Title: Tactile
Title: Tactile
Author: x_heterophobic
Recipient: luxover
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third, Archie-centric
Summary: He knew he wasn't the best with people, but he wasn't normally this bad.
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. I do not know either David Cook or David Archuleta and this is a piece of fiction solely from my imagination and not based on any true events.
Author Notes: Written for the cookleta_etc holiday fic exchange for luxover. I completely agonized over this but I'm way happy with it now!
Warnings: Underage Archie. Set during idol.
Word Count: ~3300
first touch
“Hey, I’m David Cook,” David Cook said, smiling down at him. His hand was outstretched for a handshake, and his face was open and friendly. David Archuleta was curled on the couch, blinking up at the older man, his hands still folded demurely in his lap. He didn’t say anything at first, too surprised by the sudden introduction to react.
Cook’s smile faltered, and he started to pull his hand away. David scrambled to jut his hand out, their palms sliding awkwardly together as they both fumbled to fit into a semi-decent handshake. It was weird anyway, with David sitting and Cook sort of hunched over, and David felt like maybe being in that position was hurting Cook, so he quickly stood up and nearly bashed Cook in the head.
“Oh, oh I’m so sorry,” he said, leaning away from Cook almost as quickly as he had jumped up. He looked down at their hands, still pressed against each other, fingers curled loosely, and then looked back at Cook. They dropped the handshake at the same time, Cook choosing to rub his palms nervously against his thighs, like maybe David’s hands had been sweaty, or like his palms had been tingling, or maybe just David felt that way. He clenched his fists tight, and kept them by his side.
“I’m David Archuleta,” he blurted out belatedly, and immediately felt stupid. He knew he wasn’t the best with people, and that he could be kind of slow (always the last to get the joke, always on the tail end of conversations, constantly having to be poked and prodded by his friends so he wouldn’t drift off in his thoughts), but he wasn’t normally this bad.
Cook, who had been staring at him with this vaguely puzzled, serious expression, grinned and tilted his head to the side, looking bemused.
“I know man. I heard you sing in Hollywood. And like, in the hallways, and in the dining room, and in the shower...” Cook teased, but David turned a bright pink color. He opened his mouth to maybe defend himself, or, more likely apologize for singing all the time (he really couldn’t help it), but the older man cut him off. “I just thought it was high time I introduced myself. You know, top twenty four and all that.”
David could see the way Cook’s face lit up, just saying the words, and he felt a burst of joy as he heard them. Top twenty four. He’d done it. They’d done it. Without thinking, David smiled brightly back, and for a moment they just basked there, grinning at each other, stupid with shared excitement and nervousness and relief. It was the same thing all of the contestants were feeling, tinged with hope, heady and familiar. Familiar to everyone who’d ever tried to make something of themselves - and all of them hoped it worked out this time.
Cook was the one to look away, breaking eye contact and glancing at the ground. David’s smile faltered a little, but he schooled it into polite interest as Cook waved a hand awkwardly.
“Well. It was nice meeting you Archuleta,” Cook said, his voice stilted and lacking the warmth he’d had earlier. David felt his heart sinking. (Cook was someone he could really like - naturally friendly, outgoing, so good with words and people - basically everything that he wasn’t good at.) “I’ll catch you around. Good luck.”
David just kept that smile on his face and watched Cook walk away. “Good luck to you too,” he said, but it was quiet and Cook was long gone, well out of earshot. He sighed. It was fine. He wasn’t here to- to make friends or anything. And it wasn’t like Cook and he were even - they didn’t have anything in common. It just would have been nice, that’s all.
--
second touch
David didn’t expect Cook to acknowledge him again beyond the first meeting. It was just nice of him to come over in the first place and introduce himself, but he knew that they were all super busy and everyone was sort of forming groups of friends and stuff. David was doing the same thing. It was easy to bond with the other underage contestants, since they spent a little extra time together for school hours and they had more stuff in common.
