Title: Someone Like You
Title: Someone Like You
Author: x_heterophobic
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: R for suggestion
POV: Third, Cook-centric.
Summary: Cook leaned up against the kitchen doorway, watching his boyfriend affectionately as he ran around, looking frazzled. "Babe," he called out, "what are you doing?" Archie stopped in his tracks and turned towards the door, looking a little distraught. He had flour smeared across his forehead, and chocolate his cheek, much to Cook's amusement.
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: I wrote fluff! Under a thousand words! This was prompted by aohatsu who suggested Archie in an apron.
Warnings: Some some sexual suggestion.
Word Count: ~900
"Archie?" Cook called, shouldering the door open, his hands full of papers. "You home?" He looked down at the stacks of paperwork in his hands and frowned a little; this was the part of his job that wasn't so great. Record negotiations, song approval, royalty negotiations, and they hadn't even agreed on tour dates or cities yet. He sighed and tromped upstairs, fully expecting to see his boyfriend either napping on the bed, or singing in the shower. The bedroom and bathroom were empty though; weird. Cook dumped the paperwork onto his desk (and he could almost hear Archie now, "Cook! That is so not efficient!") and shuffled out of the bedroom and back downstairs, checking the living room to see if maybe he'd missed seeing Archie watching television or something. No such luck, however.
Now thoroughly confused, Cook checked the last room his boyfriend could be, the kitchen. And - was pleasantly surprised to see him bustling around, ingredients and bowls spread all along the counters, a mixer laying haphazardly on it's side. Cook didn't mind the mess though, he knew Archie would clean it up when he was finished, he was much more interested in the boy himself, and what on earth he was wearing.
Cook leaned up against the kitchen doorway, watching his boyfriend affectionately as he ran around, looking frazzled. "Babe," he called out, "what are you doing?" Archie stopped in his tracks and turned towards the door, looking a little distraught. He had flour smeared across his forehead, and chocolate his cheek, much to Cook's amusement.
"Cook! What-? You aren't supposed to be home yet!" Archie flung his hands up (still wearing stove mittens, and Christ, that was adorable) and turned in a helpless little circle. "I was, I was trying to surprise you. With, um, with brownies."
Cook walked forward and snagged Archie's mittened hands, pulling them off gently and clasping his boyfriend's hands. He leaned in a kissed the boy sweetly, tipping his chin up so he could lick his way into his mouth, groaning as Archie opened up automatically, melting into Cook's touch. He pulled back, a little reluctantly, and rested his forehead against Archie's. "Consider me surprised," he said, and then stepped back a little to look his boyfriend over, head to toe.
"Arch," he asked, his voice a little low, "what are you wearing?"
Archie looked down and smoothed his hands over the outfit, nervously. "Oh it's just, um, don't laugh at me, okay? You're supposed to wear aprons when you bake!"
Cook laughed anyway, but curled his hand around the back of Archie's neck and reeled him in, pressing him up against his body, wrapped his arms tight around him. He turned his face to the side and pressed a kiss against Archie's hair, then ducked a little to kiss his ear.
"I'm not laughing at you," he mumbled, tracing the shell of Archie's ear with the tip of his tongue. He was rewarded when the younger man shivered, his eyes fluttering closed. Cook grinned and kissed his closed eyelids sweetly, then his nose, and finally his lips. Archie leaned into it, his hands coming forward to fist in the front of Cook's shirt, tugging him closer.
"You like the apron?" Archie asked shyly, looking up at him with those fucking eyes, and he totally knew what he was doing, the little tease. Cook growled in the back of his throat and pushed Archie backwards until he hit a counter, and then he gripped his boyfriend's thighs and hefted him up bodily, sliding forward until Archie was perched on the counter.
"Like something out of my fantasies," Cook said roughly, and then reached around to untie the apron before pushing his hands underneath it, skimming his palms up Archie's stomach and chest. Archie squeaked and tightened his grip on Cook's shoulders.
"You've had, had fantasies about this?" He stuttered, blushing, but still leaning into Cook's touch. Cook smiled against his lips and nodded, scraping his stubble against the boy's cheek.
"Sometimes you're cooking, sometimes you're cleaning, but it's always ends the same way," he explained, biting at Archie's mouth and kissing him hard and deep, until Archie was gasping and his hands were in Cook's hands, fisting and tugging unconsciously.
His chest was heaving, shivering as Cook's hands slid to his back and one palm slid into his pants to cup his ass. "Um, um, how do they, gosh, Cook! how do they - do they end?" Archie managed to get out, tilting his hips forward a little, seeking contact. Cook just smirked and licked the chocolate off of Archie's cheek.
"It always ends with you falling apart underneath me, completely undone by my hands," he squeezed a little, cupping Archie's ass firmly and getting a squeak in response, "my mouth," he sucked a path down the younger man's neck, licking against the pulse point and nipping at it gently, "and my cock." Cook pressed his own hips forward, shoving forward until Archie could feel the bulge in his pants pressing up against the boy's body. Archie groaned and tugged Cook's hair harder, his eyes fluttering open.
"Do you, um, do you want to go - uh, make that happen now?" His cheeks were blazing red, but his eyes were dark and wide and aroused, and Cook's cock throbbed hopefully. He smiled hungrily, leaned in, and proceeded to do just that.
He did, however, make Archie keep the apron on. (It would never be the same again.)
