Title: Morning After
Title: Morning After
Author: carolion
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Archie looks good like this, curled in bed with his hair sleep-mussed and his face lax and peaceful.
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. This is fiction and is to be treated as such.
Author Notes: Well. It started out as something small, after listening to To Have Heroes on repeat, and then it turned into a prompt fill for rajkumari905. Filling: morning after rough sex.
Warnings: It's not really my usual style, I don't think. I wrote it without really thinking, so it may seem... weird. Sorry in advance if it doesn't work! D:
Word Count: ~1500
Archie looks good like this, curled in bed with his hair sleep-mussed and his face lax and peaceful. Dave ghosts his hands over the shape of his body, but doesn't touch him, reluctant to wake him. His lips are parted slightly, and his breathing makes a soft whooshing sound as he inhales and exhales. Dave could watch the flutter of his eyelids all morning, the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his fingers curl close to his palm, twitching with whatever dream sensation he was having. He looks so grown up, so much more adult with his face smooth and serene than he looks in photographs with his mouth stretched in an awkward, overly huge smile, insincere and plastered on.
It's painful to see Archie wear that look, so Dave tries not to look at those kinds of pictures of his boyfriend. At least he doesn't look quite as much like a deer in the headlights, the way he used to look in photographs from Idol. He feels sorry for the general public sometimes, who will never see Archie the way he sees Archie. Alone, Archie isn't as self-conscious, and he carries himself with a quiet grace that Dave admires every day. He has a myriad of smiles, all more genuine than the one he flashes for cameras, and every single one means something different, from the half-amused, half-confused quirk of his lips he gives whenever Dave does something silly and inexplicable, to the closed lip, tight smile that always warns Dave of trouble on the horizon. It's too bad the public will probably never hear the way he can be sarcastic, drawling out acerbic answers to Dave's (occasionally) stupid questions. (It always makes Dave laugh and then act faux-outraged, chasing Archie around with threats and tickling him until the other man yells and thrashes and pleads Uncle under Dave's wicked fingers.)
People will never see the way Archie's bare back looks in the morning sun, or how his eyes go a little dark and half-lidded when he's turned on, how he sounds, harsh and panting, when Dave works him up in bed. They'll never see, but Dave is happy to selfishly keep that part of Archie to himself. He's always greedy for the secret smile that Archie gives him, and gentle, teasing touch of his fingers when they trail along his skin, asking, inviting. He thinks back to last night, and sliding his thumbs along the creases of Archie's hip bones, rubbing the flat of his palm against Archie's trembling thighs and kissing Archie's rapidly rising and falling chest as he panted arrhythmically.
Making love to Archie makes Dave feel strangely fragile, like any wrong move could shatter him into a million pieces. He always feels like he should hold his breath, so afraid of disrupting the delicate balance between them, afraid of taking too much, or being too rough, or too demanding, or worse, not enough. It always takes a few minutes of Archie talking to him, sweet and low and soothing, until Dave relaxes, repeating He loves me, he loves me, he wants me, he wants this over and over in his head until he can stop thinking about anything but how to please Archie. And then - it's just hours of Archie and his bright eyes and his dark hair and his smooth skin, and the way sparks fly when Dave touches him. There have been nights when everything was slow and sweet and ever so careful, where both of them were driven to such excruciating points of desire that they were both sobbing and desperate by the end. But not last night.
Dave lowers his head and kisses Archie's shoulder gently, resisting the urge to rub his face along his lover's skin. He carefully draws the covers down to reveal Archie's naked body, admiring, again (as always), the gorgeous slopes and curves his boyfriend possesses. He has bruises on his thighs, purple-blue round marks vaguely in the shape of fingertips, and there are red marks on his stomach, a bite mark on his hipbone, the teeth imprint still visible. His nipples still look red and swollen, and his lips look doubly so, almost a vibrant red, and stretched looking at the corners. Dave wants to brush his mouth against Archie's in apology, but catalogs the rest of the damage instead. His wrists look rope burned, rubbed raw, and his palms still have the indents of fingernails pressed into them, some of them a little bloody. Dave frowns and cradles Archie's hand in his, unable to help it - he lifts his palm to his mouth and kisses it gently, tenderly. Archie stirs.
Dave is still holding his hand, stroking it idly when Archie's eyes blink open and he groggily lifts up to stare at Dave. He smiles lazily, squeezing his fingers in their interlaced grip.
"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice sleep-heavy and adorable, but his voice sounds strained from all the noise he made last night. (It makes something low and hot curl in Dave's stomach.)
"How are you feeling?" Dave asks, aware of how anxious he sounds. "Are you sore?"
Archie blinks at him for a long moment, looking incredulous before answering. "Yes, but I knew I was going to be." He tilts his head a little, smiling curiously. "Aren't you sore?"
Dave laughs and presses close to Archie, his hand splaying over Archie's chest, over his heart. One of his fingers brushes against an abused nipple and Archie hisses, arching into it.