David tried to keep to himself, mostly. He thought it was a little rude, when the others asked ‘Hey what song are you doing?’ or, whatever, teasing them about wardrobe or hair or something. He just wanted to focus on singing as well as he could, performing well, and staying out of everyone else’s way. There was no way he’d last very long if he didn’t sing his best every time - everyone else was so good and they were all so likable and he sounded so stupid every time he was interviewed.
He was really nervous before the first show. Sure, he’d been on Star Search or whatever, but this was American Idol and it was so much bigger and scarier and millions of people would be watching them and judging them and what if he messed up? Or made a weird face while another contestant was performing? Or what if Ryan asked him a really awkward question, what was he supposed to say? He felt sick.
“Oh relax, man,” Robbie said, looking sort of annoyed. “You already know everybody loves you, so stop being nervous.”
“What?” David asked, feeling even worse than before. He really hadn’t - he didn’t like to hear things about himself or like, what people thought of him really, especially not before he’d even performed, so he hadn’t tried to google himself or whatever. And his dad probably helped with filtering all that sort of stuff, because no one had told him anything specific. “What do you mean?”
Robbie rolled his eyes, and opened his mouth to make some sort of sarcastic remark, probably, when David Cook leaned over to them. He was smiling, but it was sort of tight and controlled, unlike his normal wide, happy grin.
“Give him a break, Robbie,” Cook said, “Everyone is allowed to be nervous. Everyone is nervous.” He turned his face to David and smiled encouragingly, laying a hand on David’s shoulder or, well, really it was his neck.
David nearly jumped out of his skin.
Cook’s face froze and he immediately lifted his hand off of David’s neck, but kept it there, hovering.
“Sorry, I-”
“No, um, it’s okay, you just, you surprised me.”
Why, why had he said that? David really hated it when people touched him. It was just, it was really invasive, the way so many people thought they could just put their hands all over him without even being invited. But - but Cook was just being nice, and his hand was warm, and it didn’t feel weird or fake like when Ryan Seacrest did it, and it wasn’t grabby. It was just - nice, comforting. Normal. (David knew, he knew he wasn’t normal. Not totally. It was okay. He knew it was okay that he wasn’t normal, but a part of him longed to be a little more relaxed and comfortable. It was just hard to be that way.)
Cook smiled again, not the weird sharp one he gave Robbie, but a regular dopey one, and let his hand rest on David’s shoulder. His thumb brushed against David’s hairline and David tried to pretend his heart wasn’t beating faster and that his palms were sweating.
Baby steps. He had to take baby steps.
--
all the touches in between
David quickly found out that Cook didn’t really do baby steps. It was like once he had David’s permission to touch him and talk to him, he did it all the time.
Cook always touched David’s wrist when he wanted to show him something cool, on the guitar, or online, or some prop he’d found backstage. He’d help guide David by gripping his elbow loosely, gentle pressure to tell him which way to go, especially when he could tell David was getting overwhelmed because of fans or interviews or producers or whatever. Cook liked to steer him into conversations with two hands on his shoulders; he’d leave a group of friends to march over to David if he saw him standing alone, grab him by the shoulders, and push him into the group. (Which was weird and silly and made him blush and want to look at his shoes, but then Cook would just nudge him and made over exaggerated eye contact and ask him direct questions and it was easier just to act like it was normal to be forced into social situations.)
Sometimes it was nice and sometimes it was annoying, but Cook never changed, not through the whole competition, as everything ramped up and David couldn’t even believe how good everyone was getting and everything was blooming around them and he was in the middle of it, still there.
With all the craziness going on, it was nice to have a constant in his life.
He got used to the touches. The hugs, the pats on the back, the way Cook ruffled his hair or occasionally tweaked his ear. The steady hand resting on his neck, thumb pressed confidently against the back of David’s neck, like it belonged there, like it was comfortable there... And David didn’t realize until Homecoming week, until he and Syesha and Cook were all flying back home, celebrating being the top three American Idols, that it did belong there, and maybe he was a little too comfortable with it there.
