Fic: Strawberries, 1/1, Rated PG
Cookleta fic? WHUT??? ahem . . .
Title: Strawberries
Author: courts
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rated: PG
Summary: It was their first Valentine's Day together; David wanted it to be something that they would always remember. As it turned out, that would not be a problem.
Notes: So, remember that prompt table? I'm still determined to finish it. Here's one more down. This is also a quasi-response to the Valentine's Day Challenge at cookleta.
Thanks: To vna04 for giving me the idea for this in a chat we had a while back. And to nightingale_12 for beta reading. I told you I'd be back to writing Cook/Archie eventually ;)
-=-=-=-=-
Strawberries
It was supposed to be a perfect night. David Archuleta had spent most of the day cooking a romantic meal, all the while rushing around the house to put flowers in all the vases and silk sheets on Cook's king-sized bed. He knew it was all completely cheesy, but he didn't think that Cook would mind. After all, David knew the older man had a soft spot for kitschy, romantic gestures. And, anyway, it was their first Valentine's Day together; David wanted it to be something that they would always remember.
As it turned out, that would not be a problem.
Cook had been gone for most of the day, exiled from his own home by his young lover and told not to be back until six o'clock. It was five minutes after when he finally reentered the house, a big bouquet of red roses in one hand and a giant Teddy bear in the other.
David smirked at the bear, watching as Cook set the flowers on the hall table, then allowing Cook to draw him into a tight embrace. "Happy Valentine's Day, Arch," he said softly. His lips brushed David's ear as he spoke, his warm breath sending a shiver through David that he was sure Cook was aware of.
David pulled away, then, clearing his throat as he said, "Um, dinner is just about ready if you wanna . . ." He trailed off, turning to head down the hall towards the dining room, but not before catching the older man grinning wickedly in his direction.
After managing to make Cook to stop leering at him long enough to get him into his seat at the table, David served the first course. It was a spinach salad, garnished with walnuts and homemade dressing. It, like most of the dishes he'd prepared, was his mother's recipe. And, after spending half the day calling her to ask question after question in hopes of not messing anything up, David was quite proud of how it had all turned out.
He set Cook's plate in front of him at the head of the table and took his seat to Cook's right. David watched carefully as the older man looked down at the salad, then back at David. He smiled and said, "Looks great, Arch."
"Well, try it," David coaxed. He had tasted it himself and thought it was pretty good, but he really, really wanted Cook to agree.
He watched nervously as Cook took his first bite. He chewed slowly and David didn't miss the teasing grin threatening to curl his lips. Obviously catching the anxious look in David's eyes, though, Cook quickly swallowed and, reaching over to pat David's hand, said, "It's really great, babe."
David couldn't hold back a small sigh of relief. He returned Cook's smile, then dug into his own salad.
They chatted about their respective days as they both ate, falling quickly into comfortable conversation as always. That was one of David's favorite things about Cook; he never felt tongue-tied or awkward around him. Even when the topic shifted to something that David didn't know that much about, Cook had a way of drawing him into the conversation and putting him immediately at ease. It was a great feeling.
They'd both finished their salads and David rose from the table to get the next course. As he was pulling the eggplant Parmesan from the oven, David heard, "Um, Archie?" from the next room. It wasn't the words so much as the tone that caught David's attention. He set the dish aside, moving quickly back into the dining room.
"Did you need something?" he asked. It was weird, but he had a sudden sense of foreboding that made absolutely no sense to him.
Cook cleared his throat roughly, looking a little flushed as he asked, "Uh . . . what was in the salad?"
"Huh?" That was a weird question.
"The salad," he repeated. "What was in it?"
"Um . . . spinach," he said in confusion. "And walnuts. And, um . . . mandarin oranges . . . why?"
Cook swallowed roughly, almost painfully, and said in a scratchy voice, "Anything else?"
David furrowed his brow, wondering what this was about. He tried to recall all of the ingredients he'd used. "Uh, well, I made the dressing, too. It had oil, vinegar, a little sugar . . . oh, and strawberries."
At the last word, Cook looked up sharply. "Strawberries?" he croaked.
Eyes wide, David nodded. "Yeah, um, why? You don't like strawberries?"
