AVALANCHE: Fresh Powder [2/?] -- PG
[title] AVALANCHE: Fresh Powder [2/?]
[author] kissontheneck [aka fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta, Marly UST, bromance!Mavid
[beta] jehane18 <=== ZOMG, really? :D
[rating] PG
[word count] 2568
[summary] David is on a nice holiday ski trip with his family. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to ski, but a couple private lessons should remedy that problem.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Pink cheeks and some invasion of personal space.
[author's notes] Okay, people, jehane18 rules my life, okay? Not only did she help me out like WHOA, but also helped me come up with a brilliant idea. (This is where the two of us giggle behind our hands in an "inside joke" kind of way.) I love you, girl, thanks for convincing me that I could indeed be patient enough for someone else to read what I wrote before I posted it.
Oh shoot, I just realized that I should have a banner for this blessed thing if it's gonna be multi-chaptered. WOE. I mean, shouldn't I??
PART ONE: Milk Run
PART TWO:
AVALANCHE: Fresh Powder
David Archuleta would like to just die right about now. He didn't want to be here in the first place and now this. Sure, a family ski trip sounded fine, because David knows there's tons more to do at a ski lodge than just ski. And in the past he's always entertained himself when the rest of his family headed off for the slopes. He just wasn't that interested and while they always teased him about it, they still let him do whatever he liked on his own. It was a vacation after all, right? And on vacations you're supposed to do whatever you want to at any given moment.
So he's not completely certain how he's ended up outside the lodge at eight in the gosh darn morning, tangled up on the ground in a mess of skis and poles and arms and legs. He could blame it on his father for a start, who finally insisted he learn to ski since his eleven year old sister was already setting her eyes on more advanced slopes and really, how embarrassing is that? Well, maybe it's embarrassing to his father, but since David doesn't really care it makes no difference to him. Besides, the image of Daniel flying over a jump and breaking his wrist last winter isn't helping David develop any more enthusiasm for this insane sport. And now he finds himself face down in level snow because he can't even stand up on these insane things and whoever even thought it was a good idea to strap planks to your feet and slide down a mountain in the first place?
Crazy people, that's who, and as David struggles to right himself (he considers a moment that he might have dislocated his knee already, but that's probably just the paranoia setting in) he becomes more and more frustrated with the fact that this is all against his will and he's not enjoying one second of it and he's just kind of more than annoyed with his father right now. And besides all of that, a giant chunk of packed snow has slipped under his collar and is rapidly melting against his skin and soaking his favorite sweater.
What a fine day this is turning out to be, indeed.
David flails, uncaring now whether he's managing any sort of organized untying of his limbs. He just wants out and up on his feet again and he's so annoyed that his cheeks get hot and his eyes tingle just a little bit. He kicks his feet, genuinely hoping the stupid skis will just break off (he knows there's an emergency release thing on there somewhere) and he can just walk back up to the cabin and read a book or something. Preferably one about Hawaii or the Caribbean or something. But it's as he's jerking his extremities in every which direction that he suddenly hears a voice that makes him pause and remember that he's not the only person on earth.
"Hey, hey, hey! Watch it, kid, you're gonna put an eye out if you keep on like that. Hold still a second!"
There is a firm grip on David's shoulder before he's unceremoniously pulled from his front and shoved onto his back. The early morning sun temporarily blinds him and he squints upward towards the emerging silhouette he sees before him. The figure is lumbering and if David hadn't already been aware of his environment, he'd think he was suddenly thrust into the middle of an alien abduction movie. Sunlight glances off of his rescuer's wide, orange-tinted ski goggles and it strikes him as a more than just a little eerie. Focus comes to him slowly as the outline of a knit cap, those blessed goggles and a scruffy chin start to become recognizable.
"Here," the voice says again and David watches as the silhouette pulls at his skis to untangle them before thrusting a gloved hand into David's face.
"Come on, plant your skis, flex your thighs, up you come."
David almost forgets to let go of his ski pole before he takes hold of the offered hand and is carefully pulled to a standing position. It takes him a minute to feel confident in his balance and he finds that the helping hand on his arm knows he still needs a little stabilization.
