fic: Like some kind of demented seal
Like some kind of demented seal
Skins. Cook/Freddie, PG-13, 2,079 words.
It started off as a bit of a joke, really.
Notes: Set a little before series 3.
It started off as a bit of a joke, really. There was this one time with this one girl that Cook spent half of the night at a party chatting up, only to get walked out on as soon as she’d set her eyes on Freddie.
Freddie had been amused, Cook; sort of jilted.
So Cook had walked over to where the girl was then flirting with Freddie, where she was leaning in closer with every sip of her drink and Freddie was smiling wider every minute. He’d draped himself all over Freddie’s shoulders, called him sweetheart, and pressed a big, wet, smacking kiss to Freddie’s cheek. Needless to say, the girl had left.
Freddie had just shoved Cook away, called him an idiot and laughed it off. He’d even done the same the second time it happened.
Only, it stopped being funny around the third time Cook did it. The fourth was just irritating.
The fifth time, there was a girl with bright red hair and big blue-green eyes. Her name was Kim, and she had a sweet, raspy laugh that he could hear even over the music. She put her hand on his arm every time he made her smile, and things were looking good.
Then Cook sidled up, cup of beer in his hand so full that it slopped over on his knuckles. He grinned at Freddie, who just slumped against the wall next to Kim, already resigned.
“Fredster,” Cook said happily, his voice louder than necessary. He pressed himself up against Freddie’s side and back, practically no space between their bodies. Kim raised her eyebrows at them.
“Cook,” Freddie said, more warning than greeting in his voice.
Cook glanced over at the girl in front of them, as if he was just now noticing her. He smiled wider. “Well, hello. Aren’t you lovely.”
Kim looked like she wasn’t sure whether to be uneasy, or flattered. Cook had that sort of effect on people.
“You know,” Cook continued, “I could see you two gettin’ along from across the room, and I just wanted to say - “ he stopped to belch loudly. “Just wanted to say that this is my best mate here, and you’d better treat him right, all right?”
Freddie wondered if he could just drag her away. But then Cook would probably just follow, anyway. Freddie had tried before.
Kim still had her eyebrows raised. “So you two are close?”
“Oh, yes,” Cook said immediately. His hand wrapped around the back of Freddie’s neck, shaking him a little. “Extremely close. Freddie and me, see, we‘re bredrin, is what we are.” He lowered his voice. “We often share the same bed, y’know.”
“Not really,” Freddie said, making sure to grind the heel of one foot down on Cook’s behind him.
Cook just laughed, leaning into him even more, and said, “Yes, really.”
She glanced between them, something like understanding blooming in her expression. Cook smiled at her. She shifted on her feet. Cook slipped his hand around Freddie’s waist and into his front pocket.
It wasn’t long after that she mumbled an excuse about a headache, and needing to find her friend.
Freddie shoved Cook away as soon as she turned. “What the hell was that, man?”
Cook widened his eyes, an attempt to look innocent. Freddie snorted. “What was what?” he asked.
“She hadn’t even looked at you before talking to me, so it’s not like you can say that little scene was payback for me stealing her from you.”
Cook gulped down more than half his beer in one go. “I didn’t even know you liked gingers.”
It was likely that Cook was drunker than Freddie had previously thought. That, or he’d finally lost his fucking mind. “What? Just, what - why would I have anything against gingers? You’re such a fucking wanker.”
Cook shrugged, then gripped Freddie’s shoulder. Freddie knocked his hand away. “I bet if JJ was here, he could tell you that there was a study that proved gingers have a higher capability of turning evil. I just had your best interests in mind, mate.”
Freddie pretended he hadn’t heard the last part. He glared at Cook, said, “I’ve gotten more action these past weeks from you rubbing up against me pretending to be my secret gay lover than from actually getting any girls.” He stepped forward into Cook’s space. “And then you don’t actually follow through. I think that’s called false advertising.”
The move and the words were meant to drive Cook away, make him take a step back and maybe realise how ridiculous this whole situation was.
Instead, Cook grinned, wide and slow. He asked, “Who said it was false advertising?”
Freddie’s heart stuttered curiously at the words. “Fucking wanker,” he repeated, and pushed past Cook roughly to get to the bar.