Cook cleared his throat again and, this time, it actually made him wince. "It's not that I don't like them, I just . . ." He actually looked apologetic as he looked up at David and continued, "I'm sort of allergic to them."
David had been sure that his eyes couldn't open any wider. He was wrong. "Allergic?" he said in alarm. "What . . . why didn't I know that?"
"Um, I guess it just never came up," Cook said sheepishly.
"Wait, how allergic?" David asked, feeling a rising panic working its way through his body. He half expected Cook to fall over and start convulsing or something. "What's going to happen?" he asked in fear.
"Nothing, nothing," Cook assured him, but his voice still sounded . . . off. Clearing his throat yet again, he said, "I just get a little swollen . . . maybe turn a little red, that's all. I'm sure it'll be fine."
David leaned in closer, examining the older man's face carefully. What he saw drew any remaining color from his face. "Cook!" he cried. "You're all splotchy! And listen to you . . . you can hardly breathe! Oh my gosh, I poisoned you!" he proclaimed.
"Archie, no . . ." Cook said, reaching out to grab his hand. "I'm fine." His words lost all power of persuasion, though, when he ended them with a wheezing coughing fit.
"That's it," David announced definitively. "We're going to the emergency room."
Cook looked up, shaking his head, but still unable to get out enough words to protest. That made up David's mind. He had the older man out in the car within a few minutes, their romantic dinner left behind to grow cold on the counter. David didn't even give it a second thought.
-=-=-=-=-
The emergency room was packed. Apparently, Valentine's Day was a more dangerous holiday than David had ever imagined.
They sat amongst the sick and injured and waited. Cook was obviously trying to force air down his throat and the sound was making David very nervous. Finally, after less than five minutes that David swore had dragged on for hours, he sprang from his seat and darted over to the front desk.
"Um, excuse me?" he said politely to the dark-haired woman in green scrubs who was manning the desk. She looked up and cocked her eyebrow at him, but didn't speak. "My, um . . . my friend . . . he's having an allergic reaction. He can't breathe very well and I was wondering---"
"Did you sign in?" she interrupted.
"Um, yes," David answered. "But they told us to sit and we'd be called, but I don't think-"
"Sir, we have a lot of people who need attention, as you can see," she said. "We'll get to your friend soon, okay?" She didn't even wait for a reply, just turned back to the stack of paperwork in front of her as if David were no longer there.
With a sigh, he turned on his heel, ready to head back over and check on Cook. But, as he turned around, he saw that Cook had hunched over in his seat, putting his face between his knees. David could tell even from a distance that his breathing was getting more labored and the sight seemed to spark something within him.
Turning back around, David said, "Look, my boyfr-um, friend," he amended, "is really sick. He needs a doctor, dangit! And I will not let him suffocate in this gosh darned waiting room, lady!" The fire in his voice surprised even him, but he stared hard at the woman, refusing to back down.
The woman's eyebrows rose again. But, this time instead of commenting, she just nodded her head. "Okay, alright, bring him back," she said.
David felt a rush of relief as he nodded thankfully to her, then ran over to collect Cook.
-=-=-=-=-
Half an hour later, Cook was lying in a hospital bed, a large wad of cotton gauze taped to the curve of his arm where he'd received several shots. His breathing had returned to normal and the red splotches were starting to fade from his pale skin.
David sat next to the bed, behind the pale, green curtain that was drawn around it, holding Cook's hand in his own. "Gosh, I'm so sorry," he said for what was probably the fortieth time of the day.
"It's okay," Cook assured him again. "It wasn't your fault, anyway. How could you know? I should have told you."
"Gosh, but you could have . . . I mean, what if something . . ." David couldn't finish the sentence, his own throat closing around the rest of the words.
Cook used his free hand to grip David's shoulder and said, "Archie, I'm fine." He waited until David had looked up and met his gaze, before nodding and repeating, "Fine."
David returned the nod, reaching up to swipe at the wetness in his eyes. He sighed, then, and said, "I didn't even put the food away. The ice cream for the brownies is still sitting in the sink."
With a shrug, Cook said, "We'll stop and get Chinese at that place by the house. Take-out in bed sounds like a good idea, anyway. And, hey, we can still have brownies for dessert." He gave David a wink, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"You know how much I love you, right Arch?" he asked softly.
