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labyrinth2015David Squared Colours Challenge Fic: The Rainbow Flag, and Other Stories
Author’s Note: This idea refused to let go – I wanted to write a bunch of drabbles, each based on a Cookleta fic written by some of the most entertaining, prolific writers in this fandom.
I tried to pick fairly recent fics which best fit the colour prompts (Somewhere That’s Green sprang out at me), and also to pick fics which represented the different styles of Cookleta fandom – cracky AU, domestic fic, regency AU, angst, etc.
I should note that the universes and characters of the fics upon which the drabbles The Red Windmill, The OC, Yellow Gold, Blue Movie, Green Shoots, Indigo Song and Purple Heart are based are completely the property of the original fic authors, and I claim no ownership thereto; I’ve borrowed the same and written these drabbles out of admiration and homage to the seven (eight!) of you, with my absolute love. (If any of you consider the drabble based on your fic to be inappropriate, please PM me and I will take it down instantly, with abject apologies.)
I would have listed the authors, except it would be fun to see if you guys can recognise the original fics (um, there might be some sort of prize?).
EDITED TO ADD: Pri posted the fic names, and JP claimed to have recognised them, which is good enough for me! Will PM you separately re: prizes ;)
This composite fic is intended to be a homage and tribute to ALL Cookleta fandom writers – you guys have been so welcoming, and I am so delighted and inspired to be writing fic again, after all this time. Thank you for welcoming me into your midst.
The Rainbow Flag and Other Stories
Cook wasn't really one for big sweeping political gestures. For one, when he was the reigning American Idol (Class of 2007), he had kind of figured part of his job description involved staying away from grand political gestures that might otherwise cause controversy across the country and tarnish his crown (like he should totally be wearing a sash and spouting world peace slogans, and avoiding topless scandals, whatever).
For another, Archie had just gotten barely old enough to vote, let alone to become involved in controversial community campaigning for gay civil rights.
The issue for them, in the end, came down to love, not any militant gestures of principle or solidarity.
They were simply young men who were in love with each other, who wanted to hold hands with each other, and kiss each other on the streets. Who wanted to build a life together, to raise a family, when the time was right, and, if they were so blessed, to see each other into their golden sunset years.
They wanted these things for themselves, and if they did, how could they not want them for all those men and women in love, who wanted all those things too?
The right to wear rings. The right to take each other's names, to take each other in marriage, from this day forward. The right to hold each other, in sickness and health, as long as they both might live.
So, in the end, they'd decided to join the march, under the furling standard that was red, and orange, and all the other colours of the rainbow, the multi-coloured symbol of their love, their pride, and that of so many others.
They marched, hand in hand, their heads held high.
The Red Windmill - for Crackt, Out of Sync
Archie-in-Cook staggered out of the theatre, blowing his nose on his handkerchief, the words of the song still ringing in his ears:
“I know a place where we can dance the whole night away
and it's called the Moulin Rouge…”
Cook-in-Archie had totally been crying too (beneath Cook’s tough exterior, which he no longer wore, the gruff hard-ass rock star was such a sap), although he tried to pass this off as the result of Archie’s more emotional constitution.
“No way are you pinning this on being inside my body, Cook. C’mon, which one of us cried more during Idol?” Archie-in-Cook demanded, and Cook-in-Archie ducked his head, rubbing the redness from his eyes.
“Okay, okay, totally me. Great movie, though. D’you know, there are still shows in the Moulin Rouge in Paris?” Cook-in-Archie tried to do a little mock can-can dance, but he was so totally out of sync that he almost tripped on his own feet on the pavement.
Archie-in-Cook sighed, longingly: “The Sparkling Diamond? The bohemian life? Gosh, I’d so love to see that!”
“Me too. Tell you what,” Cook-in-Archie said, grimly, “We get back into our real bodies, we’ll go. Paris, the works. Won’t have to fly the red eye, either; first class all the way. I promise.”
“That sounds wonderful. But, I’m not sure I’d be able to go; touring schedules, you know, plus, I think my manager would kill me? But of course you should totally go.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Arch! Once you get back into your own body, you can’t wait to get rid of me? Gosh, I don’t know why I even try!”
And Cook-in-Archie broke out into a pitch-perfect David Archuleta song, the notes falling perfectly from his rosy lips: “I don’t think this is working, Squeezing so hard my hands are hurting – Ought to let go in the fiiiiirst plaaaace, yeah…”
Archie-in-Cook rolled his eyes, watching Cook’s dramatics flowing from his own body. “You’ll be fine by yourself, Cook. When you find you, come back to me.”
The O.C. - for Ophelia, Journey Roads
After their second solo tours, apropos of nothing, Cook and David decided to unwind by taking another short road trip together.