It was an emotional trip already but realizing he missed Cook, that he missed the steady arm around his shoulders, and Cook leaning down to whisper something stupid in his ear, or pointing out a fan’s over-the-top sigh, and his laugh, and the way his eyes crinkled up and how clear they were when David got really close and stared and-
It was all a little too much. And he didn’t know, he didn’t know he felt that way about Cook until they all got back and Cook practically picked him up and swung him around in a bear hug, laughing with his rough beard scratching across David’s forehead, and David’s chest had just bloomed with warmth and he held on, and held on, and held on.
Later though, when the high of reunion and trading stories had come to a close, and David had to go back to his bedroom that he shared with his dad, and get down on his knees before bed and pray, that’s when it hit him. Dizzying waves of nausea as he pinpointed the emotion and clarified it, put a name to it, understood that the shivery feeling he got when Cook’s lips touched his ear to say something wasn’t because he was ticklish, not really. And how he always leaned into Cook’s warmth, always, and turned his face into Cook’s chest when they hugged, and breathed him in, feeling safe and comforted and loved.
It terrified him.
Rehearsals were rough and his dad was so tense and Cook and Syesha could tell something was off. Syesha gave him a funny look but didn’t say anything except to tell him he sounded great (which he didn’t, he sounded awful and he was going to ruin his chances of being in the finale with Cook (obviously Cook was going to be in the finale, it was going to be either him and Cook or Cook and Syesha) because he had - he had a crush or something on him. And he didn’t even care about losing and that was maybe the scariest part) but Cook - Cook didn’t say anything at all. He just watched David with this focused, serious look on his face, and it was making David even more nervous, like Cook could tell, just by looking at him.
It wasn’t until just before the show, when Cook squeezed his elbow reassuringly and winked, that David breathed. All the feelings still knotted up inside of him and he saw everything he wanted from Cook every time he looked at him and it made him sick and happy and sad and lonely all at the same time.
He just had to ignore it. Ignore it, breathe, and get through the night.
--
the touch that changed everything
He was here. He was here at the finale with Cook, and they were backstage, being fussed over, having their hair fixed and makeup brushed on and clothes straightened. He couldn’t help but giggle a little at the way Cook rolled his eyes and tugged on his cuffs, fixing his shirt the way he wanted it, not the way the stylists wanted it.
Cook caught his eye and smiled, soft and reassuring and David let his heart speed up and let the hope leap into his mouth because it was finale night, and even though Cook was going to win (it was obvious, and he deserved it, and David couldn’t be more proud to just share the stage with him) everything was pretty perfect and he felt - peaceful. It was like a weight lifted off his back. He’d done the best that he could, and he didn’t have to sing for the judges, or for people’s votes ever again.
He took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes and letting the feelings he’d been fighting flood him. It was almost nice, the nervous giddiness he felt, being so close to Cook, wondering if Cook was looking at him, hoping Cook might think he was, he was cool or awesome or even attractive (but then that made his cheeks felt hot) and he thought, ‘This is almost normal.’
“Hey, Arch, buddy,” David opened his eyes and looked over at Cook. There was a lull in the activity around them, and they were almost, almost alone. Cook was standing already, offering a hand to David. He gestured his head to the side and lifted an eyebrow.
David didn’t even think about refusing, but levered himself out of his chair and let Cook cup his elbow and guide him to a dark, quiet corner backstage that David didn’t even know existed. For some reason, he felt his pulse speed up. (Being alone with Cook these days made it do that.)
Cook’s bright eyes were focused on him.
“You know I’m happy no matter what happens, right?”
“Oh my gosh Cook, I know. But you’re going to win, you are, you deserve to win, you’ve worked so hard,” David babbled, almost a little exasperated with Cook’s silly reassurances.