A smile tugged at David's lips as he blushed and said, "Yeah, I know. I, um . . . me, too." The emergency room wasn't exactly the place for declarations, in his opinion. Cook didn't seem to mind, though. He just smiled and squeezed David's hand.
-=-=-=-=-
Two hours later, they'd finally made it home. The paperwork at the hospital had taken much longer than the actual exam. By the time they'd finished it, Cook was feeling pretty much back to normal.
After stopping for Chinese food, Cook had insisted that David forget about the mess in the kitchen for the night. Andy and Neal were both out of town, so no one else was going to be using the kitchen anyway. "And, besides, I don't want to waste any more of our Valentine's Day doing things with our clothes on." He followed his words with a grin and leaned in for a kiss, but David turned his head sharply before their lips could meet.
"No, wait!" he cried. Cook frowned, his expression clearly confused. "The strawberries," David explained. "I ate them and I haven't brushed my teeth yet."
Cook barked a laugh at that, shaking his head as he said, "Arch, I don't think I could have an allergic reaction from that, especially after so many hours."
David shrugged and said, "I'm not taking any chances." Then, without another word, he moved past Cook and darted up the stairs. The older man had no choice but to follow.
-=-=-=-=-
Later, after the food was half gone and their clothes were completely gone, David lay curled against Cook's body, his head resting on his boyfriend's bare chest. "I'm sorry again for poisoning you," he said as his fingers traced an invisible pattern over the slight swell of Cook's belly.
Cook chuckled and said, "Stop apologizing."
But then, David sat up, bringing his eyes up to meet Cook's as he said, "I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you." He was afraid that Cook would deflect his words with a joke, but the sight of tears gathering at the corners of Cook's eyes told a different story.
"You'll never find out," he said softly. Reaching out, Cook drew David up towards him and into his arms, hugging his smaller body impossibly close. "I love you," he breathed into David's hair.
David smiled against Cook's shoulder and replied, "I love you, too." Placing a soft kiss to the spot where Cook's shoulder met his neck, David whispered, "Happy Valentine's Day."
It was definitely a day that they would never forget.
-=-=-=-=-
The End
February 12, 2009
-=-=-=-=-
Title: Strawberries
Author: courts
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rated: PG
Summary: It was their first Valentine's Day together; David wanted it to be something that they would always remember. As it turned out, that would not be a problem.
Notes: So, remember that prompt table? I'm still determined to finish it. Here's one more down. This is also a quasi-response to the Valentine's Day Challenge at cookleta.
Thanks: To vna04 for giving me the idea for this in a chat we had a while back. And to nightingale_12 for beta reading. I told you I'd be back to writing Cook/Archie eventually ;)
-=-=-=-=-
Strawberries
It was supposed to be a perfect night. David Archuleta had spent most of the day cooking a romantic meal, all the while rushing around the house to put flowers in all the vases and silk sheets on Cook's king-sized bed. He knew it was all completely cheesy, but he didn't think that Cook would mind. After all, David knew the older man had a soft spot for kitschy, romantic gestures. And, anyway, it was their first Valentine's Day together; David wanted it to be something that they would always remember.
As it turned out, that would not be a problem.
Cook had been gone for most of the day, exiled from his own home by his young lover and told not to be back until six o'clock. It was five minutes after when he finally reentered the house, a big bouquet of red roses in one hand and a giant Teddy bear in the other.
David smirked at the bear, watching as Cook set the flowers on the hall table, then allowing Cook to draw him into a tight embrace. "Happy Valentine's Day, Arch," he said softly. His lips brushed David's ear as he spoke, his warm breath sending a shiver through David that he was sure Cook was aware of.
David pulled away, then, clearing his throat as he said, "Um, dinner is just about ready if you wanna . . ." He trailed off, turning to head down the hall towards the dining room, but not before catching the older man grinning wickedly in his direction.
After managing to make Cook to stop leering at him long enough to get him into his seat at the table, David served the first course. It was a spinach salad, garnished with walnuts and homemade dressing. It, like most of the dishes he'd prepared, was his mother's recipe. And, after spending half the day calling her to ask question after question in hopes of not messing anything up, David was quite proud of how it had all turned out.
