Title: In Knots
Title: In Knots
Author: x_heterophobic
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta (pre-slash)
Rating: G
POV: Third, Cook-centric
Summary: Dave stared at the young man in the doorway, at his pretty hazel eyes, his dark, artfully tousled hair, the slope of his cheekbones, and the sinfully sweet curve of his lips and thought, "Oh fuck."
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: It's basically just Cook and Archie and then nothing happens.
Warnings: Uh, pre-slash.
Word Count: ~2400
Dave knew he was being annoying, but his back had been killing him after the last show. And sure, maybe he shouldn’t have tried the ‘bend over backwards and play guitar like a sex god’ move, but it was a total crowd pleaser! Just also a back-breaker, apparently, because his muscles felt like they were tied up in knots and he couldn’t move without some sort of pain or ache.
Which, naturally, he complained about to anyone around.
“Why don’t you stop bitching about it and just go get it fixed?” Andrew said finally, giving him an annoyed look as Dave, once again, clutched at his back and bemoaned the twinge that had been bothering him.
He hadn’t thought of that.
The trouble was finding a small, more low key massage place in LA, one where he could walk in and out without too much trouble or people freaking out that he was the David Cook. So he searched the phonebook for a place that looked legitimate but not corporate, and gave Healing Hands a call.
The receptionist who answered sounded friendly but professional, and he decided then that he wanted an appointment that very day.
“Would you prefer a man or woman as your masseuse?” the perky voice asked.
Dave rubbed a hand along his tense shoulders and winced. “Just, whoever can fit me in soonest, I don’t really care.”
“Okay well David can see you at two o’clock this afternoon if that’s soon enough?”
He looked at the clock - shit that was in a half an hour. “Yeah, yeah, that’s great. Book it,” he said, and gave the receptionist his information. Then he scrambled around the house to get into appropriate clothes and out the door so he could make his appointment on time.
The massage parlor was tucked away in small development in one of the quieter suburbs of LA - pretty private considering it wasn’t one of those huge, expensive spa places, and considering that this was Los Angelos.
He still automatically pulled his hat down over his eyes as he got out of his car though, and hurried to the door just in case someone spotted him. He didn’t want ever gossip rag photographer swarming the place, looking for a shot of David Cook leaving a massage parlor.
Inside the building it was cool and quiet; the walls were a pale green, and there was a fountain on the back wall that spilled water over shiny pebbles. The receptionist looked up with a smile.
He saw the instant she recognized him. Her smile went from polite and professional to frozen on her face, and her eyes widened a fraction of an inch. He had a brief moment of ’Oh shit,’ but then she seemed to recover, the expression smoothing into one of calm interest again as she stood to greet him.
“Hello!” she said, in the exact same perky voice that she had used over the phone. Dave relaxed - she wasn’t some psycho fan then, and he doubted she was going to be calling the paparazzi on him. He took his ball cap off and ran a hand through his messy hat hair.
He smiles back - "Hey," he replies, taking off his sunglasses as well.
"Since this is your first time with us Mr. Cook, I'm going to have you fill out a questionnaire, just so we can customize your massage specifically for you." She hands him a clipboard and a pen and retreats back behind her little desk.
"Thank you-" he looks at her nametag, "-Brooke," and smiles winningly before glancing at his clipboard.
It didn't take very long to fill out. He answered all the basic questions and cited his hurt back and how he hurt it (work related injury).
"Okay, thank you Mr. Cook! If you'll come with me, I'm going to have you wait in here," Brooke showed him a quieter, darker room with a few magazines and comfortable looking chairs. There was a water cooler in the corner.
"David will be with you in just a minute," she said brightly, and shut the door.
Dave felt strangely nervous waiting in that room for his masseuse to come and collect him. He tugged on his t-shirt and frowned. He wasn't in the best shape of his life, but it had never bothered him before. For God's sake, he was a rock star; women were screaming to sleep with him like, every night, belly pouch or no. Yet here he was, getting anxious over some guy who saw dozens of half naked people all the time.
