archie that his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and it was a ~disaster, or when Archie met Cook’s brother and kept calling him Mr. Cook, even though, what the fuck, Andrew’s not that much older than Archie and he’s a total tool bag, besides), so it’s not really that big of a deal. And then there’s some hot sex and a schmoopy ending where maybe it’s their one year anniversary or something, and Cook buys Archie some Stephen Hawking book for the lolz and Archie buys Cook the Karma Sutra, and then there’s some more hot sex and some more schmoopy schmoop and then it’s over.
I would read that fic. So, like. Someone get on that.
Neal plunks a glass of green beer in front of him. “Drink up, princess,” Neal says, and Archie thinks that’s just rude.
“Oh, um. Neal,” Archie says. “That’s really, um, nice of you? Haha. It’s just, I don’t drink.” And Archie really thought that Neal knew that, because gosh, how many times does he need to say it? But apparently Neal doesn’t know that and now Archie has to be all rude and stuff and totally turn down Neal’s generosity.
“Come on, Arch,” Andy says. He just got a haircut and Archie thinks it looks good, only it’s a bit uneven in the back, not that Archie would say anything. “It’s good and good for you.”
“No, that’s really um. Not the case,” Archie says, pointedly looking around at everyone’s green drinks. “It’s empty calories, for one, and in the long run it can depress your immune system or even cause liver problems and-oh, I see. That was a joke.”
Kyle says, “Yeah, Archie, just ignore those assholes. They’re just a bunch of hooligans looking for trouble.” And Archie thinks that’s great and stuff, that Kyle’s sticking up for him, only Cook’s sitting right there and he’s not saying anything, just watching them with a small smile on his face, and Archie would never do that, would never hang Cook out to dry like that.
Neal holds up a finger. “Correction: not an asshole,” he says. “I am a gentleman and a motherfucking scholar.”
“Except maybe not that first part,” Andy says. “But the scholar part? Yeah, okay. I’ll back you on that.”
And Archie thinks that this is great-they’re all talking amongst themselves and so no one will notice if he just slides his glass away a little bit. Only that’s not the case at all and Neal’s sliding it back and saying, “Archie. Archie. It’s Saint Patrick’s day.”
Archie says, “I know. That’s why I’m wearing a green shirt. Isn’t that, um. Enough?”
Neal groans. “No. Now just take a fucking sip, come on.”
“I told you guys, I don’t drink!” Archie says, and this peer pressure thing? Totally not cool.
But then Cook’s saying, “Just a sip, Arch, trust me,” and Cook wouldn’t really do wrong by him, Archie doesn’t think, and so he sighs and picks up his glass and everyone cheers.
“Um. A toast first, maybe?” he suggests, but that’s really just because he feels like he’s walking the plank and he wants as much time before taking the plunge as possible.
Cook raises his glass. “Here’s to a long life and a merry one!” he says in an Irish accent, and they all laugh, although Archie doesn’t get what’s so funny.
“A quick death and an easy one!” Kyle adds.
Andy waggles his eyebrows, “A pretty girl and an honest one!”
And then Neal’s saying, “A cold beer-and another one!” and oh gosh, Archie really hopes this isn’t the case. But then everyone’s drinking their beers and so Archie just decides, what the heck, and he takes a sip. He doesn’t know what he was expecting.
“This is, um. Really, really. Um. Good?” Archie says. “Actually, no. It’s not. I hate beer and I can’t believe I let you convince me to drink it.”
Neal claps him on the shoulder. “It’s nasty because it’s non-alcoholic, Archuleta.”
“Yeah,” Cook says, nudging Archie’s knee underneath the table with his own. “Come on-virtue protected.”
And it’s too loud in the bar and there’s too much smoke, and Archie hates non-alcoholic beer, even if it’s green, and he doesn’t fit in at bars and he can’t get comfortable, but still. They’re not laughing at him and they’re all treating him like he’s one of them and Archie thinks that’s pretty great because they’re all a million times cooler than he is.