He set Cook's plate in front of him at the head of the table and took his seat to Cook's right. David watched carefully as the older man looked down at the salad, then back at David. He smiled and said, "Looks great, Arch."
"Well, try it," David coaxed. He had tasted it himself and thought it was pretty good, but he really, really wanted Cook to agree.
He watched nervously as Cook took his first bite. He chewed slowly and David didn't miss the teasing grin threatening to curl his lips. Obviously catching the anxious look in David's eyes, though, Cook quickly swallowed and, reaching over to pat David's hand, said, "It's really great, babe."
David couldn't hold back a small sigh of relief. He returned Cook's smile, then dug into his own salad.
They chatted about their respective days as they both ate, falling quickly into comfortable conversation as always. That was one of David's favorite things about Cook; he never felt tongue-tied or awkward around him. Even when the topic shifted to something that David didn't know that much about, Cook had a way of drawing him into the conversation and putting him immediately at ease. It was a great feeling.
They'd both finished their salads and David rose from the table to get the next course. As he was pulling the eggplant Parmesan from the oven, David heard, "Um, Archie?" from the next room. It wasn't the words so much as the tone that caught David's attention. He set the dish aside, moving quickly back into the dining room.
"Did you need something?" he asked. It was weird, but he had a sudden sense of foreboding that made absolutely no sense to him.
Cook cleared his throat roughly, looking a little flushed as he asked, "Uh . . . what was in the salad?"
"Huh?" That was a weird question.
"The salad," he repeated. "What was in it?"
"Um . . . spinach," he said in confusion. "And walnuts. And, um . . . mandarin oranges . . . why?"
Cook swallowed roughly, almost painfully, and said in a scratchy voice, "Anything else?"
David furrowed his brow, wondering what this was about. He tried to recall all of the ingredients he'd used. "Uh, well, I made the dressing, too. It had oil, vinegar, a little sugar . . . oh, and strawberries."
At the last word, Cook looked up sharply. "Strawberries?" he croaked.
Eyes wide, David nodded. "Yeah, um, why? You don't like strawberries?"
Cook cleared his throat again and, this time, it actually made him wince. "It's not that I don't like them, I just . . ." He actually looked apologetic as he looked up at David and continued, "I'm sort of allergic to them."
David had been sure that his eyes couldn't open any wider. He was wrong. "Allergic?" he said in alarm. "What . . . why didn't I know that?"
"Um, I guess it just never came up," Cook said sheepishly.
"Wait, how allergic?" David asked, feeling a rising panic working its way through his body. He half expected Cook to fall over and start convulsing or something. "What's going to happen?" he asked in fear.
"Nothing, nothing," Cook assured him, but his voice still sounded . . . off. Clearing his throat yet again, he said, "I just get a little swollen . . . maybe turn a little red, that's all. I'm sure it'll be fine."
David leaned in closer, examining the older man's face carefully. What he saw drew any remaining color from his face. "Cook!" he cried. "You're all splotchy! And listen to you . . . you can hardly breathe! Oh my gosh, I poisoned you!" he proclaimed.
"Archie, no . . ." Cook said, reaching out to grab his hand. "I'm fine." His words lost all power of persuasion, though, when he ended them with a wheezing coughing fit.
"That's it," David announced definitively. "We're going to the emergency room."
Cook looked up, shaking his head, but still unable to get out enough words to protest. That made up David's mind. He had the older man out in the car within a few minutes, their romantic dinner left behind to grow cold on the counter. David didn't even give it a second thought.
-=-=-=-=-
The emergency room was packed. Apparently, Valentine's Day was a more dangerous holiday than David had ever imagined.
They sat amongst the sick and injured and waited. Cook was obviously trying to force air down his throat and the sound was making David very nervous. Finally, after less than five minutes that David swore had dragged on for hours, he sprang from his seat and darted over to the front desk.
"Um, excuse me?" he said politely to the dark-haired woman in green scrubs who was manning the desk. She looked up and cocked her eyebrow at him, but didn't speak. "My, um . . . my friend . . . he's having an allergic reaction. He can't breathe very well and I was wondering---"
"Did you sign in?" she interrupted.