He had just convinced himself that everything was going to be fine and to just chill out already when the door open and an honestly beautiful man smiled brightly at him.
"Hi, Mr. Cook? I'm David, your masseuse for today. If you'll follow me?"
Dave stared at the young man in the doorway, at his pretty hazel eyes, his dark, artfully tousled hair, the slope of his cheekbones, and the sinfully sweet curve of his lips and thought, "Oh fuck."
He managed to not act like a complete idiot, getting up and smiling back. When he stood up, he realized that David was actually pretty tiny compared to him, and frowned, wondering if the smaller man would have the strength to work on Dave's knots the way he wanted. But then he looked at David's muscular forearms and strong, capable looking hands and - well, there was a lot a guy could do with those hands. Massaging was probably a breeze.
He tried what he thought was (hopefully) a suave smile. "Just call me Dave - not Mr. Cook."
David the masseuse proved to be as adorably charming as he was unbearably attractive, as he started say "Of course Mr. Co--" before catching himself and flushing prettily.
He showed Dave to a room down the hall and pointed to a cupboard.
"Clothes go in there," David said, looking everywhere but actually at Dave. "I'll give you five minutes to change and lay face down on the bed under the sheet. I'll knock before I come in, okay? Just let me know if you need more time."
He turned to leave, but Dave caught his wrist, unable to stop himself.
"Completely naked?" he blurted out, when David's eyes met his in confusion.
The masseuse colored and Dave couldn't help the wide grin that spread on his face.
"Um. Yes. Completely naked, face, um, face down under the sheet."
"Right. Okay, thanks," Dave said, and loosened his grip on David's wrist so the other man could pull free and leave the room.
Right. So - now to try and not hit on the guy who would be rubbing his oiled hands all over Dave's naked body. Of course. That should be easy.
He stripped quickly and stowed his clothes in the cubby hole, climbing onto the bed and getting under the sheet before being buck-naked in an empty room started to feel too weird. A few minutes later David knocked on the door.
"Come on in," Dave called, and lifted his head to see David enter meekly, like he didn't trust Dave to actually be on the bed with the sheet over him. David looked relieved when he saw that Dave had followed his instructions. He smiled (and fuck, did that smile ever get less disarming?) and bustled around the room, gathering supplies or something, Dave couldn't quite see.
"So I hear you're having some back pain?" he asked cheerily, like having back pain was the most awesome thing to have happen. (Although, Dave mused, watching the other man bend over to retrieve something in a drawer, his eyes level with David's (really really really nice) ass, back pain wasn't the worst thing ever.)
"Yeah, I tried a move on stage that maybe I shouldn't have. Got a little ambitious, I guess," he said. David hummed sympathetically.
"Upper back? Lower back?" He asked, and dimmed the lights.
"Uh - lower back, but I think I've been tensing my shoulder to compensate for the pain." It was hard to think in the low light, as David's hands gently guided his face into the little cut out hole in the massage bed, so all he could see were David's sensible shoes.
"That's common," David told him in a soft voice, and then there was the wet, slick sound of oil and flesh rubbing together. Dave's heart beat a little faster - he told it to shut up.
“You know, I hadn’t even thought about coming to a masseuse before my brother suggested it,” Dave said, unsure why he was even talking. Just that he wanted to talk to this guy. “I guess a lot of people would just rather suffer through the pain than go to a professional, huh? I don’t even think it’s about the money, really, I think it’s about being stubborn…” He was babbling.
"Are you going to talk the entire time?" David asked, his hands pausing in their path on Dave's sore back.
"Maybe," Dave laughed, "Is that a problem?"
"Oh! No, of course not. It's just that, um. Most people don't like to talk or be, um, be talked to..." He trailed off, and his hands began to knead again. "Some people even fall asleep?" He offered hopefully.
Dave would have laughed or said something back if David's hands were absolutely magic. He groaned, low, and panted a little as David's hands found one of the sorest spots.
The pressure immediately eased up, but David didn't stop smoothing his hands along Dave's back.