Later, Andy volunteers him to buy the next round and at first, Archie thinks that’s pretty lame, but then he remembers that it’s St. Patrick’s Day and that green beer isn’t a regular occurrence, and so he gives in. They toast again, and Archie is most definitely sitting in gum, but it’s okay because his friends are great and his beer is non-alcoholic and his mom knows how to get gum out of clothing, no problem.
Prompt: Marking
Pairing: Neal/Kyle
Word Count: 903
Rating: PG-13
They’re sitting in the parked tour bus and the rest of the guys are all out, so it’s just the two of them, just Neal and Kyle and nobody else. They’ve all been busy, so this is the first real downtime that Neal’s had in ages, and he’s spending it doing nothing, spending it watching Kyle read Modern Drummer while he thinks out some guitar riffs in his head. Kyle’s wearing a tank top-the striped one that Neal loves-and grey jeans that he had cut into shorts. Neal can’t stop looking at him.
A part of him recognizes that it’s hard not to stare at Kyle and his miles and miles of unmarked, unblemished skin, and he’s suddenly taken by the fact that Kyle doesn’t have a single tattoo. Maybe it’s just the heat, because Neal sees Kyle all the time, when they’re crammed together in a bunk or shoved up against a bathroom wall somewhere, or when they’re at Neal’s house and Mr. Sixx is snoring at the foot of the bed, so it’s nothing new. It shouldn’t be anything new.
Kyle turns to look at him and catches Neal staring. “What?” he asks, and Neal notices that his hair is getting long again, that it’s almost time for a haircut. Then Kyle smiles, small and barely noticeable, and that makes something in Neal’s chest feel tight, makes him feel hot, and he thinks that he shouldn’t be wearing a denim jacket in the summer.
“Nothing,” Neal says. There’s a pause-and pretty long one-and Kyle turns around to open up a window. “It’s just,” Neal says, “have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?”
“Shit,” Kyle says. “You had me thinking that, I don’t know, something was wrong or whatever.” And Neal takes that as a no, knows he shouldn’t have even bothered to ask that question because he’s asked it hundreds of times before, back when he used to try to get Kyle to say, Yes, or to say, Okay, I know what I want. He used to really want Kyle to get one, used to want to watch him being inked, but now Neal’s not so sure why that was. Now, all he can think of is how much skin there is for him to mark up, for him to bite and suck and discolor.
“Still no plans to get my face on your shoulder blade?” Neal asks.
Kyle laughs a little and then slouches down in his seat, resting his head against the wall behind him. All Neal can see are the smooth, clean lines of Kyle’s collarbones, of his Adam’s apple, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s sliding closer to Kyle and running his fingers along the side of Kyle’s neck.
“Hey,” Kyle says. “Hey, what?”
Neal says, “Nothing,” and “Fuck,” and, “You have no idea what you do to me.” He slides his hand underneath Kyle’s shirt, and the skin there is soft under Neal’s rough fingertips. He stroke’s Kyle’s hip with his thumb, and then tucks his fingertips into the waistband of Kyle’s jeans.
Kyle leans forward, mashes his nose against Neal’s cheek, and says, “Shit, Neal. Neal. We don’t have time.”
And they don’t, Neal knows they don’t, but he wants to have Kyle laid out beneath him, wants to take his time marking Kyle’s perfect skin with his mouth and with his teeth, and he wants to bite Kyle’s skin so everyone will know with just one glance that Kyle is taken, that’s Kyle is Neal’s.
Only then the door to the bus opens and Cook walks in, so Neal moves his hands but stays close enough that the heat from Kyle’s shoulder blends into his.
“Oh, hey,” Cook says. “No need to stop on account of me.” Neal’s going to say something back, something sharp and dry, but Cook keeps on walking towards the bunks and Neal stays quiet.
“The rest of the guys will be back soon,” Kyle says. He looks like Neal feels-turned on and left high and dry.
“Yeah,” Neal says. He shrugs apologetically, sorry, and Kyle seems to get it.
“Later, alright?” Kyle asks. “After the show.”