*
The next weekend, Freddie and Cook settled down in Freddie’s bedroom, passing a blunt between them with a large case of beer they’d managed to smuggle past Freddie’s father at their feet. After a couple hours, it’s more full of empty bottles than full ones.
The spliff Cook rolled - their third one - was really quite large. Freddie eyed it after taking a hit, still holding the smoke in his lungs.
“This is a king among spliffs,” Cook said solemnly once Freddie had passed it back to him.
Freddie laughed. “I think you’re mixing metaphors, Cook.” He dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Or, you’re mixing terminology, if not metaphors.” He pulled a face. “Or something.
“Shut up, Freddie,” Cook mumbled. He’d slumped so far down against the bed frame by now that he was nearly laying flat on the floor.
Freddie was the first to admit that he became something of a philosopher after smoking for a certain amount of time. With enough weed in his system, he often began speaking in the hypothetical, sketching out the past and the future. Or, more simply, he talked too much when he was really high.
“College starts in two weeks,” Freddie noted. He wondered if they’d still do this sort of thing as often once they were back in school. Probably.
Cook made a disgusted noise. “Don’t fuckin’ remind me,” he said. He passed the spliff back to Freddie.
Cook seemed to stop fighting gravity, allowing it to get him flat on his back on the floor, his head only inches away from Freddie’s thigh. Cook’s shirt rode up in the non-struggle, exposing the pale skin of his stomach, hips visible over the top of his pants’ waistband. Freddie looked away.
Freddie often had a hard time making himself bring up topics that he knew were bound to fill the air with awkwardness and, possibly, uncertainty, and he knew Cook would rather gouge out his own eyeballs with a rusty fork than talk about his actual feelings (if there were even any sort of feelings involved, that is), but Freddie found himself bringing it up anyway.
“I think you’ve spent more time this past month scaring away girls that like me than actually charming them for yourself,” Freddie pointed out, as if continuing a conversation they were already having.
Cook’s mouth twisted, and Freddie couldn’t tell if it was from annoyance or amusement. His eyes were closed. “Yeah, well. It’s only until you get with the program.”
Freddie had no clue what program Cook was talking about. He tapped Cook’s forehead. “Are you still going to pull this shit once school starts?” he asked.
Cook didn’t respond. Freddie thought he might’ve actually passed out now, especially with the way his mouth has gone slack and his breathing even.
Who even did that sort of thing, anyway? Freddie wondered. Who spent nearly every waking opportunity they had attempting to cockblock their best mate? It wasn’t normal, he was sure.
Freddie put the blunt out and dropped it into the baggie to save for later. He managed to make it into his own bed before also passing out.
*
While they didn’t go around actively not talking about what might or might not be going on between them, there was one incident at a pub that they definitely didn’t talk about. It started with a man hitting on Freddie and leaning in too close, Freddie apparently not being quick or coherent enough to explain that he was all about the ladies, and Cook happening to be close enough to witness it all. It ended with a couple chairs broken over a couple heads, some bloody knuckles, and Cook and Freddie having to leave through a window in the bathroom to avoid being arrested, and yeah. They didn’t really talk about it.
*
They were at another party, and Freddie saw the perfect chance to get back at Cook. Absolutely perfect.
Cook had a girl pressed up against the wall, one hand pressed to the brick beside her head, his other hand on her hip. The girl looked like she didn’t mind all that much.
Freddie stumbled a little on his way across the room, and it’s quite possible that he only thought this was such a good idea because he was slightly drunk. This revelation, however, did not stop Freddie from grabbing Cook by the hips and resting his chin on Cook’s shoulder. He could feel how tight Cook‘s jaw went from annoyance when he rubbed their cheeks together.
Not long after that, the girl made a hasty excuse and booked it. Freddie really thought that it was the way he murmured James that did it. Or maybe the way he bit Cook’s earlobe.
Cook didn’t move right away once the girl had gone. He didn’t even say anything. Freddie himself was grinning, triumphant, and perhaps a little smug.
“Isn’t quite as much fun from this end, is it?” Freddie said.