"Um, yes," David answered. "But they told us to sit and we'd be called, but I don't think-"
"Sir, we have a lot of people who need attention, as you can see," she said. "We'll get to your friend soon, okay?" She didn't even wait for a reply, just turned back to the stack of paperwork in front of her as if David were no longer there.
With a sigh, he turned on his heel, ready to head back over and check on Cook. But, as he turned around, he saw that Cook had hunched over in his seat, putting his face between his knees. David could tell even from a distance that his breathing was getting more labored and the sight seemed to spark something within him.
Turning back around, David said, "Look, my boyfr-um, friend," he amended, "is really sick. He needs a doctor, dangit! And I will not let him suffocate in this gosh darned waiting room, lady!" The fire in his voice surprised even him, but he stared hard at the woman, refusing to back down.
The woman's eyebrows rose again. But, this time instead of commenting, she just nodded her head. "Okay, alright, bring him back," she said.
David felt a rush of relief as he nodded thankfully to her, then ran over to collect Cook.
-=-=-=-=-
Half an hour later, Cook was lying in a hospital bed, a large wad of cotton gauze taped to the curve of his arm where he'd received several shots. His breathing had returned to normal and the red splotches were starting to fade from his pale skin.
David sat next to the bed, behind the pale, green curtain that was drawn around it, holding Cook's hand in his own. "Gosh, I'm so sorry," he said for what was probably the fortieth time of the day.
"It's okay," Cook assured him again. "It wasn't your fault, anyway. How could you know? I should have told you."
"Gosh, but you could have . . . I mean, what if something . . ." David couldn't finish the sentence, his own throat closing around the rest of the words.
Cook used his free hand to grip David's shoulder and said, "Archie, I'm fine." He waited until David had looked up and met his gaze, before nodding and repeating, "Fine."
David returned the nod, reaching up to swipe at the wetness in his eyes. He sighed, then, and said, "I didn't even put the food away. The ice cream for the brownies is still sitting in the sink."
With a shrug, Cook said, "We'll stop and get Chinese at that place by the house. Take-out in bed sounds like a good idea, anyway. And, hey, we can still have brownies for dessert." He gave David a wink, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"You know how much I love you, right Arch?" he asked softly.
A smile tugged at David's lips as he blushed and said, "Yeah, I know. I, um . . . me, too." The emergency room wasn't exactly the place for declarations, in his opinion. Cook didn't seem to mind, though. He just smiled and squeezed David's hand.
-=-=-=-=-
Two hours later, they'd finally made it home. The paperwork at the hospital had taken much longer than the actual exam. By the time they'd finished it, Cook was feeling pretty much back to normal.
After stopping for Chinese food, Cook had insisted that David forget about the mess in the kitchen for the night. Andy and Neal were both out of town, so no one else was going to be using the kitchen anyway. "And, besides, I don't want to waste any more of our Valentine's Day doing things with our clothes on." He followed his words with a grin and leaned in for a kiss, but David turned his head sharply before their lips could meet.
"No, wait!" he cried. Cook frowned, his expression clearly confused. "The strawberries," David explained. "I ate them and I haven't brushed my teeth yet."
Cook barked a laugh at that, shaking his head as he said, "Arch, I don't think I could have an allergic reaction from that, especially after so many hours."
David shrugged and said, "I'm not taking any chances." Then, without another word, he moved past Cook and darted up the stairs. The older man had no choice but to follow.
-=-=-=-=-
Later, after the food was half gone and their clothes were completely gone, David lay curled against Cook's body, his head resting on his boyfriend's bare chest. "I'm sorry again for poisoning you," he said as his fingers traced an invisible pattern over the slight swell of Cook's belly.
Cook chuckled and said, "Stop apologizing."
But then, David sat up, bringing his eyes up to meet Cook's as he said, "I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you." He was afraid that Cook would deflect his words with a joke, but the sight of tears gathering at the corners of Cook's eyes told a different story.
"You'll never find out," he said softly. Reaching out, Cook drew David up towards him and into his arms, hugging his smaller body impossibly close. "I love you," he breathed into David's hair.
David smiled against Cook's shoulder and replied, "I love you, too." Placing a soft kiss to the spot where Cook's shoulder met his neck, David whispered, "Happy Valentine's Day."
It was definitely a day that they would never forget.
-=-=-=-=-
The End
February 12, 2009
-=-=-=-=-