They'd spent much of this third year on the road solo - their individual tour schedules were hectic enough. But the epic interstate road trip was how they first started their journey together, bonding over a Yellowstone Park campfire and Graceland and the Cadillac Ranch on Route 66, and giving into a love that transcended family concerns, the insanity of the music industry, orthodox religion. It had become a touchstone of sorts for them, a comfort and refuge from the world – a place where they could be an ordinary couple in love with each other and the open roads of their fair country.
This year, for some reason completely unconnected with Archie's sudden fascination with watching Mischa Barton reruns, they decided to make the relatively short drive from their California home down the Pacific Coast Highway (a more scenic route than Freeway 55) to Newport Beach in Orange County.
The OC was spectacular in the summer - all open skies and oceans, orange blossoms in the wide fields, sunshine stretching as far as the eye could see. Cook, ensconced behind his rock-star aviators, drove his newly acquired muscle car along the wide, groomed roads, past sandy beaches, palm trees, carefully maintained commercial buildings, the apricot and cantaloupe-hued mansions of the rich and famous. Archie hung out of the passenger side window and held his face up to the balmy breeze.
They spent the afternoon at the Orange County Museum of Art along Saint Clemente Drive, staring at the Pollock and O’Keefe exhibits. Cook tried not to inflict his graphic design nerd monologue on David for the entire duration of their visit, but it was extremely difficult to resist, given the sheer quality of modern art on display.
David was particularly taken with Florence Miller Pierce’s untitled bright orange resin piece, part of the Illumination exhibit (Florence Miller Pierce, Untitled (Orange Pure), 1994; Resin on plexiglass mirror; 24 x 24 in. (61 x 61 cm); Collection of Jayne D. Murrel, Newport Beach, California). Cook liked it too, and bought a signed and framed lithograph of the ochre piece for their wall at home.
They ended up at Lookout Point Park above the Corona Del Mar beach, with its scenic hilltop views. They gazed out at the sails of the ships in the sparkling ocean, as Cook laid out the blankets and Archie unpacked their picnic dinner. Then they ate, leisurely, leaning against each other, watching the sun go down, lavender and pomegranate and burnt umber streaking across the sky, enjoying the summer silence and each other.
"This is pretty cool," said Cook, finally. "If you want to, babe, we can totally buy a holiday home out here."
Archie made a face. "I don't know, Cook," he said. "I’m not sure I want to live like an episode of the O.C."
Cook laughed, and wrapped one of the blankets more securely around Archie in the gathering evening chill.
"I guess we should be starting back, at some point, unless you’re keen on christening this venue. Which I’m totally up for,” he added, pressing a soft kiss into David’s spiky hair.
“Cook! There must be people here, we might get arrested!” David giggled, somewhat breathlessly, into his shoulder.
“Never stopped us before,” murmured Cook, deadpan, and leaned in for a long kiss. David kissed back, his hand under the blanket coming up to rest, in a loose fist, against Cook’s heart, which beat in time with his, a rhythm that he knew was his home. He knew, they both knew, wherever they lived, wherever their journeys took them, there would be a road that led them both to a forever home, in each other’s arms.
Yellow Gold - for Pri, Someday (My Prince Will Come)
The first courting gift which Prince David Cook sent to the palace at Salt Lake was a sheaf of wheat, from the first harvests of the kingdom of Tulsa.
Prince David Archuleta sent it back, politely, with a note to the Tulsa Castle pageboy - "Hay always gives me allergies".
The second was a crate of bright sunflowers, their soft yellow petals shining in the light of the throne room. Prince Cook left a note this time that said, "I saw these in our palace gardens and thought of you."
David buried his face in them before he remembered his pledge to punish Cook for toying with his affections, and then sent the crate away as well: "Sunflowers give me allergies, too, sorry."
The third was a pallet of finest golden silk, with a border of gold-embossed thread, with which to make a formal sur-coat for a ball. Prince Cook left another handwritten note with this, that said, "I hope you will favour me with a dance at our next ball, wearing this."
"This is so pretty, son," said Queen Lupe, holding the butter-yellow fabric up to the light.
David was sorely tempted to give in this time and send the bolt of silk to the royal tailors, but - "Um, yellow isn't really my colour."
The fourth gift was an extremely ornate bracelet set with yellow diamonds and smoky fire topazes that matched the giver's leonine eyes. Prince Cook's note said, simply and characteristically, "Archuleta, you are KILLING me."
King Jeff, His Highness of Salt Lake (may he live forever) looked over at his son, fingering the courting bling. "When are you planning on giving the poor lad a break?" he enquired.
David tried very hard not to snicker. "Some day, maybe, when my prince comes himself. But I really think I should send this back, today."