That finally got a reaction out of Cook. He spun around quicker than Freddie anticipated, causing Freddie to end up having to fist his hands in the material of Cook’s shirt to keep from falling onto his arse. Maybe he did have a few too many beers, he thought. For a second, they’re close, too close, Cook’s breath on Freddie’s lips, and then Cook shoved him back a little, expression mostly neutral.
“All right,” Cook said evenly. “Okay, I can see where that might get annoying.”
Freddie looked at him, incredulous. “Oh, can you now?”
Suddenly, there was another girl by their side. “Oh my God,” she said, “oh my God, are you two, like, together? That is so safe. I love it!”
Freddie groaned. “No, we’re fucking - ”
“Yes, that’s right!” Cook cut in. He gave a shit-eating grin, then patted Freddie on the cheek roughly. “We are fucking. Love o’ my life, right here.”
Before he could deny it, and maybe punch Cook in the chest while he was at it, the girl was clasping her hands together, saying, “That is adorable. You should totally kiss right now. Just once, please, and then I‘ll leave you alone, promise.”
Freddie stared at her in disbelief. Cook only grinned wider. “Yeah, Freddie. We totally should.”
Cook was a bastard, Freddie thought. He was a right bastard, and Freddie was never going to kiss him for any reason whatsoever. Not now, or anytime in the foreseeable future.
“C’mon, babe,” Cook said. “Don’t keep the nice lass wait -” he started, and didn’t finish because Freddie shut him up with his mouth, and okay, it looked like Freddie was going to be kissing Cook, but only to get him to stop talking.
It was a really great idea, mostly because it actually worked. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. Hadn’t thought to just kiss Cook every time he was too obnoxious to handle.
The girl to their left squealed, and possibly clapped her hands, like some kind of demented seal or something.
Freddie, though, he just kept kissing Cook, even let Cook slip him tongue. The way he saw it, he was doing society a favor by keeping Cook’s mouth occupied. Otherwise, people got into trouble, or got annoyed, or got cockblocked. A moment later, once Cook had slipped his hand into Freddie’s hair, he wondered vaguely if this was the program Cook had wanted him to get with.
So they kept kissing. And kissing. And kissing. And - well, you get the idea.
The girl eventually wandered away, though neither of them looked up in time to notice it.
Skins. Cook/Freddie, PG-13, 2,079 words.
It started off as a bit of a joke, really.
Notes: Set a little before series 3.
It started off as a bit of a joke, really. There was this one time with this one girl that Cook spent half of the night at a party chatting up, only to get walked out on as soon as she’d set her eyes on Freddie.
Freddie had been amused, Cook; sort of jilted.
So Cook had walked over to where the girl was then flirting with Freddie, where she was leaning in closer with every sip of her drink and Freddie was smiling wider every minute. He’d draped himself all over Freddie’s shoulders, called him sweetheart, and pressed a big, wet, smacking kiss to Freddie’s cheek. Needless to say, the girl had left.
Freddie had just shoved Cook away, called him an idiot and laughed it off. He’d even done the same the second time it happened.
Only, it stopped being funny around the third time Cook did it. The fourth was just irritating.
The fifth time, there was a girl with bright red hair and big blue-green eyes. Her name was Kim, and she had a sweet, raspy laugh that he could hear even over the music. She put her hand on his arm every time he made her smile, and things were looking good.
Then Cook sidled up, cup of beer in his hand so full that it slopped over on his knuckles. He grinned at Freddie, who just slumped against the wall next to Kim, already resigned.
“Fredster,” Cook said happily, his voice louder than necessary. He pressed himself up against Freddie’s side and back, practically no space between their bodies. Kim raised her eyebrows at them.
“Cook,” Freddie said, more warning than greeting in his voice.
Cook glanced over at the girl in front of them, as if he was just now noticing her. He smiled wider. “Well, hello. Aren’t you lovely.”
Kim looked like she wasn’t sure whether to be uneasy, or flattered. Cook had that sort of effect on people.
“You know,” Cook continued, “I could see you two gettin’ along from across the room, and I just wanted to say - “ he stopped to belch loudly. “Just wanted to say that this is my best mate here, and you’d better treat him right, all right?”
Freddie wondered if he could just drag her away. But then Cook would probably just follow, anyway. Freddie had tried before.
Kim still had her eyebrows raised. “So you two are close?”