“No, no, listen to me. I want you to know - I want you know that I want you to win. You’re incredible, you really are. And there’s no one I want to share that stage with more.” Cook’s face was oddly intent, and his hand had crept to it’s normal resting place on David’s neck. His fingers swept fondly against the back of David’s neck, and his thumb rubbed David’s throat and it was hard to breathe.
“It doesn’t matter,” David found himself saying. And Cook smiled.
“You and me,” Cook said gently, and squeezed a little bit with his hand. David’s eyes shut, and he suppressed the full body shiver that wanted to take over.
By the time he opened his eyes, Cook’s face was serious again, and the hand on his neck felt far more intimate, and the atmosphere felt important. David tilted his head a little, questioning, and a flash of something dark and broken and wanting and guilty showed on Cook’s face before Cook’s hand moved up to cup the back of his head and Cook leaned down and was kissing him.
It was far gentler than David had imagined any of their first kisses going (he was embarrassed enough admitting that he’d had fantasies about it before), gentle and slow and Cook was being so careful with him, his fingers smoothing through David’s hair and his other hand pressed against David’s back, holding him there.
It felt like - like the world was opening up. David pressed his closed fists against Cook’s chest and leaned up into the touch, scared and shaking and thrilled and more sure than ever that these feelings weren’t just a fluke.
Cook pulled away, not harsh or gasping, but easing out of it, stroking David’s back and leaning away carefully. He was blushing, David realized dazedly, and the absurd thought made him grin, almost giggle, the rush of endorphins a little too much.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” Cook started, and his face was back in that concerned mode, and the guilt was obvious in every line on his face.
“No,” David interrupted. “No it’s... it’s okay.”
Cook stared at him. “It’s okay?”
“Yeah. It’s okay.” And he smiled, curling his hand around Cook’s wrist, ready and waiting to face the crowds of people and the television cameras, ready to hear the results and listen to Cook sing the winning song and stand on the sides, so proud and happy.
Cook touched his face, briefly, reverently, and they made their way towards the stage together. It’d be okay.
Author: x_heterophobic
Recipient: luxover
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third, Archie-centric
Summary: He knew he wasn't the best with people, but he wasn't normally this bad.
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. I do not know either David Cook or David Archuleta and this is a piece of fiction solely from my imagination and not based on any true events.
Author Notes: Written for the cookleta_etc holiday fic exchange for luxover. I completely agonized over this but I'm way happy with it now!
Warnings: Underage Archie. Set during idol.
Word Count: ~3300
first touch
“Hey, I’m David Cook,” David Cook said, smiling down at him. His hand was outstretched for a handshake, and his face was open and friendly. David Archuleta was curled on the couch, blinking up at the older man, his hands still folded demurely in his lap. He didn’t say anything at first, too surprised by the sudden introduction to react.
Cook’s smile faltered, and he started to pull his hand away. David scrambled to jut his hand out, their palms sliding awkwardly together as they both fumbled to fit into a semi-decent handshake. It was weird anyway, with David sitting and Cook sort of hunched over, and David felt like maybe being in that position was hurting Cook, so he quickly stood up and nearly bashed Cook in the head.
“Oh, oh I’m so sorry,” he said, leaning away from Cook almost as quickly as he had jumped up. He looked down at their hands, still pressed against each other, fingers curled loosely, and then looked back at Cook. They dropped the handshake at the same time, Cook choosing to rub his palms nervously against his thighs, like maybe David’s hands had been sweaty, or like his palms had been tingling, or maybe just David felt that way. He clenched his fists tight, and kept them by his side.
“I’m David Archuleta,” he blurted out belatedly, and immediately felt stupid. He knew he wasn’t the best with people, and that he could be kind of slow (always the last to get the joke, always on the tail end of conversations, constantly having to be poked and prodded by his friends so he wouldn’t drift off in his thoughts), but he wasn’t normally this bad.
Cook, who had been staring at him with this vaguely puzzled, serious expression, grinned and tilted his head to the side, looking bemused.