“Alright,” Neal says, and he moves to get up, to get ready, but then he rethinks it and stays seated. He wraps his fingers around Kyle’s wrist and Kyle’s thin enough that Neal’s fingertips meet on the other side.
Kyle doesn’t say anything as Neal places a kiss to the underside of his wrist, and he doesn’t say anything as Neal drags his mouth up Kyle’s arm, letting the cool metal of his lip rings slide against Kyle’s skin.
Neal kisses the sensitive skin on the inside of Kyle’s elbow-once, twice, three times-and then bites down, just on the right side of painful. He can hear Kyle’s breath hitch when he does that, and again when he licks and sucks the skin.
Kyle says, “Neal,” and it sounds shaky. Neal loves that he’s the one who made Kyle sound like that, that he’s the only one who’s allowed to make Kyle sound like that, and he sucks hard before pulling away.
With his thumb, Neal wipes away the saliva left in the crook of Kyle’s elbow. The skin there is already turning red, and Neal can’t help but press his thumb down hard.
Kyle hisses a breath and Neal says, “After the show.”
Prompt: Cookleta Sexytimes in Public
Pairing: Cookleta
Word Count: 828
Rating: NC-17
Archie’s never been one for public displays of affection, not really, and a part of him really thinks that upsets Cook. And he doesn’t want to upset Cook, because Cook mean so much more than the world to him, but Archie just thinks that private stuff should stay private and that if he wants to kiss Cook until his lips bruise? Well, he’ll do that at home, where no one’s there to watch them or see them or take photos or point or do anything.
And Cook knows this. They’ve talked about it a lot because that was a big thing for them, and so Archie thinks that they’re on the same page. But then they go to a baseball game that Cook’s singing the anthem at and Archie really wants to support him, so he puts on a jersey and a baseball hat-even though he hates hat hair-and they go.
The singing goes fine, and they sign some autographs afterwards, and then Cook leans over and says in his ear, “I could really go for a hotdog right now.”
Archie leads the way and Cook follows him close behind, which Archie has reasoned is Cook’s way of holding Archie’s hand, even when he can’t.
They’re close to the concession stand when Cook reaches forward and yanks on Archie’s collar, dragging him into a little corner half hidden by abandoned cotton candy carts.
“What? Cook-” Archie gets out, but then Cook is pushing him up against the wall, and it’s hard and rough against his back and Cook’s kissing him on the mouth just as hard, just as rough.
“Cook,” Archie says. He tries to push Cook away. “Cook, come on, stop. Anyone could see.”
“No one’s even looking,” Cook says, and he pushes their hips together. Archie can feel how hard Cook is, and that’s making him hard, too.
Cook kisses Archie’s neck. His beard is rough, just like everything else, and his mouth is all lips and tongue and teeth. His fingertips are brushing Archie’s lower stomach, right above the button of his jeans. Archie can feel where his fingertips are raw from the guitar, and how the back of his hand is soft, unexpectedly so, and in direct contrast to everything about the situation.
“Come on, Archie, please,” Cook says. “Just this once.” He grinds their hips together and Archie makes this noise, breathy and hitched, and Cook already knows what he’s going to say.
“Okay, okay, fine, do it.”
Cook doesn’t waste any time. He shoves his hand down Archie’s jeans with some difficulty, but undoing the button and lowering the zipper help some.
Archie gasps the second Cook’s got his hand wrapped around him. Cook knows Archie inside and out, knows everything that Archie loves and everything that drives him crazy, and he’s on edge in minutes, his hips stuttering into Cook’s hand.
Cook presses him harder against the brick.
“Shh,” Cook says. “Hey, Archie. Hey, hey, quiet.”
And Archie didn’t even realize he had been making any noise at all, but he trusts Cook on this one and bites his lip, hiding his face in the crook of Cook’s neck. Cook just jacks him off faster.
“Oh, God, Cook,” he says. “Cook.”
Archie feels Cook rub himself against Archie’s thigh, and Cook’s so hard and Archie thinks, I did that. That’s because of me, and then he’s coming hard and without warning.