“Oh, yes,” Cook said immediately. His hand wrapped around the back of Freddie’s neck, shaking him a little. “Extremely close. Freddie and me, see, we‘re bredrin, is what we are.” He lowered his voice. “We often share the same bed, y’know.”
“Not really,” Freddie said, making sure to grind the heel of one foot down on Cook’s behind him.
Cook just laughed, leaning into him even more, and said, “Yes, really.”
She glanced between them, something like understanding blooming in her expression. Cook smiled at her. She shifted on her feet. Cook slipped his hand around Freddie’s waist and into his front pocket.
It wasn’t long after that she mumbled an excuse about a headache, and needing to find her friend.
Freddie shoved Cook away as soon as she turned. “What the hell was that, man?”
Cook widened his eyes, an attempt to look innocent. Freddie snorted. “What was what?” he asked.
“She hadn’t even looked at you before talking to me, so it’s not like you can say that little scene was payback for me stealing her from you.”
Cook gulped down more than half his beer in one go. “I didn’t even know you liked gingers.”
It was likely that Cook was drunker than Freddie had previously thought. That, or he’d finally lost his fucking mind. “What? Just, what - why would I have anything against gingers? You’re such a fucking wanker.”
Cook shrugged, then gripped Freddie’s shoulder. Freddie knocked his hand away. “I bet if JJ was here, he could tell you that there was a study that proved gingers have a higher capability of turning evil. I just had your best interests in mind, mate.”
Freddie pretended he hadn’t heard the last part. He glared at Cook, said, “I’ve gotten more action these past weeks from you rubbing up against me pretending to be my secret gay lover than from actually getting any girls.” He stepped forward into Cook’s space. “And then you don’t actually follow through. I think that’s called false advertising.”
The move and the words were meant to drive Cook away, make him take a step back and maybe realise how ridiculous this whole situation was.
Instead, Cook grinned, wide and slow. He asked, “Who said it was false advertising?”
Freddie’s heart stuttered curiously at the words. “Fucking wanker,” he repeated, and pushed past Cook roughly to get to the bar.
*
The next weekend, Freddie and Cook settled down in Freddie’s bedroom, passing a blunt between them with a large case of beer they’d managed to smuggle past Freddie’s father at their feet. After a couple hours, it’s more full of empty bottles than full ones.
The spliff Cook rolled - their third one - was really quite large. Freddie eyed it after taking a hit, still holding the smoke in his lungs.
“This is a king among spliffs,” Cook said solemnly once Freddie had passed it back to him.
Freddie laughed. “I think you’re mixing metaphors, Cook.” He dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Or, you’re mixing terminology, if not metaphors.” He pulled a face. “Or something.
“Shut up, Freddie,” Cook mumbled. He’d slumped so far down against the bed frame by now that he was nearly laying flat on the floor.
Freddie was the first to admit that he became something of a philosopher after smoking for a certain amount of time. With enough weed in his system, he often began speaking in the hypothetical, sketching out the past and the future. Or, more simply, he talked too much when he was really high.
“College starts in two weeks,” Freddie noted. He wondered if they’d still do this sort of thing as often once they were back in school. Probably.
Cook made a disgusted noise. “Don’t fuckin’ remind me,” he said. He passed the spliff back to Freddie.
Cook seemed to stop fighting gravity, allowing it to get him flat on his back on the floor, his head only inches away from Freddie’s thigh. Cook’s shirt rode up in the non-struggle, exposing the pale skin of his stomach, hips visible over the top of his pants’ waistband. Freddie looked away.
Freddie often had a hard time making himself bring up topics that he knew were bound to fill the air with awkwardness and, possibly, uncertainty, and he knew Cook would rather gouge out his own eyeballs with a rusty fork than talk about his actual feelings (if there were even any sort of feelings involved, that is), but Freddie found himself bringing it up anyway.
“I think you’ve spent more time this past month scaring away girls that like me than actually charming them for yourself,” Freddie pointed out, as if continuing a conversation they were already having.
Cook’s mouth twisted, and Freddie couldn’t tell if it was from annoyance or amusement. His eyes were closed. “Yeah, well. It’s only until you get with the program.”