Author: x_heterophobic
Pairing: David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: R for suggestion
POV: Third, Cook-centric.
Summary: Cook leaned up against the kitchen doorway, watching his boyfriend affectionately as he ran around, looking frazzled. "Babe," he called out, "what are you doing?" Archie stopped in his tracks and turned towards the door, looking a little distraught. He had flour smeared across his forehead, and chocolate his cheek, much to Cook's amusement.
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: I wrote fluff! Under a thousand words! This was prompted by aohatsu who suggested Archie in an apron.
Warnings: Some some sexual suggestion.
Word Count: ~900
"Archie?" Cook called, shouldering the door open, his hands full of papers. "You home?" He looked down at the stacks of paperwork in his hands and frowned a little; this was the part of his job that wasn't so great. Record negotiations, song approval, royalty negotiations, and they hadn't even agreed on tour dates or cities yet. He sighed and tromped upstairs, fully expecting to see his boyfriend either napping on the bed, or singing in the shower. The bedroom and bathroom were empty though; weird. Cook dumped the paperwork onto his desk (and he could almost hear Archie now, "Cook! That is so not efficient!") and shuffled out of the bedroom and back downstairs, checking the living room to see if maybe he'd missed seeing Archie watching television or something. No such luck, however.
Now thoroughly confused, Cook checked the last room his boyfriend could be, the kitchen. And - was pleasantly surprised to see him bustling around, ingredients and bowls spread all along the counters, a mixer laying haphazardly on it's side. Cook didn't mind the mess though, he knew Archie would clean it up when he was finished, he was much more interested in the boy himself, and what on earth he was wearing.
Cook leaned up against the kitchen doorway, watching his boyfriend affectionately as he ran around, looking frazzled. "Babe," he called out, "what are you doing?" Archie stopped in his tracks and turned towards the door, looking a little distraught. He had flour smeared across his forehead, and chocolate his cheek, much to Cook's amusement.
"Cook! What-? You aren't supposed to be home yet!" Archie flung his hands up (still wearing stove mittens, and Christ, that was adorable) and turned in a helpless little circle. "I was, I was trying to surprise you. With, um, with brownies."
Cook walked forward and snagged Archie's mittened hands, pulling them off gently and clasping his boyfriend's hands. He leaned in a kissed the boy sweetly, tipping his chin up so he could lick his way into his mouth, groaning as Archie opened up automatically, melting into Cook's touch. He pulled back, a little reluctantly, and rested his forehead against Archie's. "Consider me surprised," he said, and then stepped back a little to look his boyfriend over, head to toe.
"Arch," he asked, his voice a little low, "what are you wearing?"
Archie looked down and smoothed his hands over the outfit, nervously. "Oh it's just, um, don't laugh at me, okay? You're supposed to wear aprons when you bake!"
Cook laughed anyway, but curled his hand around the back of Archie's neck and reeled him in, pressing him up against his body, wrapped his arms tight around him. He turned his face to the side and pressed a kiss against Archie's hair, then ducked a little to kiss his ear.
"I'm not laughing at you," he mumbled, tracing the shell of Archie's ear with the tip of his tongue. He was rewarded when the younger man shivered, his eyes fluttering closed. Cook grinned and kissed his closed eyelids sweetly, then his nose, and finally his lips. Archie leaned into it, his hands coming forward to fist in the front of Cook's shirt, tugging him closer.
"You like the apron?" Archie asked shyly, looking up at him with those fucking eyes, and he totally knew what he was doing, the little tease. Cook growled in the back of his throat and pushed Archie backwards until he hit a counter, and then he gripped his boyfriend's thighs and hefted him up bodily, sliding forward until Archie was perched on the counter.
"Like something out of my fantasies," Cook said roughly, and then reached around to untie the apron before pushing his hands underneath it, skimming his palms up Archie's stomach and chest. Archie squeaked and tightened his grip on Cook's shoulders.
"You've had, had fantasies about this?" He stuttered, blushing, but still leaning into Cook's touch. Cook smiled against his lips and nodded, scraping his stubble against the boy's cheek.
"Sometimes you're cooking, sometimes you're cleaning, but it's always ends the same way," he explained, biting at Archie's mouth and kissing him hard and deep, until Archie was gasping and his hands were in Cook's hands, fisting and tugging unconsciously.
His chest was heaving, shivering as Cook's hands slid to his back and one palm slid into his pants to cup his ass. "Um, um, how do they, gosh, Cook! how do they - do they end?" Archie managed to get out, tilting his hips forward a little, seeking contact. Cook just smirked and licked the chocolate off of Archie's cheek.
"It always ends with you falling apart underneath me, completely undone by my hands," he squeezed a little, cupping Archie's ass firmly and getting a squeak in response, "my mouth," he sucked a path down the younger man's neck, licking against the pulse point and nipping at it gently, "and my cock." Cook pressed his own hips forward, shoving forward until Archie could feel the bulge in his pants pressing up against the boy's body. Archie groaned and tugged Cook's hair harder, his eyes fluttering open.
"Do you, um, do you want to go - uh, make that happen now?" His cheeks were blazing red, but his eyes were dark and wide and aroused, and Cook's cock throbbed hopefully. He smiled hungrily, leaned in, and proceeded to do just that.
He did, however, make Archie keep the apron on. (It would never be the same again.)