“I know man. I heard you sing in Hollywood. And like, in the hallways, and in the dining room, and in the shower...” Cook teased, but David turned a bright pink color. He opened his mouth to maybe defend himself, or, more likely apologize for singing all the time (he really couldn’t help it), but the older man cut him off. “I just thought it was high time I introduced myself. You know, top twenty four and all that.”
David could see the way Cook’s face lit up, just saying the words, and he felt a burst of joy as he heard them. Top twenty four. He’d done it. They’d done it. Without thinking, David smiled brightly back, and for a moment they just basked there, grinning at each other, stupid with shared excitement and nervousness and relief. It was the same thing all of the contestants were feeling, tinged with hope, heady and familiar. Familiar to everyone who’d ever tried to make something of themselves - and all of them hoped it worked out this time.
Cook was the one to look away, breaking eye contact and glancing at the ground. David’s smile faltered a little, but he schooled it into polite interest as Cook waved a hand awkwardly.
“Well. It was nice meeting you Archuleta,” Cook said, his voice stilted and lacking the warmth he’d had earlier. David felt his heart sinking. (Cook was someone he could really like - naturally friendly, outgoing, so good with words and people - basically everything that he wasn’t good at.) “I’ll catch you around. Good luck.”
David just kept that smile on his face and watched Cook walk away. “Good luck to you too,” he said, but it was quiet and Cook was long gone, well out of earshot. He sighed. It was fine. He wasn’t here to- to make friends or anything. And it wasn’t like Cook and he were even - they didn’t have anything in common. It just would have been nice, that’s all.
--
second touch
David didn’t expect Cook to acknowledge him again beyond the first meeting. It was just nice of him to come over in the first place and introduce himself, but he knew that they were all super busy and everyone was sort of forming groups of friends and stuff. David was doing the same thing. It was easy to bond with the other underage contestants, since they spent a little extra time together for school hours and they had more stuff in common.
David tried to keep to himself, mostly. He thought it was a little rude, when the others asked ‘Hey what song are you doing?’ or, whatever, teasing them about wardrobe or hair or something. He just wanted to focus on singing as well as he could, performing well, and staying out of everyone else’s way. There was no way he’d last very long if he didn’t sing his best every time - everyone else was so good and they were all so likable and he sounded so stupid every time he was interviewed.
He was really nervous before the first show. Sure, he’d been on Star Search or whatever, but this was American Idol and it was so much bigger and scarier and millions of people would be watching them and judging them and what if he messed up? Or made a weird face while another contestant was performing? Or what if Ryan asked him a really awkward question, what was he supposed to say? He felt sick.
“Oh relax, man,” Robbie said, looking sort of annoyed. “You already know everybody loves you, so stop being nervous.”
“What?” David asked, feeling even worse than before. He really hadn’t - he didn’t like to hear things about himself or like, what people thought of him really, especially not before he’d even performed, so he hadn’t tried to google himself or whatever. And his dad probably helped with filtering all that sort of stuff, because no one had told him anything specific. “What do you mean?”
Robbie rolled his eyes, and opened his mouth to make some sort of sarcastic remark, probably, when David Cook leaned over to them. He was smiling, but it was sort of tight and controlled, unlike his normal wide, happy grin.
“Give him a break, Robbie,” Cook said, “Everyone is allowed to be nervous. Everyone is nervous.” He turned his face to David and smiled encouragingly, laying a hand on David’s shoulder or, well, really it was his neck.
David nearly jumped out of his skin.
Cook’s face froze and he immediately lifted his hand off of David’s neck, but kept it there, hovering.
“Sorry, I-”
“No, um, it’s okay, you just, you surprised me.”
