Fic: in these bodies we will live (Idol rpf, dcook/carrie)
Title: in these bodies we will live
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape, or form.
Fandom/Characters: American Idol RPF, David Cook/Carrie Underwood
Word Count: 687
Request: For dudski, who left the decision in my hands. I, er, hope you don't regret that.
The night before news of Carrie's divorce goes public, she ends up at David's door. "This isn't about you," she says when he finally answers, bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips.
"Of course it isn't," he says and opens the door wider, so that she can come in.
She walks through the door. He closes it behind her.
***
Stop. Rewind. This isn't how it starts, this is how it ends. This is how it starts.
***
Carrie shows up at his door, that much was right. She always comes to him. This is not something that most people expect, but that doesn't make it any less true.
She shows up at his door and he opens it for her, because he will always open his door to her no matter how many times he's told himself that this will be the last time.
(The number is higher than ten and less than one hundred. He stopped keeping track after ten.)
It's spring and she has been married for almost a year. It's spring, and her marriage is already over, she just doesn't know it yet. Or maybe she does and she just hasn't accepted it yet.
But that doesn't really matter. What matters is that it's spring and that she's standing at his door and that he lets her in. This is what matters.
"What's wrong?" David asks, as he closes the door behind her.
She turns around to face him and he sees that she's already slipped off her sandals and shaken her hair free of the baseball cap she'd been wearing when he answered the door. It's on his couch and her sunglasses are on his coffee table and she's already started leaving behind the pieces of herself that he will find when she's gone.
He hates that she does this. He loves that she does this. It's the same thing.
"Nothing," she says, smiling at him brightly, too brightly. It's her fake smile, the one she uses for red carpets and photo shoots and not for his living room. "Can I have a drink?"
He stares at her for a minute, trying to decide if he should press the point, and then he shrugs. She'll talk or she won't, and he can't make her do anything. He's never been able to do that. He starts for the kitchen, brushing up against her as he passes, doing it deliberately, just because he can. If he has to suffer, so does she. He's never claimed to be a good man.
She follows him into the kitchen and he opens the refrigerator, pulls out a beer. He twists off the top for her and hands it over, smirking a little as she takes the first drink and makes a face. As far as he knows, this is the only place she ever drinks beer. He's the only one that would ever make her.
He thinks that might be part of the problem.
She drinks and he watches her and neither of them speak. He watches her and yet somehow he still doesn't see the kiss coming.
(He sees the kiss coming.)
She kisses him, shoving him back into the counter, so the edge digs into his back. She kisses him, and he can taste the anger on her tongue. Her hands tangle in his hair and tug, just enough to hurt. She takes and he lets her.
Lets her until her hands start fumbling with the button on his jeans, and then, then he pushes her back. He's not a good man, but there are lines even he won't cross.
(Won't cross yet.)
"No," he says, shaking his head. "We're not going to do that."
She stares at him, mostly in shock, he thinks. People don't say no to her either.
"Fine," she says, and stalks out of the kitchen.
He stays where he is and finishes her beer. He hears the door slam closed. When he goes back into the living room, her sunglasses are still sitting on the coffee table.
She leaves things so she has an excuse to come back. They both know she'd come back either way. She always comes back.
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape, or form.
Fandom/Characters: American Idol RPF, David Cook/Carrie Underwood
Word Count: 687
Request: For dudski, who left the decision in my hands. I, er, hope you don't regret that.
The night before news of Carrie's divorce goes public, she ends up at David's door. "This isn't about you," she says when he finally answers, bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips.
"Of course it isn't," he says and opens the door wider, so that she can come in.
She walks through the door. He closes it behind her.
***
Stop. Rewind. This isn't how it starts, this is how it ends. This is how it starts.
***
Carrie shows up at his door, that much was right. She always comes to him. This is not something that most people expect, but that doesn't make it any less true.
She shows up at his door and he opens it for her, because he will always open his door to her no matter how many times he's told himself that this will be the last time.
(The number is higher than ten and less than one hundred. He stopped keeping track after ten.)
It's spring and she has been married for almost a year. It's spring, and her marriage is already over, she just doesn't know it yet. Or maybe she does and she just hasn't accepted it yet.
But that doesn't really matter. What matters is that it's spring and that she's standing at his door and that he lets her in. This is what matters.
"What's wrong?" David asks, as he closes the door behind her.
She turns around to face him and he sees that she's already slipped off her sandals and shaken her hair free of the baseball cap she'd been wearing when he answered the door. It's on his couch and her sunglasses are on his coffee table and she's already started leaving behind the pieces of herself that he will find when she's gone.
He hates that she does this. He loves that she does this. It's the same thing.
"Nothing," she says, smiling at him brightly, too brightly. It's her fake smile, the one she uses for red carpets and photo shoots and not for his living room. "Can I have a drink?"
He stares at her for a minute, trying to decide if he should press the point, and then he shrugs. She'll talk or she won't, and he can't make her do anything. He's never been able to do that. He starts for the kitchen, brushing up against her as he passes, doing it deliberately, just because he can. If he has to suffer, so does she. He's never claimed to be a good man.
She follows him into the kitchen and he opens the refrigerator, pulls out a beer. He twists off the top for her and hands it over, smirking a little as she takes the first drink and makes a face. As far as he knows, this is the only place she ever drinks beer. He's the only one that would ever make her.
He thinks that might be part of the problem.
She drinks and he watches her and neither of them speak. He watches her and yet somehow he still doesn't see the kiss coming.
(He sees the kiss coming.)
She kisses him, shoving him back into the counter, so the edge digs into his back. She kisses him, and he can taste the anger on her tongue. Her hands tangle in his hair and tug, just enough to hurt. She takes and he lets her.
Lets her until her hands start fumbling with the button on his jeans, and then, then he pushes her back. He's not a good man, but there are lines even he won't cross.
(Won't cross yet.)
"No," he says, shaking his head. "We're not going to do that."
She stares at him, mostly in shock, he thinks. People don't say no to her either.
"Fine," she says, and stalks out of the kitchen.
He stays where he is and finishes her beer. He hears the door slam closed. When he goes back into the living room, her sunglasses are still sitting on the coffee table.
She leaves things so she has an excuse to come back. They both know she'd come back either way. She always comes back.