"You're really," Dave gasped, "good at this."
"Try to breathe normally," David said softly into his ear, leaning over Dave's body to push his hands all the way up Dave's spine.
"Oh god," Dave said, groaning again. "I could breathe if you weren't so fucking good looking and touching me in all the right places," he thought desperately, clamping down on his sudden arousal. There was something about David's voice, too. It was soft and smooth, but a little breathy - almost smoky. It was, uh, doing things to him.
"Man, I can't really talk - this is amazing by the way - but, uh, can you talk to me? I know it's weird but-" it just didn't feel right to let the calm, soothing music play and have there be silence between them.
David laughed - giggled really - and Dave felt his stomach clench with fondness.
"What do you want me to say?" He asked, sounding amused.
"Anything. Tell me about yourself," Dave said, and so David did.
Dave learned that David's last name was Archuleta, and that he was originally from some town in Utah, but he wouldn't say why he moved to LA. David had three sisters and a brother, and he was twenty-one. Apparently he learned to be a masseuse from his aunt, but what he really loved to do was sing.
"Really?" Dave asked, floating in this comfortably sleep and relaxed haze. The sound of his own voice was a little slurred. "Sing me something."
"What? Oh no, I'm not any good, I just, when I'm alone or like, in the shower, it's just something I like to do."
Dave let himself think about David in the shower for a minute, imagining his body wet and shiny and slippery before he bit his lip and banished the image.
"I bet you're great," he murmured as David's hands pushed under the sheets to knead Dave's naked ass firmly. It was clinical, professional, but it still felt good, and Dave was helpless to his fantasies as he pictured the both of them naked, doing this in bed where Dave could touch back and let himself give in to the urge and kiss David's plump mouth, and they could spend all day like that.
He grunted and David's hands fell away seamlessly, back onto safer territory. Dave could actually feel the knots dissolving painlessly under David's firm touch.
David's fingers sunk into his hair and rubbed little gentle circles into Dave's scalp. He felt the warm bubble in his chest pop and suddenly he was filled with longing. He liked David, and David was hot, and also cute, and charming, and good with his hands, and he wanted this, wanted David's hands in his hair, pulling, tugging, stroking, either affectionately or in passion, he didn't care, he wanted it all. Luckily, David took his hands away then, and stepped away before Dave had a chance to say something crazy.
"Um, you're all done," he said a little awkwardly. "I'm going to leave the lights low - you can turn them up to get dressed. And, uh, just see Brooke at the front to pay. I'll leave my recommendation with her."
"Thank you," Dave said, equally as soft, and listened for the door to click closed before he sat up.
"I am so stupid," he said out loud to himself, before sighing and pulling his clothes back on.
Brooke had her same sunny smile on when he went to pay.
"How was it?" she asked.
"Wonderful," he answered honestly, smiling back. He ended up leaving kind of an obscenely large tip - fuck it, he was biased, it happened. In his opinion, David went above and beyond the call of duty, obliging in Dave's whim to have him talk throughout the entire massage.
"Here," Brooke handed him an extra piece of paper with the receipt. "This is David's follow up recommendation. He said your back and shoulders were very tense and though you should feel more relief now, you should probably get one more massage with in the next month."
She scribbled something down and handed him a business card.
"This is our business card and this -" she flipped the card over to it's back, where a series of numbers were written. "-is his cellphone number."
Dave stared at her blankly.
"You mean-" he started to ask, but the blond raised her hands innocently.
"I'm just trying to look out for his best interests," she said seriously, ruining the effect with a goofy smile. "He works too hard," she divulged, conspiratorially.
"Right," Dave said, trying to keep the grin on his face from getting too wide. He could feel his spirits lifting. "Right, gotcha, thank you."
She winked, and he looked down at the card, feeling hopeful. Maybe. Maybe he'd come back. And maybe then he'd ask David out to dinner. And maybe they'd have dessert. And David would laugh, and Dave would reach over and wipe some ice cream from the corner of his mouth, and then maybe they'd kiss, and have another date, and another, and-
Well. Maybe.