Why, why had he said that? David really hated it when people touched him. It was just, it was really invasive, the way so many people thought they could just put their hands all over him without even being invited. But - but Cook was just being nice, and his hand was warm, and it didn’t feel weird or fake like when Ryan Seacrest did it, and it wasn’t grabby. It was just - nice, comforting. Normal. (David knew, he knew he wasn’t normal. Not totally. It was okay. He knew it was okay that he wasn’t normal, but a part of him longed to be a little more relaxed and comfortable. It was just hard to be that way.)
Cook smiled again, not the weird sharp one he gave Robbie, but a regular dopey one, and let his hand rest on David’s shoulder. His thumb brushed against David’s hairline and David tried to pretend his heart wasn’t beating faster and that his palms were sweating.
Baby steps. He had to take baby steps.
--
all the touches in between
David quickly found out that Cook didn’t really do baby steps. It was like once he had David’s permission to touch him and talk to him, he did it all the time.
Cook always touched David’s wrist when he wanted to show him something cool, on the guitar, or online, or some prop he’d found backstage. He’d help guide David by gripping his elbow loosely, gentle pressure to tell him which way to go, especially when he could tell David was getting overwhelmed because of fans or interviews or producers or whatever. Cook liked to steer him into conversations with two hands on his shoulders; he’d leave a group of friends to march over to David if he saw him standing alone, grab him by the shoulders, and push him into the group. (Which was weird and silly and made him blush and want to look at his shoes, but then Cook would just nudge him and made over exaggerated eye contact and ask him direct questions and it was easier just to act like it was normal to be forced into social situations.)
Sometimes it was nice and sometimes it was annoying, but Cook never changed, not through the whole competition, as everything ramped up and David couldn’t even believe how good everyone was getting and everything was blooming around them and he was in the middle of it, still there.
With all the craziness going on, it was nice to have a constant in his life.
He got used to the touches. The hugs, the pats on the back, the way Cook ruffled his hair or occasionally tweaked his ear. The steady hand resting on his neck, thumb pressed confidently against the back of David’s neck, like it belonged there, like it was comfortable there... And David didn’t realize until Homecoming week, until he and Syesha and Cook were all flying back home, celebrating being the top three American Idols, that it did belong there, and maybe he was a little too comfortable with it there.
It was an emotional trip already but realizing he missed Cook, that he missed the steady arm around his shoulders, and Cook leaning down to whisper something stupid in his ear, or pointing out a fan’s over-the-top sigh, and his laugh, and the way his eyes crinkled up and how clear they were when David got really close and stared and-
It was all a little too much. And he didn’t know, he didn’t know he felt that way about Cook until they all got back and Cook practically picked him up and swung him around in a bear hug, laughing with his rough beard scratching across David’s forehead, and David’s chest had just bloomed with warmth and he held on, and held on, and held on.
Later though, when the high of reunion and trading stories had come to a close, and David had to go back to his bedroom that he shared with his dad, and get down on his knees before bed and pray, that’s when it hit him. Dizzying waves of nausea as he pinpointed the emotion and clarified it, put a name to it, understood that the shivery feeling he got when Cook’s lips touched his ear to say something wasn’t because he was ticklish, not really. And how he always leaned into Cook’s warmth, always, and turned his face into Cook’s chest when they hugged, and breathed him in, feeling safe and comforted and loved.
It terrified him.
Rehearsals were rough and his dad was so tense and Cook and Syesha could tell something was off. Syesha gave him a funny look but didn’t say anything except to tell him he sounded great (which he didn’t, he sounded awful and he was going to ruin his chances of being in the finale with Cook (obviously Cook was going to be in the finale, it was going to be either him and Cook or Cook and Syesha) because he had - he had a crush or something on him. And he didn’t even care about losing and that was maybe the scariest part) but Cook - Cook didn’t say anything at all. He just watched David with this focused, serious look on his face, and it was making David even more nervous, like Cook could tell, just by looking at him.
It wasn’t until just before the show, when Cook squeezed his elbow reassuringly and winked, that David breathed. All the feelings still knotted up inside of him and he saw everything he wanted from Cook every time he looked at him and it made him sick and happy and sad and lonely all at the same time.