On the fifth day, Prince David Cook stormed into the throne room without preamble or fanfare. His princely tunic was rumpled and his hair stood on end. He thrust a small box at David, and then, wordlessly, got down on one knee.
David opened the box. A yellow gold engagement band shone amid the velvet.
"Is this what it'll take?" asked Cook, softly.
David smiled, and the yellow gold reflected in his eyes.
Blue Movie - for Lire, On the Back of First Times
I remember how he made me a man that night, my first time.
His fingers, mapping my body, tracing my valleys and mountains, my azure skies, quiet forests, my rivers all in blue.
It had taken me the most part of a year and a half to convince him that this was what I wanted. It was a year and a half of Hell, loving him and him not knowing it, which found me drenching my pillow with cerulean tears each night, and drenching my pajama pants with other, less pure, fluids each morning. Too young, too unschooled, too boyish, for him to ever want to be with me, for him to ever love. Or so I thought.
Until, finally, I grasped my courage in my hands, and looked into his changing eyes, grey and then blue, and kissed him, and he kissed me back, a kiss that seared itself into my soul, a kiss that had us both breathing heavily and wanting it to never end.
I remember, as if it were yesterday, the night where he'd undressed himself for me, then pinned me to my bed with his knees, kissing a long, hot trail down my neck, until I was writhing and keening for him. The night, when he’d prepared himself for me, and gave himself to me, in a way so unexpected, so unlooked-for; rising above me where I lay on my back, sinking down on my desperate hardness in one single stroke.
I could not have imagined how mouthy he’d be in bed - he talked up a blue streak in my ear, shockingly intimate words, pleading, encouraging, begging, while I thrust frantically into him, groaning, tried to aim myself for that secret spot inside him, and when I reached it he moaned wordlessly, and we both came hard and fast in colours that were too many and too intense to name.
And then, the hazy blue midnight surrounded us both, and carried us away.
Green Shoots - for Rogue, Somewhere That’s Green
So, somewhere in the suburbs of Los Angeles, there’s a house with a white picket fence, and a well-groomed yard that’s green, and two dogs, and a family that had two mothers, two fathers, a set of five-year-old Irish twins with raven hair, and a half-Latin baby on the way.
A baby, whose sex, for some reason, had yet to be determined. All the medical advances that had been made in the world couldn’t cope with an infant in utero that refused to spread its little legs for the ultrasound tech.
"It’s a boy,” Carly had proclaimed, green eyes like the new spring grass that had just started to cover the world, after the coldest winter yet.
“I think it’s a girl,” Cook had said, and Fiona had chimed in in agreement, squealing and definite. Cook had cooed to Brooke’s belly, “Little sister Ria, that’s you!”
“Noooo, it’s Antonio!” Carly and Liam had shrieked in unison, and David put a hand over his son’s mouth, “Hush, sweetie, you’ll deafen the baby!”
Brooke had just smiled, a blonde Madonna, above her blossoming belly. Mothers know secret things.
In the count-down to Brooke’s due date, the daylight hours finally lengthening, David and Cook often lay awake at night, unable to sleep, hardly daring to believe in their good fortune. Holding on to each other, waiting for the new chapter in their lives to begin.
And, finally, when the spring flowers were finally coming up, in the wee hours of the morning, Cook and David received the call: water’s broken, rushed to hospital, labour progressing well, grab your bags, park the children, come quickly, come now ---
--- Somewhere, green shoots, in breathless springtime, pushing up out of the ground, like a child being pushed out into the world.
Indigo Song - for Nat and Meg, Future Unknown
David’s been acting a little weird ever since Archie and Carly had gotten back from the fortune teller’s place and Carly had imparted the previously unknown news about Archie’s future.
He’d been kind of mooching around their shared apartment, quietly, not saying much, messing with Archie's plants on the bar in the kitchen and the balcony (gorgeous irises, finally blossoming under the hot camera lights), fiddling with the sheets of music stuck up on the corkboards, occasionally looking out at the windows at the streetlights beyond. And, when he thinks Archie isn’t looking, sort of staring at Archie, in a way that makes him a little uncomfortable, as if something has in fact changed between them and he’s not sure what it is.
Fortunately, David doesn’t insist on the underwear version tonight, and they actually blow through Eye of the Tiger really well, and nobody takes their t-shirt off!
“I think we’re finally making progress as virtual rock stars,” David drawls for the cameras, to the sound of the digitized applause emanating from the TV set, and Archie grins widely, because it sounds like David is finally snapping out of whatever funk he’d been in.
The next song, however, is the Indigo Girls’ Believe in Love, and this is kind of where the trouble starts. For some reason, Archie just can’t get the hang of the chord placements, though the song itself just shouldn’t be this difficult.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just that I don’t know this song that well…” Or, maybe, he knows it a little too well.