"Thanks," David finally says, sheepishly. He rubs his eyes and finally looks up, just as his companion is pushing his goggles up onto his forehead. It doesn't escape David's notice that his savior is sort of ruggedly attractive with crystal clear hazel eyes that catch glints of light off the snow. He shakes his head a little bit to clear his mind and he looks down and kind of scoots his skis back and forth nervously. "I'm probably not that cut out for this if I can't even stand up straight," he adds, fiddling with the wrist strap on his left pole.
"Nah, I've taught babies to ski, you're gonna be just fine."
David blinks and brings his attention back onto the young man's face. "Oh! You're an instructor," he says.
"I'm your instructor," comes the reply. "David Cook, at your service."
The gloved hand is extended once again and David feels like running away. It was bad enough to fall over for no reason in the first place, and for a complete stranger to witness it; but when it turns out to be your own instructor, well, David just feels like pulling off all his gear before he makes even more of a fool of himself.
However, it seems his body doesn't agree with his current train of thought -- not to mention it's been fully ingrained into his being anyway -- and his own gloved hand meets his teacher's. "Hi," he says a bit quietly. "My name's David too."
There's a certain glow to the smile that fills the other David's cheeks and it sends a streak of warmth through David's own chest just a little bit. He's a bit surprised by this, just as he is any time he feels that strange feeling pulse through him, which has been happening quite a bit more frequently lately. Blinking, he diverts his gaze for a second to try and regain himself. He knows he has a problem with being distracted by the thoughts in his head and this is seriously not the time for that to be happening. He imagines for a second crashing into a tree or something all because he didn't hear some instruction given to him while he was instead admiring how his instructor's eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed.
"You can just call me Cook, if you want," his new coach offers. "Everyone else around here does anyway."
"Cook," David manages to say, "right. Good." David still isn't looking at Cook because now he's been distracted by something else just over his companion's shoulder. He can see into the glass-fronted section of the lodge where he's pretty sure the pro shop is, and peering out at him are two people, a man and a woman, who are pretty obviously watching him and Cook with expectant eyes. It's clear they've noticed that he's noticed them, because the broad-shouldered man in the navy blue turtleneck grins and waves at him and David swears the lady's lips wrap around the words, "Wow, he's cute."
Heat fills David's cheeks and he hopes that the pink that is inevitably painting his face right now is taken as a reaction to the cold rather than what it truly is. Forgetting that he's got two-by-fours strapped to his toes, he steps back out of nervous habit, his body stiffening as he realizes he's losing his balance again. His eyes squeeze shut as he anticipates the inevitable fall.
However, the expected crash doesn't come, due to the sudden grasp on his arm, and when David opens his eyes he finds Cook dangerously close to him and pulling him even closer.
"Okay, first order of business," Cook says, steadying David with both hands now. "We learn how to stand on your skis."
David knows he's blushing now and attempts to divert his eyes entirely. He kind of has the instinct to run for his life except he knows he'd just fall on his face again. He's reminding himself to breathe when there's a sudden tug on his feet and when he turns his head he realizes Cook has ducked down below him and is struggling to even out his stance. The next second there's warmth on his shins, a grip at his calves and a gentle push at the back of his knees.
"You're too stiff!" Cook calls out. "Relax a little!"
David can not relax. It is absolutely impossible for him to relax. He's usually a little squeamish when anyone touches him, let alone a handsome stranger feeling him up without warning. He lets out a lungful of air and tries to do as he's told. Why did his dad make him do this? Why didn't he just stay in bed? And why couldn't he have a female instructor? That would have solved a lot of the problems he was experiencing right about now.
Cook pops back up into his vision, his brow furrowed as if he's concentrating on a math problem. "You have to relax," he repeats. "You can't be so tense, you'll never get anywhere. And don't lock your joints like you are. You want to keep your body flexible, the stance you want is to lean forward slightly and bend at your waist. Is it okay if I show you?"
David pauses a second before he answers. "I guess so," he says, accompanying his answer with a nod.