Author: x_heterophobic
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta (pre-slash)
Rating: G
POV: Third, Cook-centric
Summary: Dave stared at the young man in the doorway, at his pretty hazel eyes, his dark, artfully tousled hair, the slope of his cheekbones, and the sinfully sweet curve of his lips and thought, "Oh fuck."
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: It's basically just Cook and Archie and then nothing happens.
Warnings: Uh, pre-slash.
Word Count: ~2400
Dave knew he was being annoying, but his back had been killing him after the last show. And sure, maybe he shouldn’t have tried the ‘bend over backwards and play guitar like a sex god’ move, but it was a total crowd pleaser! Just also a back-breaker, apparently, because his muscles felt like they were tied up in knots and he couldn’t move without some sort of pain or ache.
Which, naturally, he complained about to anyone around.
“Why don’t you stop bitching about it and just go get it fixed?” Andrew said finally, giving him an annoyed look as Dave, once again, clutched at his back and bemoaned the twinge that had been bothering him.
He hadn’t thought of that.
The trouble was finding a small, more low key massage place in LA, one where he could walk in and out without too much trouble or people freaking out that he was the David Cook. So he searched the phonebook for a place that looked legitimate but not corporate, and gave Healing Hands a call.
The receptionist who answered sounded friendly but professional, and he decided then that he wanted an appointment that very day.
“Would you prefer a man or woman as your masseuse?” the perky voice asked.
Dave rubbed a hand along his tense shoulders and winced. “Just, whoever can fit me in soonest, I don’t really care.”
“Okay well David can see you at two o’clock this afternoon if that’s soon enough?”
He looked at the clock - shit that was in a half an hour. “Yeah, yeah, that’s great. Book it,” he said, and gave the receptionist his information. Then he scrambled around the house to get into appropriate clothes and out the door so he could make his appointment on time.
The massage parlor was tucked away in small development in one of the quieter suburbs of LA - pretty private considering it wasn’t one of those huge, expensive spa places, and considering that this was Los Angelos.
He still automatically pulled his hat down over his eyes as he got out of his car though, and hurried to the door just in case someone spotted him. He didn’t want ever gossip rag photographer swarming the place, looking for a shot of David Cook leaving a massage parlor.
Inside the building it was cool and quiet; the walls were a pale green, and there was a fountain on the back wall that spilled water over shiny pebbles. The receptionist looked up with a smile.
He saw the instant she recognized him. Her smile went from polite and professional to frozen on her face, and her eyes widened a fraction of an inch. He had a brief moment of ’Oh shit,’ but then she seemed to recover, the expression smoothing into one of calm interest again as she stood to greet him.
“Hello!” she said, in the exact same perky voice that she had used over the phone. Dave relaxed - she wasn’t some psycho fan then, and he doubted she was going to be calling the paparazzi on him. He took his ball cap off and ran a hand through his messy hat hair.
He smiles back - "Hey," he replies, taking off his sunglasses as well.
"Since this is your first time with us Mr. Cook, I'm going to have you fill out a questionnaire, just so we can customize your massage specifically for you." She hands him a clipboard and a pen and retreats back behind her little desk.
"Thank you-" he looks at her nametag, "-Brooke," and smiles winningly before glancing at his clipboard.
It didn't take very long to fill out. He answered all the basic questions and cited his hurt back and how he hurt it (work related injury).
"Okay, thank you Mr. Cook! If you'll come with me, I'm going to have you wait in here," Brooke showed him a quieter, darker room with a few magazines and comfortable looking chairs. There was a water cooler in the corner.
"David will be with you in just a minute," she said brightly, and shut the door.
Dave felt strangely nervous waiting in that room for his masseuse to come and collect him. He tugged on his t-shirt and frowned. He wasn't in the best shape of his life, but it had never bothered him before. For God's sake, he was a rock star; women were screaming to sleep with him like, every night, belly pouch or no. Yet here he was, getting anxious over some guy who saw dozens of half naked people all the time.