Archie looks at his avatar onscreen, throwing its guitar at a wall, and then back again at David, who’s perspiring a bit and looking cross and a bit, um, spaced out. Their eyes meet, and then David sings into the silence, without any musical accompaniment whatsoever,
Lying in the arms of the beautiful monster, in the aftermath of love, the thing that captured David’s heart was the luxurious beauty of his lover's skin.
Moon-pale, alabaster-pale, skin like fine brocade in the moonlight; the shadows of his body were purple, under his limpid eyes, in the lush hollow of his throat, the violet veins in his arms, in which hot blood currently ran. Blood that didn’t belong to him; David's blood, which had, for the time being, slaked his eternal thirst.
David's gaze travelled lower, to his lover's engorged member: there, too, veins stood out against the paleness like thick vines of heliotrope.
As purple as the bruises on David's skin, as the bloody lips which Cook pressed over the small hurts.
"It’s nothing." He’d said that, in the space of love.
"Not nothing. I’m sorry."
"I'm not. I told you I wasn't afraid."
"I told you you should be."
David shook his head. "I know your true face, Cook."
A scattershot of acute agony, across the monster's eyes, then: a flash of the man he'd once been.
"For you, I'd journey to reclaim my soul. To give up the Stygian night, the porphyrian robes of royalty. I would look to become a man again."
David held on tight, the tears welling up in his eyes, from the momentous declaration. He kissed Cook’s mouth, and his lips were stained as well, hyacinth-purple, with his own dark blood.
"Just make sure you come home, to me."
fin
Author’s Note: This idea refused to let go – I wanted to write a bunch of drabbles, each based on a Cookleta fic written by some of the most entertaining, prolific writers in this fandom.
I tried to pick fairly recent fics which best fit the colour prompts (Somewhere That’s Green sprang out at me), and also to pick fics which represented the different styles of Cookleta fandom – cracky AU, domestic fic, regency AU, angst, etc.
I should note that the universes and characters of the fics upon which the drabbles The Red Windmill, The OC, Yellow Gold, Blue Movie, Green Shoots, Indigo Song and Purple Heart are based are completely the property of the original fic authors, and I claim no ownership thereto; I’ve borrowed the same and written these drabbles out of admiration and homage to the seven (eight!) of you, with my absolute love. (If any of you consider the drabble based on your fic to be inappropriate, please PM me and I will take it down instantly, with abject apologies.)
EDITED TO ADD: Pri posted the fic names, and JP claimed to have recognised them, which is good enough for me! Will PM you separately re: prizes ;)
This composite fic is intended to be a homage and tribute to ALL Cookleta fandom writers – you guys have been so welcoming, and I am so delighted and inspired to be writing fic again, after all this time. Thank you for welcoming me into your midst.
Title: The Rainbow Flag and Other Stories
Pairing: David/David
Rating: Multiple parts - from G, to Hard R
Summary: A quick tour around the Cookleta fandom – tribute to seven fics, in the colour themes Red (![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
crackt3h2nd’s Out of Sync), Orange (the epic Journey Roads by the revampedgypsy_ophelia), Yellow (rajkumari905’s hilarious Someday (My Prince Will Come), Blue (lire_casander’s hot, angsty On the Back of First Times), Green (kissontheneck’s gorgeous Somewhere That’s Green), Indigo (hopefulgenius andepicflailer’s amazing, inventive Future Unknown)and Purple (clionona’s sensual vampfic Thirst).
Dedication: For crack3h2nd, Ophelia, Pri, Bobbie, Maria, Meg, Nat and Clio, for giving me the chance to appropriate your worlds and your characters, and for everyone across this fandom. Thank you. I am more grateful than you know.
The Rainbow Flag and Other Stories
Cook wasn't really one for big sweeping political gestures. For one, when he was the reigning American Idol (Class of 2007), he had kind of figured part of his job description involved staying away from grand political gestures that might otherwise cause controversy across the country and tarnish his crown (like he should totally be wearing a sash and spouting world peace slogans, and avoiding topless scandals, whatever).
For another, Archie had just gotten barely old enough to vote, let alone to become involved in controversial community campaigning for gay civil rights.
The issue for them, in the end, came down to love, not any militant gestures of principle or solidarity.
They were simply young men who were in love with each other, who wanted to hold hands with each other, and kiss each other on the streets. Who wanted to build a life together, to raise a family, when the time was right, and, if they were so blessed, to see each other into their golden sunset years.
They wanted these things for themselves, and if they did, how could they not want them for all those men and women in love, who wanted all those things too?
The right to wear rings. The right to take each other's names, to take each other in marriage, from this day forward. The right to hold each other, in sickness and health, as long as they both might live.
So, in the end, they'd decided to join the march, under the furling standard that was red, and orange, and all the other colours of the rainbow, the multi-coloured symbol of their love, their pride, and that of so many others.