The world muffles as Cook's hands fall to David's shoulder and waist, respectively, pushing and pulling as needed to give him a more balanced stance. A strange tingle shoots across David's chest and he is suddenly able to bend as instructed -- because his knees turn to jelly and he nearly collapses.
For the second time in as many minutes Cook grabs at David to keep him from falling and David's about ready to melt into another fit of flying limbs and ski poles on the ground. He hates this. Hates it, hates it, hates it. Most of all he hates that he let his dad push him into something that he didn't want to do again. It was the story of his life.
"Oh!" he calls out and instinctively grabs at Cook's strong, supportive arms. "Oh, I just wish -- I'm done," he finishes. "I can't do this."
Cook's eyes go wide and he makes a crooked line with his mouth. "Really? Shoot, easiest three hundred bucks I ever made. Mike and I can hit the bar early today."
David glares at Cook with wild surprise in his eyes. "What?"
A smile breaks Cook's face and he chuckles slightly. "I'm just joking. But I've never had anyone give up so early, especially after they've paid for a full day of instruction."
David blinks in disbelief. He realizes that he had no clue how long his lesson was supposed to be, though it doesn't surprise him that his dad has gone straight for the top bracket, expecting him to master this ridiculous activity in one day. He sighs and grips his hands tightly around his ski poles.
"Is that how much this cost?" he asks curiously. "My dad, I swear..."
"Crazy, right?" Cook says as he eases his handle on David's shoulders. "Better than I've been doing lately though, so you take what you can get."
David isn't certain how he's supposed to take this statement. He knows he has difficulty telling when people are joking with him, but Cook seems so serious that it somehow strikes him as offensive. Deciding he's really done with this whole waste of his morning, David lets his poles drop into the snow and he allows himself to fall awkwardly to the ground as he starts to paw at the bindings on his boots.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Cook says, falling to his knees next to David and attempting to grab his wrists. "What are you doing?"
"I told you I'm done," David says, his words as frigid as the mountain air around them as he fights against Cook's grasp. "I told my dad I didn't want to do this in the first place and so I'm just not going to do it, end of story."
David is too busy having his mini meltdown to notice right away that Cook is looking at him with gentle eyes, eyes that are thoughtful and maybe just a little bit concerned. Cook pushes back onto his haunches, allowing David to struggle with freeing himself from his skis until David finally looks back at him.
"What?" David says, realizing Cook is basically just staring at him.
Cook purses his lips a second and cocks his head so that the sunlight flashes across his goggles again. "How old are you, David?"
"What?" David's answers are becoming more indignant, though that might have something to do with the fact that his glove is now snagged on one of the clips of his right ski.
"I just wonder because you seem so concerned about what your dad thinks," Cook answers coolly. "I mean, it sounds like he's making you do this even though you don't want to -- well, besides the fact that at the moment you're not, but I digress. I don't know, you seem old enough to make choices for yourself is all I'm saying."
David blinks and pauses in his struggles with the shedding of his equipment. He knows Cook is right, even without knowing him that well. But Cook doesn't understand what it's like under his father's reign either. It's a strict household and you do what your father says, no matter what.
Cook is looking at him expectantly, and even though David is pretty irritated and just wants to lock himself up in his room at the cabin for the rest of the day, there's something about his instructor's gaze -- the wink at the corner of his eyes or the crease that crosses his forehead like a bunny slope -- that calms his heart a little and lessens the heat that is rising in his face.
"Nineteen," he finally answers and it seems his response pleases Cook because he flashes a toothy grin and his eyes light up even more than they have all morning.
"Aw, hell, David," Cook says, stumbling over a small laugh, "not only are you old enough to run your own life, but to totally piss off your father by proving to be better than he ever expected." At this, Cook pitches forward, rips David's hands from his boots and starts re-buckling the bindings with a devilish haste.
"Hey! What are you doing?" David says, though he doesn't fight it one bit.
"What does it look like?" Cook says as he secures the last snap before getting up to his feet and brushing the snow from his knees. He pauses and grins even wider than David imagines is possible and once again offers his hand to help him up. "Congratulations, you're my new project."
David swallows hard, blinks up at Cook and then surprising even himself, takes a firm grip of his new friend's hand.