"I am," Dave agrees, flexing his shoulders and thighs automatically, taking pleasure in the way they protest, like he'd run a marathon just the night before. (Might as well have been a marathon. Their hearts had both been racing, their bodies slick with sweat, and their breaths coming in heavy, jagged pants.) "But I got a little - rough." He grimaces apologetically.
Archie's fingers close around his wrist in a tight circle. "Don't," he says softly, meeting Dave's eyes seriously. "I like it." His cheeks do color a little, heat rising to his face at his little confession, and the coiled warmth in Dave's stomach has a little burst of flame, arousal licking up sides and making him shiver.
It felt so good to mark Archie last night, to press him down and tie him up and lick him open, gripping tight and unrelenting and wanting, needing, taking so much. He presses his face into Archie's neck, breathing in his aroma, still slightly sex-sweaty from last night.
"Let me take care of you," Dave whispers, and Archie hesitates, his grip on Dave's wrist squeezing for a second before relaxing and sliding away. The hand reappears in his hair, stroking softly and Archie nods, his chin bumping against the crown of Dave's head.
Dave kisses his neck, opening his mouth to lick and suck at his pulse point as the hand that had been pressed over Archie's heart slides a few inches to the side, brushing over Archie's nipple gently. Archie groans, and Dave thinks another thing no one else will hear but me.
He doesn't dwell, reaching down to fondle Archie's soft cock gently. Archie sighs, a whuffing sound of pleasure that inspires Dave to stroke a little more firmly, cupping Archie's balls gently and rubbing his thumb along them. This time, a whimper, and by the time Dave strokes along Archie's cock again, it's half hard and stiffening beneath his touch. He smiles despite himself, pressing his bared teeth into Archie's neck. Within a few minutes he's bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick at, uncaring at how sloppy and undignified it is. Then he reaches down and grips Archie's erection, thrilling in the way Archie's breath hitches at the same time his hips do, and strokes.
It doesn't take long. Archie is relaxed and their bodies are warm and pressed against each other fully, and Dave starts mumbling things to Archie about how much he loves him, how he thinks about him all the time, how hard it is not to shut the entire world out and only exist here, like this, right now. He can tell Archie is close when his thighs start to tremble, and when his soft moans turn to whines, and how his teeth click as he clenches them to keep from making any more embarrassing noises. Dave looks down to watch him come, noticing how his toes actually curl, how his stomach seems to quiver, the muscles there shaking as he rides out his orgasm.
When he's finished, Dave wraps his arms around Archie's middle and holds him tightly in a hug, want and love and this ache inside that tells him this is it, this is the one, don't ever let him go crashing over and over inside of him.
Archie puts his arms around him and holds on too, and Dave hopes fiercely he feels the exact same way.
Author: carolion
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Archie looks good like this, curled in bed with his hair sleep-mussed and his face lax and peaceful.
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. This is fiction and is to be treated as such.
Author Notes: Well. It started out as something small, after listening to To Have Heroes on repeat, and then it turned into a prompt fill for rajkumari905. Filling: morning after rough sex.
Warnings: It's not really my usual style, I don't think. I wrote it without really thinking, so it may seem... weird. Sorry in advance if it doesn't work! D:
Word Count: ~1500
Archie looks good like this, curled in bed with his hair sleep-mussed and his face lax and peaceful. Dave ghosts his hands over the shape of his body, but doesn't touch him, reluctant to wake him. His lips are parted slightly, and his breathing makes a soft whooshing sound as he inhales and exhales. Dave could watch the flutter of his eyelids all morning, the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his fingers curl close to his palm, twitching with whatever dream sensation he was having. He looks so grown up, so much more adult with his face smooth and serene than he looks in photographs with his mouth stretched in an awkward, overly huge smile, insincere and plastered on.
It's painful to see Archie wear that look, so Dave tries not to look at those kinds of pictures of his boyfriend. At least he doesn't look quite as much like a deer in the headlights, the way he used to look in photographs from Idol. He feels sorry for the general public sometimes, who will never see Archie the way he sees Archie. Alone, Archie isn't as self-conscious, and he carries himself with a quiet grace that Dave admires every day. He has a myriad of smiles, all more genuine than the one he flashes for cameras, and every single one means something different, from the half-amused, half-confused quirk of his lips he gives whenever Dave does something silly and inexplicable, to the closed lip, tight smile that always warns Dave of trouble on the horizon. It's too bad the public will probably never hear the way he can be sarcastic, drawling out acerbic answers to Dave's (occasionally) stupid questions. (It always makes Dave laugh and then act faux-outraged, chasing Archie around with threats and tickling him until the other man yells and thrashes and pleads Uncle under Dave's wicked fingers.)
People will never see the way Archie's bare back looks in the morning sun, or how his eyes go a little dark and half-lidded when he's turned on, how he sounds, harsh and panting, when Dave works him up in bed. They'll never see, but Dave is happy to selfishly keep that part of Archie to himself. He's always greedy for the secret smile that Archie gives him, and gentle, teasing touch of his fingers when they trail along his skin, asking, inviting. He thinks back to last night, and sliding his thumbs along the creases of Archie's hip bones, rubbing the flat of his palm against Archie's trembling thighs and kissing Archie's rapidly rising and falling chest as he panted arrhythmically.