They marched, hand in hand, their heads held high.
The Red Windmill - for Crackt, Out of Sync
Archie-in-Cook staggered out of the theatre, blowing his nose on his handkerchief, the words of the song still ringing in his ears:
“I know a place where we can dance the whole night away
and it's called the Moulin Rouge…”
Cook-in-Archie had totally been crying too (beneath Cook’s tough exterior, which he no longer wore, the gruff hard-ass rock star was such a sap), although he tried to pass this off as the result of Archie’s more emotional constitution.
“No way are you pinning this on being inside my body, Cook. C’mon, which one of us cried more during Idol?” Archie-in-Cook demanded, and Cook-in-Archie ducked his head, rubbing the redness from his eyes.
“Okay, okay, totally me. Great movie, though. D’you know, there are still shows in the Moulin Rouge in Paris?” Cook-in-Archie tried to do a little mock can-can dance, but he was so totally out of sync that he almost tripped on his own feet on the pavement.
Archie-in-Cook sighed, longingly: “The Sparkling Diamond? The bohemian life? Gosh, I’d so love to see that!”
“Me too. Tell you what,” Cook-in-Archie said, grimly, “We get back into our real bodies, we’ll go. Paris, the works. Won’t have to fly the red eye, either; first class all the way. I promise.”
“That sounds wonderful. But, I’m not sure I’d be able to go; touring schedules, you know, plus, I think my manager would kill me? But of course you should totally go.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Arch! Once you get back into your own body, you can’t wait to get rid of me? Gosh, I don’t know why I even try!”
And Cook-in-Archie broke out into a pitch-perfect David Archuleta song, the notes falling perfectly from his rosy lips: “I don’t think this is working, Squeezing so hard my hands are hurting – Ought to let go in the fiiiiirst plaaaace, yeah…”
Archie-in-Cook rolled his eyes, watching Cook’s dramatics flowing from his own body. “You’ll be fine by yourself, Cook. When you find you, come back to me.”
“Oh hey, you’re starting to get my sense of humor! Guess I am rubbing off on you, after all!””
The O.C. - for Ophelia, Journey Roads
After their second solo tours, apropos of nothing, Cook and David decided to unwind by taking another short road trip together.
They'd spent much of this third year on the road solo - their individual tour schedules were hectic enough. But the epic interstate road trip was how they first started their journey together, bonding over a Yellowstone Park campfire and Graceland and the Cadillac Ranch on Route 66, and giving into a love that transcended family concerns, the insanity of the music industry, orthodox religion. It had become a touchstone of sorts for them, a comfort and refuge from the world – a place where they could be an ordinary couple in love with each other and the open roads of their fair country.
This year, for some reason completely unconnected with Archie's sudden fascination with watching Mischa Barton reruns, they decided to make the relatively short drive from their California home down the Pacific Coast Highway (a more scenic route than Freeway 55) to Newport Beach in Orange County.
The OC was spectacular in the summer - all open skies and oceans, orange blossoms in the wide fields, sunshine stretching as far as the eye could see. Cook, ensconced behind his rock-star aviators, drove his newly acquired muscle car along the wide, groomed roads, past sandy beaches, palm trees, carefully maintained commercial buildings, the apricot and cantaloupe-hued mansions of the rich and famous. Archie hung out of the passenger side window and held his face up to the balmy breeze.
They spent the afternoon at the Orange County Museum of Art along Saint Clemente Drive, staring at the Pollock and O’Keefe exhibits. Cook tried not to inflict his graphic design nerd monologue on David for the entire duration of their visit, but it was extremely difficult to resist, given the sheer quality of modern art on display.
David was particularly taken with Florence Miller Pierce’s untitled bright orange resin piece, part of the Illumination exhibit (Florence Miller Pierce, Untitled (Orange Pure), 1994; Resin on plexiglass mirror; 24 x 24 in. (61 x 61 cm); Collection of Jayne D. Murrel, Newport Beach, California). Cook liked it too, and bought a signed and framed lithograph of the ochre piece for their wall at home.
They ended up at Lookout Point Park above the Corona Del Mar beach, with its scenic hilltop views. They gazed out at the sails of the ships in the sparkling ocean, as Cook laid out the blankets and Archie unpacked their picnic dinner. Then they ate, leisurely, leaning against each other, watching the sun go down, lavender and pomegranate and burnt umber streaking across the sky, enjoying the summer silence and each other.
"This is pretty cool," said Cook, finally. "If you want to, babe, we can totally buy a holiday home out here."
Archie made a face. "I don't know, Cook," he said. "I’m not sure I want to live like an episode of the O.C."
Cook laughed, and wrapped one of the blankets more securely around Archie in the gathering evening chill.