♥
PART THREE: Drop In --->
[author] kissontheneck [aka fieryrogue]
[pairing] Cookleta, Marly UST, bromance!Mavid
[beta] jehane18 <=== ZOMG, really? :D
[rating] PG
[word count] 2568
[summary] David is on a nice holiday ski trip with his family. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to ski, but a couple private lessons should remedy that problem.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Pink cheeks and some invasion of personal space.
[author's notes] Okay, people, jehane18 rules my life, okay? Not only did she help me out like WHOA, but also helped me come up with a brilliant idea. (This is where the two of us giggle behind our hands in an "inside joke" kind of way.) I love you, girl, thanks for convincing me that I could indeed be patient enough for someone else to read what I wrote before I posted it.
Oh shoot, I just realized that I should have a banner for this blessed thing if it's gonna be multi-chaptered. WOE. I mean, shouldn't I??
PART ONE: Milk Run
PART TWO:
AVALANCHE: Fresh Powder
David Archuleta would like to just die right about now. He didn't want to be here in the first place and now this. Sure, a family ski trip sounded fine, because David knows there's tons more to do at a ski lodge than just ski. And in the past he's always entertained himself when the rest of his family headed off for the slopes. He just wasn't that interested and while they always teased him about it, they still let him do whatever he liked on his own. It was a vacation after all, right? And on vacations you're supposed to do whatever you want to at any given moment.
So he's not completely certain how he's ended up outside the lodge at eight in the gosh darn morning, tangled up on the ground in a mess of skis and poles and arms and legs. He could blame it on his father for a start, who finally insisted he learn to ski since his eleven year old sister was already setting her eyes on more advanced slopes and really, how embarrassing is that? Well, maybe it's embarrassing to his father, but since David doesn't really care it makes no difference to him. Besides, the image of Daniel flying over a jump and breaking his wrist last winter isn't helping David develop any more enthusiasm for this insane sport. And now he finds himself face down in level snow because he can't even stand up on these insane things and whoever even thought it was a good idea to strap planks to your feet and slide down a mountain in the first place?
Crazy people, that's who, and as David struggles to right himself (he considers a moment that he might have dislocated his knee already, but that's probably just the paranoia setting in) he becomes more and more frustrated with the fact that this is all against his will and he's not enjoying one second of it and he's just kind of more than annoyed with his father right now. And besides all of that, a giant chunk of packed snow has slipped under his collar and is rapidly melting against his skin and soaking his favorite sweater.
What a fine day this is turning out to be, indeed.
David flails, uncaring now whether he's managing any sort of organized untying of his limbs. He just wants out and up on his feet again and he's so annoyed that his cheeks get hot and his eyes tingle just a little bit. He kicks his feet, genuinely hoping the stupid skis will just break off (he knows there's an emergency release thing on there somewhere) and he can just walk back up to the cabin and read a book or something. Preferably one about Hawaii or the Caribbean or something. But it's as he's jerking his extremities in every which direction that he suddenly hears a voice that makes him pause and remember that he's not the only person on earth.
"Hey, hey, hey! Watch it, kid, you're gonna put an eye out if you keep on like that. Hold still a second!"
There is a firm grip on David's shoulder before he's unceremoniously pulled from his front and shoved onto his back. The early morning sun temporarily blinds him and he squints upward towards the emerging silhouette he sees before him. The figure is lumbering and if David hadn't already been aware of his environment, he'd think he was suddenly thrust into the middle of an alien abduction movie. Sunlight glances off of his rescuer's wide, orange-tinted ski goggles and it strikes him as a more than just a little eerie. Focus comes to him slowly as the outline of a knit cap, those blessed goggles and a scruffy chin start to become recognizable.
"Here," the voice says again and David watches as the silhouette pulls at his skis to untangle them before thrusting a gloved hand into David's face.
"Come on, plant your skis, flex your thighs, up you come."
David almost forgets to let go of his ski pole before he takes hold of the offered hand and is carefully pulled to a standing position. It takes him a minute to feel confident in his balance and he finds that the helping hand on his arm knows he still needs a little stabilization.