He stands there for a minute, his legs not really working as he relies on Cook to keep him upright, trapped between Cook’s body and the wall.
“Oh, right,” Archie says. He’s not really with it. “Let me-”
He reaches for Cook’s jeans, and Cook pulls away.
“Oh, hey,” he says. “I’m good.”
“You’re not good,” Archie says, and then, “Oh. You mean you-?”
Cook looks a little abashed and he says, “You really do a number on me, Archuleta.”
Archie just says, “Good,” and he means it. He doesn’t know what his life would be like if he wasn’t with Cook. He doesn’t want to ever know.
So they stand there for awhile, chest pressed against chest, both of them still breathing heavily.
“What brought this on?” Archie asks.
Cook says, “Well, I just-” He pauses. “You know.”
And Archie does know, because just looking Cook does all the same things to him, and because he needs Cook just as much as Cook needs him.
“I know,” Archie says. He straightens out Cook’s shirt and then his own, and says, “Come on. We’ve got a game to watch.”
Cook tugs him back by his belt loops. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says, and does up Archie’s pants.
“Oh,” Archie says. “Thanks.”
And then Cook separates himself from Archie. He walks close behind-but not close enough to touch-as they head back to their seats with hotdogs and peanuts and Cracker Jacks, and Archie misses the feel of Cook’s hands on his bare skin.
And this is just a little not!fic that I really, really want to see someone write.
Based off of this picture:
Someone needs to totally write me some fic about that, where Cook is a librarian and maybe Archie or someone is, like, I don’t know, a college student or something who keeps coming back to borrow books because he thinks the librarian is hot. Only he wants to impress the hot librarian, so he’s like, “I’ll rent books on String Theory and some Shakespeare and stuff to impress him and then he’ll think I’m all ~learned and stuff!” Only Cook doesn’t know what half that stuff is, but it’s okay because he’s too busy checking out Archie’s butt and texting Neal and stuff to care.
So then Archie keeps coming back because, hello, hot librarian, only then one time he knocks over a whole stand of magazines, and oh my god, how ~embarrassing, because the hot librarian probably saw that and he’d never date Archie, not now that he knows how clumsy and stuff Archie is, and besides, he probably knows that Archie doesn’t really read those books because it’s all gibberish to him, and that thought is just too too ~sad. And so then he sits on the library steps and mourns Cook’s ~loss while listening to his iPod. Only then someone’s tapping on his shoulder and it’s the hot librarian and they start talking and Cook’s all, “Whoa, so you must be crazy smart. What’s your major?” And Archie has to be all, “Um, actually, it’s music. Just… music. I don’t know why I checked out all those books.” And that last part? Totally unnecessary, but it doesn’t even matter because all Cook cares about is Archie’s music major and so they talk about music and instruments and songs and lyrics and at one point, Archie even gives Cook one of his ear buds and they sit there talking and listening to music until it’s, like, all of a sudden getting dark out and then Cook drops Archie home in his shitty two-door car and just as Archie’s getting out, Cook grabs his wrist and asks Archie out, and Archie says, “Yeah. Yeah, I’d, um. Really like that.”
And then it’s only later, way, way later, that Archie admits to checking out books just to impress Cook and that Cook admits to checking out Archie’s ass, and it’s totally embarrassing and stuff to be admitting that, but they’ve been dating for a long time and they’ve seen more embarrassing things in that time (like the first time they had sex, and Cook was so nervous about making igood for Archie that his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and it was a ~disaster, or when Archie met Cook’s brother and kept calling him Mr. Cook, even though, what the fuck, Andrew’s not that much older than Archie and he’s a total tool bag, besides), so it’s not really that big of a deal. And then there’s some hot sex and a schmoopy ending where maybe it’s their one year anniversary or something, and Cook buys Archie some Stephen Hawking book for the lolz and Archie buys Cook the Karma Sutra, and then there’s some more hot sex and some more schmoopy schmoop and then it’s over.
I would read that fic. So, like. Someone get on that.