"I guess we should be starting back, at some point, unless you’re keen on christening this venue. Which I’m totally up for,” he added, pressing a soft kiss into David’s spiky hair.
“Cook! There must be people here, we might get arrested!” David giggled, somewhat breathlessly, into his shoulder.
“Never stopped us before,” murmured Cook, deadpan, and leaned in for a long kiss. David kissed back, his hand under the blanket coming up to rest, in a loose fist, against Cook’s heart, which beat in time with his, a rhythm that he knew was his home. He knew, they both knew, wherever they lived, wherever their journeys took them, there would be a road that led them both to a forever home, in each other’s arms.
Yellow Gold - for Pri, Someday (My Prince Will Come)
The first courting gift which Prince David Cook sent to the palace at Salt Lake was a sheaf of wheat, from the first harvests of the kingdom of Tulsa.
Prince David Archuleta sent it back, politely, with a note to the Tulsa Castle pageboy - "Hay always gives me allergies".
The second was a crate of bright sunflowers, their soft yellow petals shining in the light of the throne room. Prince Cook left a note this time that said, "I saw these in our palace gardens and thought of you."
David buried his face in them before he remembered his pledge to punish Cook for toying with his affections, and then sent the crate away as well: "Sunflowers give me allergies, too, sorry."
The third was a pallet of finest golden silk, with a border of gold-embossed thread, with which to make a formal sur-coat for a ball. Prince Cook left another handwritten note with this, that said, "I hope you will favour me with a dance at our next ball, wearing this."
"This is so pretty, son," said Queen Lupe, holding the butter-yellow fabric up to the light.
David was sorely tempted to give in this time and send the bolt of silk to the royal tailors, but - "Um, yellow isn't really my colour."
The fourth gift was an extremely ornate bracelet set with yellow diamonds and smoky fire topazes that matched the giver's leonine eyes. Prince Cook's note said, simply and characteristically, "Archuleta, you are KILLING me."
King Jeff, His Highness of Salt Lake (may he live forever) looked over at his son, fingering the courting bling. "When are you planning on giving the poor lad a break?" he enquired.
David tried very hard not to snicker. "Some day, maybe, when my prince comes himself. But I really think I should send this back, today."
On the fifth day, Prince David Cook stormed into the throne room without preamble or fanfare. His princely tunic was rumpled and his hair stood on end. He thrust a small box at David, and then, wordlessly, got down on one knee.
David opened the box. A yellow gold engagement band shone amid the velvet.
"Is this what it'll take?" asked Cook, softly.
David smiled, and the yellow gold reflected in his eyes.
Blue Movie - for Lire, On the Back of First Times
I remember how he made me a man that night, my first time.
His fingers, mapping my body, tracing my valleys and mountains, my azure skies, quiet forests, my rivers all in blue.
It had taken me the most part of a year and a half to convince him that this was what I wanted. It was a year and a half of Hell, loving him and him not knowing it, which found me drenching my pillow with cerulean tears each night, and drenching my pajama pants with other, less pure, fluids each morning. Too young, too unschooled, too boyish, for him to ever want to be with me, for him to ever love. Or so I thought.
Until, finally, I grasped my courage in my hands, and looked into his changing eyes, grey and then blue, and kissed him, and he kissed me back, a kiss that seared itself into my soul, a kiss that had us both breathing heavily and wanting it to never end.
I remember, as if it were yesterday, the night where he'd undressed himself for me, then pinned me to my bed with his knees, kissing a long, hot trail down my neck, until I was writhing and keening for him. The night, when he’d prepared himself for me, and gave himself to me, in a way so unexpected, so unlooked-for; rising above me where I lay on my back, sinking down on my desperate hardness in one single stroke.
I could not have imagined how mouthy he’d be in bed - he talked up a blue streak in my ear, shockingly intimate words, pleading, encouraging, begging, while I thrust frantically into him, groaning, tried to aim myself for that secret spot inside him, and when I reached it he moaned wordlessly, and we both came hard and fast in colours that were too many and too intense to name.
And then, the hazy blue midnight surrounded us both, and carried us away.
Green Shoots - for Rogue, Somewhere That’s Green
So, somewhere in the suburbs of Los Angeles, there’s a house with a white picket fence, and a well-groomed yard that’s green, and two dogs, and a family that had two mothers, two fathers, a set of five-year-old Irish twins with raven hair, and a half-Latin baby on the way.
A baby, whose sex, for some reason, had yet to be determined. All the medical advances that had been made in the world couldn’t cope with an infant in utero that refused to spread its little legs for the ultrasound tech.
"It’s a boy,” Carly had proclaimed, green eyes like the new spring grass that had just started to cover the world, after the coldest winter yet.