"Thanks," David finally says, sheepishly. He rubs his eyes and finally looks up, just as his companion is pushing his goggles up onto his forehead. It doesn't escape David's notice that his savior is sort of ruggedly attractive with crystal clear hazel eyes that catch glints of light off the snow. He shakes his head a little bit to clear his mind and he looks down and kind of scoots his skis back and forth nervously. "I'm probably not that cut out for this if I can't even stand up straight," he adds, fiddling with the wrist strap on his left pole.
"Nah, I've taught babies to ski, you're gonna be just fine."
David blinks and brings his attention back onto the young man's face. "Oh! You're an instructor," he says.
"I'm your instructor," comes the reply. "David Cook, at your service."
The gloved hand is extended once again and David feels like running away. It was bad enough to fall over for no reason in the first place, and for a complete stranger to witness it; but when it turns out to be your own instructor, well, David just feels like pulling off all his gear before he makes even more of a fool of himself.
However, it seems his body doesn't agree with his current train of thought -- not to mention it's been fully ingrained into his being anyway -- and his own gloved hand meets his teacher's. "Hi," he says a bit quietly. "My name's David too."
There's a certain glow to the smile that fills the other David's cheeks and it sends a streak of warmth through David's own chest just a little bit. He's a bit surprised by this, just as he is any time he feels that strange feeling pulse through him, which has been happening quite a bit more frequently lately. Blinking, he diverts his gaze for a second to try and regain himself. He knows he has a problem with being distracted by the thoughts in his head and this is seriously not the time for that to be happening. He imagines for a second crashing into a tree or something all because he didn't hear some instruction given to him while he was instead admiring how his instructor's eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed.
"You can just call me Cook, if you want," his new coach offers. "Everyone else around here does anyway."
"Cook," David manages to say, "right. Good." David still isn't looking at Cook because now he's been distracted by something else just over his companion's shoulder. He can see into the glass-fronted section of the lodge where he's pretty sure the pro shop is, and peering out at him are two people, a man and a woman, who are pretty obviously watching him and Cook with expectant eyes. It's clear they've noticed that he's noticed them, because the broad-shouldered man in the navy blue turtleneck grins and waves at him and David swears the lady's lips wrap around the words, "Wow, he's cute."
Heat fills David's cheeks and he hopes that the pink that is inevitably painting his face right now is taken as a reaction to the cold rather than what it truly is. Forgetting that he's got two-by-fours strapped to his toes, he steps back out of nervous habit, his body stiffening as he realizes he's losing his balance again. His eyes squeeze shut as he anticipates the inevitable fall.
However, the expected crash doesn't come, due to the sudden grasp on his arm, and when David opens his eyes he finds Cook dangerously close to him and pulling him even closer.
"Okay, first order of business," Cook says, steadying David with both hands now. "We learn how to stand on your skis."
David knows he's blushing now and attempts to divert his eyes entirely. He kind of has the instinct to run for his life except he knows he'd just fall on his face again. He's reminding himself to breathe when there's a sudden tug on his feet and when he turns his head he realizes Cook has ducked down below him and is struggling to even out his stance. The next second there's warmth on his shins, a grip at his calves and a gentle push at the back of his knees.
"You're too stiff!" Cook calls out. "Relax a little!"
David can not relax. It is absolutely impossible for him to relax. He's usually a little squeamish when anyone touches him, let alone a handsome stranger feeling him up without warning. He lets out a lungful of air and tries to do as he's told. Why did his dad make him do this? Why didn't he just stay in bed? And why couldn't he have a female instructor? That would have solved a lot of the problems he was experiencing right about now.
Cook pops back up into his vision, his brow furrowed as if he's concentrating on a math problem. "You have to relax," he repeats. "You can't be so tense, you'll never get anywhere. And don't lock your joints like you are. You want to keep your body flexible, the stance you want is to lean forward slightly and bend at your waist. Is it okay if I show you?"
David pauses a second before he answers. "I guess so," he says, accompanying his answer with a nod.
The world muffles as Cook's hands fall to David's shoulder and waist, respectively, pushing and pulling as needed to give him a more balanced stance. A strange tingle shoots across David's chest and he is suddenly able to bend as instructed -- because his knees turn to jelly and he nearly collapses.