He had just convinced himself that everything was going to be fine and to just chill out already when the door open and an honestly beautiful man smiled brightly at him.
"Hi, Mr. Cook? I'm David, your masseuse for today. If you'll follow me?"
Dave stared at the young man in the doorway, at his pretty hazel eyes, his dark, artfully tousled hair, the slope of his cheekbones, and the sinfully sweet curve of his lips and thought, "Oh fuck."
He managed to not act like a complete idiot, getting up and smiling back. When he stood up, he realized that David was actually pretty tiny compared to him, and frowned, wondering if the smaller man would have the strength to work on Dave's knots the way he wanted. But then he looked at David's muscular forearms and strong, capable looking hands and - well, there was a lot a guy could do with those hands. Massaging was probably a breeze.
He tried what he thought was (hopefully) a suave smile. "Just call me Dave - not Mr. Cook."
David the masseuse proved to be as adorably charming as he was unbearably attractive, as he started say "Of course Mr. Co--" before catching himself and flushing prettily.
He showed Dave to a room down the hall and pointed to a cupboard.
"Clothes go in there," David said, looking everywhere but actually at Dave. "I'll give you five minutes to change and lay face down on the bed under the sheet. I'll knock before I come in, okay? Just let me know if you need more time."
He turned to leave, but Dave caught his wrist, unable to stop himself.
"Completely naked?" he blurted out, when David's eyes met his in confusion.
The masseuse colored and Dave couldn't help the wide grin that spread on his face.
"Um. Yes. Completely naked, face, um, face down under the sheet."
"Right. Okay, thanks," Dave said, and loosened his grip on David's wrist so the other man could pull free and leave the room.
Right. So - now to try and not hit on the guy who would be rubbing his oiled hands all over Dave's naked body. Of course. That should be easy.
He stripped quickly and stowed his clothes in the cubby hole, climbing onto the bed and getting under the sheet before being buck-naked in an empty room started to feel too weird. A few minutes later David knocked on the door.
"Come on in," Dave called, and lifted his head to see David enter meekly, like he didn't trust Dave to actually be on the bed with the sheet over him. David looked relieved when he saw that Dave had followed his instructions. He smiled (and fuck, did that smile ever get less disarming?) and bustled around the room, gathering supplies or something, Dave couldn't quite see.
"So I hear you're having some back pain?" he asked cheerily, like having back pain was the most awesome thing to have happen. (Although, Dave mused, watching the other man bend over to retrieve something in a drawer, his eyes level with David's (really really really nice) ass, back pain wasn't the worst thing ever.)
"Yeah, I tried a move on stage that maybe I shouldn't have. Got a little ambitious, I guess," he said. David hummed sympathetically.
"Upper back? Lower back?" He asked, and dimmed the lights.
"Uh - lower back, but I think I've been tensing my shoulder to compensate for the pain." It was hard to think in the low light, as David's hands gently guided his face into the little cut out hole in the massage bed, so all he could see were David's sensible shoes.
"That's common," David told him in a soft voice, and then there was the wet, slick sound of oil and flesh rubbing together. Dave's heart beat a little faster - he told it to shut up.
“You know, I hadn’t even thought about coming to a masseuse before my brother suggested it,” Dave said, unsure why he was even talking. Just that he wanted to talk to this guy. “I guess a lot of people would just rather suffer through the pain than go to a professional, huh? I don’t even think it’s about the money, really, I think it’s about being stubborn…” He was babbling.
"Are you going to talk the entire time?" David asked, his hands pausing in their path on Dave's sore back.
"Maybe," Dave laughed, "Is that a problem?"
"Oh! No, of course not. It's just that, um. Most people don't like to talk or be, um, be talked to..." He trailed off, and his hands began to knead again. "Some people even fall asleep?" He offered hopefully.
Dave would have laughed or said something back if David's hands were absolutely magic. He groaned, low, and panted a little as David's hands found one of the sorest spots.
The pressure immediately eased up, but David didn't stop smoothing his hands along Dave's back.
"You're really," Dave gasped, "good at this."