“I think it’s a girl,” Cook had said, and Fiona had chimed in in agreement, squealing and definite. Cook had cooed to Brooke’s belly, “Little sister Ria, that’s you!”
“Noooo, it’s Antonio!” Carly and Liam had shrieked in unison, and David put a hand over his son’s mouth, “Hush, sweetie, you’ll deafen the baby!”
Brooke had just smiled, a blonde Madonna, above her blossoming belly. Mothers know secret things.
In the count-down to Brooke’s due date, the daylight hours finally lengthening, David and Cook often lay awake at night, unable to sleep, hardly daring to believe in their good fortune. Holding on to each other, waiting for the new chapter in their lives to begin.
And, finally, when the spring flowers were finally coming up, in the wee hours of the morning, Cook and David received the call: water’s broken, rushed to hospital, labour progressing well, grab your bags, park the children, come quickly, come now ---
--- Somewhere, green shoots, in breathless springtime, pushing up out of the ground, like a child being pushed out into the world.
Indigo Song - for Nat and Meg, Future Unknown
David’s been acting a little weird ever since Archie and Carly had gotten back from the fortune teller’s place and Carly had imparted the previously unknown news about Archie’s future.
He’d been kind of mooching around their shared apartment, quietly, not saying much, messing with Archie's plants on the bar in the kitchen and the balcony (gorgeous irises, finally blossoming under the hot camera lights), fiddling with the sheets of music stuck up on the corkboards, occasionally looking out at the windows at the streetlights beyond. And, when he thinks Archie isn’t looking, sort of staring at Archie, in a way that makes him a little uncomfortable, as if something has in fact changed between them and he’s not sure what it is.
“Hey, how about we play tonight?” suggests Archie, after their Chinese take-out dinner, in an effort to shake David out of the strange mood (and to do something for the cameras, so they don’t lose their audience, because he’s not sure how interesting an entire evening’s footage of David mooning around not saying much would be to people, even with David looking all rugged in his jeans and t-shirt and appealing to the millions of girls, who would otherwise be swooning all hello beautiful at their TV screens).
David gets a strange look on his face, and belatedly Archie remembers that the last time they’d gotten on Rock Star David had insisted they do it Tom Cruise-style, which Archie hadn’t realized involved them taking their clothes off, gosh!
Fortunately, David doesn’t insist on the underwear version tonight, and they actually blow through Eye of the Tiger really well, and nobody takes their t-shirt off!
“I think we’re finally making progress as virtual rock stars,” David drawls for the cameras, to the sound of the digitized applause emanating from the TV set, and Archie grins widely, because it sounds like David is finally snapping out of whatever funk he’d been in.
The next song, however, is the Indigo Girls’ Believe in Love, and this is kind of where the trouble starts. For some reason, Archie just can’t get the hang of the chord placements, though the song itself just shouldn’t be this difficult.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just that I don’t know this song that well…” Or, maybe, he knows it a little too well.
Amidst the crowd’s booing noises, they start again, David keeping to the beat, and, in an effort to help Archie, he starts to sing the lyric:
“When we tried to rework all of this, Each to her rendition
Painted ourselves in a corner, Lost for ideas blindly fishing…”
Okay, this seems to be working: Archie’s finger placement improves and the chords are coming fast, cleanly, all the different ways of them.
And then, David reaches the chorus:
“I want to say that underneath it all you are my friend
And the way that I fell for you I'll never fall that way again
I still believe despite our differences that what we have's enough
And I believe in you and I believe in love”
Archie looks at his avatar onscreen, throwing its guitar at a wall, and then back again at David, who’s perspiring a bit and looking cross and a bit, um, spaced out. Their eyes meet, and then David sings into the silence, without any musical accompaniment whatsoever,
“…But most of what will happen now is way out of our hands
So just let it go and see where it lands…”
Archie can’t read what’s in David’s eyes, or understand what’s in his, his song, but he reaches out to his friend, in front of the cameras, and, on camera, David… pulls away.
Lying in the arms of the beautiful monster, in the aftermath of love, the thing that captured David’s heart was the luxurious beauty of his lover's skin.
Moon-pale, alabaster-pale, skin like fine brocade in the moonlight; the shadows of his body were purple, under his limpid eyes, in the lush hollow of his throat, the violet veins in his arms, in which hot blood currently ran. Blood that didn’t belong to him; David's blood, which had, for the time being, slaked his eternal thirst.
David's gaze travelled lower, to his lover's engorged member: there, too, veins stood out against the paleness like thick vines of heliotrope.
As purple as the bruises on David's skin, as the bloody lips which Cook pressed over the small hurts.
"It’s nothing." He’d said that, in the space of love.
"Not nothing. I’m sorry."
"I'm not. I told you I wasn't afraid."
"I told you you should be."