For the second time in as many minutes Cook grabs at David to keep him from falling and David's about ready to melt into another fit of flying limbs and ski poles on the ground. He hates this. Hates it, hates it, hates it. Most of all he hates that he let his dad push him into something that he didn't want to do again. It was the story of his life.
"Oh!" he calls out and instinctively grabs at Cook's strong, supportive arms. "Oh, I just wish -- I'm done," he finishes. "I can't do this."
Cook's eyes go wide and he makes a crooked line with his mouth. "Really? Shoot, easiest three hundred bucks I ever made. Mike and I can hit the bar early today."
David glares at Cook with wild surprise in his eyes. "What?"
A smile breaks Cook's face and he chuckles slightly. "I'm just joking. But I've never had anyone give up so early, especially after they've paid for a full day of instruction."
David blinks in disbelief. He realizes that he had no clue how long his lesson was supposed to be, though it doesn't surprise him that his dad has gone straight for the top bracket, expecting him to master this ridiculous activity in one day. He sighs and grips his hands tightly around his ski poles.
"Is that how much this cost?" he asks curiously. "My dad, I swear..."
"Crazy, right?" Cook says as he eases his handle on David's shoulders. "Better than I've been doing lately though, so you take what you can get."
David isn't certain how he's supposed to take this statement. He knows he has difficulty telling when people are joking with him, but Cook seems so serious that it somehow strikes him as offensive. Deciding he's really done with this whole waste of his morning, David lets his poles drop into the snow and he allows himself to fall awkwardly to the ground as he starts to paw at the bindings on his boots.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Cook says, falling to his knees next to David and attempting to grab his wrists. "What are you doing?"
"I told you I'm done," David says, his words as frigid as the mountain air around them as he fights against Cook's grasp. "I told my dad I didn't want to do this in the first place and so I'm just not going to do it, end of story."
David is too busy having his mini meltdown to notice right away that Cook is looking at him with gentle eyes, eyes that are thoughtful and maybe just a little bit concerned. Cook pushes back onto his haunches, allowing David to struggle with freeing himself from his skis until David finally looks back at him.
"What?" David says, realizing Cook is basically just staring at him.
Cook purses his lips a second and cocks his head so that the sunlight flashes across his goggles again. "How old are you, David?"
"What?" David's answers are becoming more indignant, though that might have something to do with the fact that his glove is now snagged on one of the clips of his right ski.
"I just wonder because you seem so concerned about what your dad thinks," Cook answers coolly. "I mean, it sounds like he's making you do this even though you don't want to -- well, besides the fact that at the moment you're not, but I digress. I don't know, you seem old enough to make choices for yourself is all I'm saying."
David blinks and pauses in his struggles with the shedding of his equipment. He knows Cook is right, even without knowing him that well. But Cook doesn't understand what it's like under his father's reign either. It's a strict household and you do what your father says, no matter what.
Cook is looking at him expectantly, and even though David is pretty irritated and just wants to lock himself up in his room at the cabin for the rest of the day, there's something about his instructor's gaze -- the wink at the corner of his eyes or the crease that crosses his forehead like a bunny slope -- that calms his heart a little and lessens the heat that is rising in his face.
"Nineteen," he finally answers and it seems his response pleases Cook because he flashes a toothy grin and his eyes light up even more than they have all morning.
"Aw, hell, David," Cook says, stumbling over a small laugh, "not only are you old enough to run your own life, but to totally piss off your father by proving to be better than he ever expected." At this, Cook pitches forward, rips David's hands from his boots and starts re-buckling the bindings with a devilish haste.
"Hey! What are you doing?" David says, though he doesn't fight it one bit.
"What does it look like?" Cook says as he secures the last snap before getting up to his feet and brushing the snow from his knees. He pauses and grins even wider than David imagines is possible and once again offers his hand to help him up. "Congratulations, you're my new project."
David swallows hard, blinks up at Cook and then surprising even himself, takes a firm grip of his new friend's hand.
♥
PART THREE: Drop In --->