He just had to ignore it. Ignore it, breathe, and get through the night.
--
the touch that changed everything
He was here. He was here at the finale with Cook, and they were backstage, being fussed over, having their hair fixed and makeup brushed on and clothes straightened. He couldn’t help but giggle a little at the way Cook rolled his eyes and tugged on his cuffs, fixing his shirt the way he wanted it, not the way the stylists wanted it.
Cook caught his eye and smiled, soft and reassuring and David let his heart speed up and let the hope leap into his mouth because it was finale night, and even though Cook was going to win (it was obvious, and he deserved it, and David couldn’t be more proud to just share the stage with him) everything was pretty perfect and he felt - peaceful. It was like a weight lifted off his back. He’d done the best that he could, and he didn’t have to sing for the judges, or for people’s votes ever again.
He took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes and letting the feelings he’d been fighting flood him. It was almost nice, the nervous giddiness he felt, being so close to Cook, wondering if Cook was looking at him, hoping Cook might think he was, he was cool or awesome or even attractive (but then that made his cheeks felt hot) and he thought, ‘This is almost normal.’
“Hey, Arch, buddy,” David opened his eyes and looked over at Cook. There was a lull in the activity around them, and they were almost, almost alone. Cook was standing already, offering a hand to David. He gestured his head to the side and lifted an eyebrow.
David didn’t even think about refusing, but levered himself out of his chair and let Cook cup his elbow and guide him to a dark, quiet corner backstage that David didn’t even know existed. For some reason, he felt his pulse speed up. (Being alone with Cook these days made it do that.)
Cook’s bright eyes were focused on him.
“You know I’m happy no matter what happens, right?”
“Oh my gosh Cook, I know. But you’re going to win, you are, you deserve to win, you’ve worked so hard,” David babbled, almost a little exasperated with Cook’s silly reassurances.
“No, no, listen to me. I want you to know - I want you know that I want you to win. You’re incredible, you really are. And there’s no one I want to share that stage with more.” Cook’s face was oddly intent, and his hand had crept to it’s normal resting place on David’s neck. His fingers swept fondly against the back of David’s neck, and his thumb rubbed David’s throat and it was hard to breathe.
“It doesn’t matter,” David found himself saying. And Cook smiled.
“You and me,” Cook said gently, and squeezed a little bit with his hand. David’s eyes shut, and he suppressed the full body shiver that wanted to take over.
By the time he opened his eyes, Cook’s face was serious again, and the hand on his neck felt far more intimate, and the atmosphere felt important. David tilted his head a little, questioning, and a flash of something dark and broken and wanting and guilty showed on Cook’s face before Cook’s hand moved up to cup the back of his head and Cook leaned down and was kissing him.
It was far gentler than David had imagined any of their first kisses going (he was embarrassed enough admitting that he’d had fantasies about it before), gentle and slow and Cook was being so careful with him, his fingers smoothing through David’s hair and his other hand pressed against David’s back, holding him there.
It felt like - like the world was opening up. David pressed his closed fists against Cook’s chest and leaned up into the touch, scared and shaking and thrilled and more sure than ever that these feelings weren’t just a fluke.
Cook pulled away, not harsh or gasping, but easing out of it, stroking David’s back and leaning away carefully. He was blushing, David realized dazedly, and the absurd thought made him grin, almost giggle, the rush of endorphins a little too much.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” Cook started, and his face was back in that concerned mode, and the guilt was obvious in every line on his face.
“No,” David interrupted. “No it’s... it’s okay.”
Cook stared at him. “It’s okay?”
“Yeah. It’s okay.” And he smiled, curling his hand around Cook’s wrist, ready and waiting to face the crowds of people and the television cameras, ready to hear the results and listen to Cook sing the winning song and stand on the sides, so proud and happy.
Cook touched his face, briefly, reverently, and they made their way towards the stage together. It’d be okay.