"Try to breathe normally," David said softly into his ear, leaning over Dave's body to push his hands all the way up Dave's spine.
"Oh god," Dave said, groaning again. "I could breathe if you weren't so fucking good looking and touching me in all the right places," he thought desperately, clamping down on his sudden arousal. There was something about David's voice, too. It was soft and smooth, but a little breathy - almost smoky. It was, uh, doing things to him.
"Man, I can't really talk - this is amazing by the way - but, uh, can you talk to me? I know it's weird but-" it just didn't feel right to let the calm, soothing music play and have there be silence between them.
David laughed - giggled really - and Dave felt his stomach clench with fondness.
"What do you want me to say?" He asked, sounding amused.
"Anything. Tell me about yourself," Dave said, and so David did.
Dave learned that David's last name was Archuleta, and that he was originally from some town in Utah, but he wouldn't say why he moved to LA. David had three sisters and a brother, and he was twenty-one. Apparently he learned to be a masseuse from his aunt, but what he really loved to do was sing.
"Really?" Dave asked, floating in this comfortably sleep and relaxed haze. The sound of his own voice was a little slurred. "Sing me something."
"What? Oh no, I'm not any good, I just, when I'm alone or like, in the shower, it's just something I like to do."
Dave let himself think about David in the shower for a minute, imagining his body wet and shiny and slippery before he bit his lip and banished the image.
"I bet you're great," he murmured as David's hands pushed under the sheets to knead Dave's naked ass firmly. It was clinical, professional, but it still felt good, and Dave was helpless to his fantasies as he pictured the both of them naked, doing this in bed where Dave could touch back and let himself give in to the urge and kiss David's plump mouth, and they could spend all day like that.
He grunted and David's hands fell away seamlessly, back onto safer territory. Dave could actually feel the knots dissolving painlessly under David's firm touch.
David's fingers sunk into his hair and rubbed little gentle circles into Dave's scalp. He felt the warm bubble in his chest pop and suddenly he was filled with longing. He liked David, and David was hot, and also cute, and charming, and good with his hands, and he wanted this, wanted David's hands in his hair, pulling, tugging, stroking, either affectionately or in passion, he didn't care, he wanted it all. Luckily, David took his hands away then, and stepped away before Dave had a chance to say something crazy.
"Um, you're all done," he said a little awkwardly. "I'm going to leave the lights low - you can turn them up to get dressed. And, uh, just see Brooke at the front to pay. I'll leave my recommendation with her."
"Thank you," Dave said, equally as soft, and listened for the door to click closed before he sat up.
"I am so stupid," he said out loud to himself, before sighing and pulling his clothes back on.
Brooke had her same sunny smile on when he went to pay.
"How was it?" she asked.
"Wonderful," he answered honestly, smiling back. He ended up leaving kind of an obscenely large tip - fuck it, he was biased, it happened. In his opinion, David went above and beyond the call of duty, obliging in Dave's whim to have him talk throughout the entire massage.
"Here," Brooke handed him an extra piece of paper with the receipt. "This is David's follow up recommendation. He said your back and shoulders were very tense and though you should feel more relief now, you should probably get one more massage with in the next month."
She scribbled something down and handed him a business card.
"This is our business card and this -" she flipped the card over to it's back, where a series of numbers were written. "-is his cellphone number."
Dave stared at her blankly.
"You mean-" he started to ask, but the blond raised her hands innocently.
"I'm just trying to look out for his best interests," she said seriously, ruining the effect with a goofy smile. "He works too hard," she divulged, conspiratorially.
"Right," Dave said, trying to keep the grin on his face from getting too wide. He could feel his spirits lifting. "Right, gotcha, thank you."
She winked, and he looked down at the card, feeling hopeful. Maybe. Maybe he'd come back. And maybe then he'd ask David out to dinner. And maybe they'd have dessert. And David would laugh, and Dave would reach over and wipe some ice cream from the corner of his mouth, and then maybe they'd kiss, and have another date, and another, and-
Well. Maybe.