Making love to Archie makes Dave feel strangely fragile, like any wrong move could shatter him into a million pieces. He always feels like he should hold his breath, so afraid of disrupting the delicate balance between them, afraid of taking too much, or being too rough, or too demanding, or worse, not enough. It always takes a few minutes of Archie talking to him, sweet and low and soothing, until Dave relaxes, repeating He loves me, he loves me, he wants me, he wants this over and over in his head until he can stop thinking about anything but how to please Archie. And then - it's just hours of Archie and his bright eyes and his dark hair and his smooth skin, and the way sparks fly when Dave touches him. There have been nights when everything was slow and sweet and ever so careful, where both of them were driven to such excruciating points of desire that they were both sobbing and desperate by the end. But not last night.
Dave lowers his head and kisses Archie's shoulder gently, resisting the urge to rub his face along his lover's skin. He carefully draws the covers down to reveal Archie's naked body, admiring, again (as always), the gorgeous slopes and curves his boyfriend possesses. He has bruises on his thighs, purple-blue round marks vaguely in the shape of fingertips, and there are red marks on his stomach, a bite mark on his hipbone, the teeth imprint still visible. His nipples still look red and swollen, and his lips look doubly so, almost a vibrant red, and stretched looking at the corners. Dave wants to brush his mouth against Archie's in apology, but catalogs the rest of the damage instead. His wrists look rope burned, rubbed raw, and his palms still have the indents of fingernails pressed into them, some of them a little bloody. Dave frowns and cradles Archie's hand in his, unable to help it - he lifts his palm to his mouth and kisses it gently, tenderly. Archie stirs.
Dave is still holding his hand, stroking it idly when Archie's eyes blink open and he groggily lifts up to stare at Dave. He smiles lazily, squeezing his fingers in their interlaced grip.
"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice sleep-heavy and adorable, but his voice sounds strained from all the noise he made last night. (It makes something low and hot curl in Dave's stomach.)
"How are you feeling?" Dave asks, aware of how anxious he sounds. "Are you sore?"
Archie blinks at him for a long moment, looking incredulous before answering. "Yes, but I knew I was going to be." He tilts his head a little, smiling curiously. "Aren't you sore?"
Dave laughs and presses close to Archie, his hand splaying over Archie's chest, over his heart. One of his fingers brushes against an abused nipple and Archie hisses, arching into it.
"I am," Dave agrees, flexing his shoulders and thighs automatically, taking pleasure in the way they protest, like he'd run a marathon just the night before. (Might as well have been a marathon. Their hearts had both been racing, their bodies slick with sweat, and their breaths coming in heavy, jagged pants.) "But I got a little - rough." He grimaces apologetically.
Archie's fingers close around his wrist in a tight circle. "Don't," he says softly, meeting Dave's eyes seriously. "I like it." His cheeks do color a little, heat rising to his face at his little confession, and the coiled warmth in Dave's stomach has a little burst of flame, arousal licking up sides and making him shiver.
It felt so good to mark Archie last night, to press him down and tie him up and lick him open, gripping tight and unrelenting and wanting, needing, taking so much. He presses his face into Archie's neck, breathing in his aroma, still slightly sex-sweaty from last night.
"Let me take care of you," Dave whispers, and Archie hesitates, his grip on Dave's wrist squeezing for a second before relaxing and sliding away. The hand reappears in his hair, stroking softly and Archie nods, his chin bumping against the crown of Dave's head.
Dave kisses his neck, opening his mouth to lick and suck at his pulse point as the hand that had been pressed over Archie's heart slides a few inches to the side, brushing over Archie's nipple gently. Archie groans, and Dave thinks another thing no one else will hear but me.
He doesn't dwell, reaching down to fondle Archie's soft cock gently. Archie sighs, a whuffing sound of pleasure that inspires Dave to stroke a little more firmly, cupping Archie's balls gently and rubbing his thumb along them. This time, a whimper, and by the time Dave strokes along Archie's cock again, it's half hard and stiffening beneath his touch. He smiles despite himself, pressing his bared teeth into Archie's neck. Within a few minutes he's bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick at, uncaring at how sloppy and undignified it is. Then he reaches down and grips Archie's erection, thrilling in the way Archie's breath hitches at the same time his hips do, and strokes.
It doesn't take long. Archie is relaxed and their bodies are warm and pressed against each other fully, and Dave starts mumbling things to Archie about how much he loves him, how he thinks about him all the time, how hard it is not to shut the entire world out and only exist here, like this, right now. He can tell Archie is close when his thighs start to tremble, and when his soft moans turn to whines, and how his teeth click as he clenches them to keep from making any more embarrassing noises. Dave looks down to watch him come, noticing how his toes actually curl, how his stomach seems to quiver, the muscles there shaking as he rides out his orgasm.
When he's finished, Dave wraps his arms around Archie's middle and holds him tightly in a hug, want and love and this ache inside that tells him this is it, this is the one, don't ever let him go crashing over and over inside of him.
Archie puts his arms around him and holds on too, and Dave hopes fiercely he feels the exact same way.