Freddie had no clue what program Cook was talking about. He tapped Cook’s forehead. “Are you still going to pull this shit once school starts?” he asked.
Cook didn’t respond. Freddie thought he might’ve actually passed out now, especially with the way his mouth has gone slack and his breathing even.
Who even did that sort of thing, anyway? Freddie wondered. Who spent nearly every waking opportunity they had attempting to cockblock their best mate? It wasn’t normal, he was sure.
Freddie put the blunt out and dropped it into the baggie to save for later. He managed to make it into his own bed before also passing out.
*
While they didn’t go around actively not talking about what might or might not be going on between them, there was one incident at a pub that they definitely didn’t talk about. It started with a man hitting on Freddie and leaning in too close, Freddie apparently not being quick or coherent enough to explain that he was all about the ladies, and Cook happening to be close enough to witness it all. It ended with a couple chairs broken over a couple heads, some bloody knuckles, and Cook and Freddie having to leave through a window in the bathroom to avoid being arrested, and yeah. They didn’t really talk about it.
*
They were at another party, and Freddie saw the perfect chance to get back at Cook. Absolutely perfect.
Cook had a girl pressed up against the wall, one hand pressed to the brick beside her head, his other hand on her hip. The girl looked like she didn’t mind all that much.
Freddie stumbled a little on his way across the room, and it’s quite possible that he only thought this was such a good idea because he was slightly drunk. This revelation, however, did not stop Freddie from grabbing Cook by the hips and resting his chin on Cook’s shoulder. He could feel how tight Cook‘s jaw went from annoyance when he rubbed their cheeks together.
Not long after that, the girl made a hasty excuse and booked it. Freddie really thought that it was the way he murmured James that did it. Or maybe the way he bit Cook’s earlobe.
Cook didn’t move right away once the girl had gone. He didn’t even say anything. Freddie himself was grinning, triumphant, and perhaps a little smug.
“Isn’t quite as much fun from this end, is it?” Freddie said.
That finally got a reaction out of Cook. He spun around quicker than Freddie anticipated, causing Freddie to end up having to fist his hands in the material of Cook’s shirt to keep from falling onto his arse. Maybe he did have a few too many beers, he thought. For a second, they’re close, too close, Cook’s breath on Freddie’s lips, and then Cook shoved him back a little, expression mostly neutral.
“All right,” Cook said evenly. “Okay, I can see where that might get annoying.”
Freddie looked at him, incredulous. “Oh, can you now?”
Suddenly, there was another girl by their side. “Oh my God,” she said, “oh my God, are you two, like, together? That is so safe. I love it!”
Freddie groaned. “No, we’re fucking - ”
“Yes, that’s right!” Cook cut in. He gave a shit-eating grin, then patted Freddie on the cheek roughly. “We are fucking. Love o’ my life, right here.”
Before he could deny it, and maybe punch Cook in the chest while he was at it, the girl was clasping her hands together, saying, “That is adorable. You should totally kiss right now. Just once, please, and then I‘ll leave you alone, promise.”
Freddie stared at her in disbelief. Cook only grinned wider. “Yeah, Freddie. We totally should.”
Cook was a bastard, Freddie thought. He was a right bastard, and Freddie was never going to kiss him for any reason whatsoever. Not now, or anytime in the foreseeable future.
“C’mon, babe,” Cook said. “Don’t keep the nice lass wait -” he started, and didn’t finish because Freddie shut him up with his mouth, and okay, it looked like Freddie was going to be kissing Cook, but only to get him to stop talking.
It was a really great idea, mostly because it actually worked. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. Hadn’t thought to just kiss Cook every time he was too obnoxious to handle.
The girl to their left squealed, and possibly clapped her hands, like some kind of demented seal or something.
Freddie, though, he just kept kissing Cook, even let Cook slip him tongue. The way he saw it, he was doing society a favor by keeping Cook’s mouth occupied. Otherwise, people got into trouble, or got annoyed, or got cockblocked. A moment later, once Cook had slipped his hand into Freddie’s hair, he wondered vaguely if this was the program Cook had wanted him to get with.
So they kept kissing. And kissing. And kissing. And - well, you get the idea.
The girl eventually wandered away, though neither of them looked up in time to notice it.