David shook his head. "I know your true face, Cook."
A scattershot of acute agony, across the monster's eyes, then: a flash of the man he'd once been.
"For you, I'd journey to reclaim my soul. To give up the Stygian night, the porphyrian robes of royalty. I would look to become a man again."
David held on tight, the tears welling up in his eyes, from the momentous declaration. He kissed Cook’s mouth, and his lips were stained as well, hyacinth-purple, with his own dark blood.
"Just make sure you come home, to me."
fin
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Date: 2009-06-20 04:05 pm (UTC)There is not one of them I can choose, I love them all equally! Thanks for sharing! (Also, this is so deserving the prize at the comm, Jay, you're so going to win it!)
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Date: 2009-06-20 04:31 pm (UTC)Did you like "your" fic? *bats eyelashes*
Gosh, I hope I did justice to the fics, especially yours, because it kind of was the most challenging to write!
Aaaand, I bet you can identify them all, LOL.
♥! LY, sweetie. Hope things are going well on your end.
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Date: 2009-06-20 08:00 pm (UTC)I LOVED IT. Much better than mine, yo.
Love you too!
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Date: 2009-06-21 09:13 am (UTC)And I hope I got the angst right - who better to honour with this than the Queen of Angst?
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Date: 2009-06-20 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 05:32 pm (UTC)Thank YOU both, for such awesome writing.
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Date: 2009-06-20 05:04 pm (UTC)They were simply young men who were in love with each other, who wanted to hold hands with each other, and kiss each other on the streets. Who wanted to build a life together, to raise a family, when the time was right, and, if they were so blessed, to see each other into their golden sunset years.
Oh Gosh, I loved this bit so so much! Seriously, just ugh. Amazing!
And this bit - I remember, as if it were yesterday, the night where he'd undressed himself for me, then pinned me to my bed with his knees, kissing a long, hot trail down my neck, until I was writhing and keening for him. The night, when he’d prepared himself for me, and gave himself to me, in a way so unexpected, so unlooked-for; rising above me where I lay on my back, sinking down on my desperate hardness in one single stroke.
- oh my Gosh! *fans self*
& unfortunately, I sort of like, suck? & though I have vague ideas, I am useless with names and therefore cannot pin-point these. But awesome, anyway! xo
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Date: 2009-06-20 05:34 pm (UTC)No guesses? ;)
I would have had Suburbia in there, except there was no The Colour Pink. What, aren't wisteria pink? No???
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Date: 2009-06-20 06:49 pm (UTC)And no... should I know some? I should, shouldn't I? Please tell meeeee!
haha, oh my Gosh, can I just say I would have died?
Like, flat out, keeled over, dead?
Haha!
Wisteria the flowers are a really pale purple lol.
You should write it anyway, because your writing doing an idea of mine is likely to give me a coronary. In like, a good way? HAHA!
Oh gosh xo
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Date: 2009-06-21 12:40 pm (UTC)The flowers in Desperate Housewives all kind of look pink to me, dunno ;)
Aw, hon, I would love to do a Suburbia drabble or (or, *and*) haiku! Let me see what the muses dream up.
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Date: 2009-06-21 01:30 pm (UTC)I'm actually sitting watching Desperate Housewives right now lol.
Oh Gosh. If that happens I will die haha xo
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Date: 2009-06-20 05:30 pm (UTC)Will definitely post links to the originals! Though I haven't yet, with the haikus. (I made tribute haikus too...)
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Date: 2009-06-20 06:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 02:58 am (UTC)I am posting links to the authors, so hope you'll enjoy the fabulous stories!
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Date: 2009-06-20 06:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 02:59 am (UTC)I love me some Allende, as well (though Lire mocks me, haha).
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Date: 2009-06-20 06:25 pm (UTC)I loved it sfm.
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Date: 2009-06-20 06:30 pm (UTC)You're right, I did try to work in some of the themes and ideas from the original authors. Um, if you let me know what you saw, plus the original works, I will totally give you a prize (haven't worked out that part yet, but I will try to make sure it is awesome!)...?
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Date: 2009-06-20 06:29 pm (UTC)Red is the body swap by
Orange is Journey Roads by
... *blushes really hard and skips yellow*
Blue is
Green is
Indigo is tv verse by
Purple is
XDD This was SO fun, and these are all amazing, and I loved them to death, and YOU.
(Seriously, I think I like your courting idea better than mine, that is the most fabulous thing ever, awww. LOVE.)
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Date: 2009-06-20 06:34 pm (UTC)Re: Gold - awww, you know how I adored Someday, and I was all, hmm, let's see how many yellow things Cook can give Archie before storming in there. Heeee. So glad it worked for you, bb!
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Date: 2009-06-20 07:48 pm (UTC)*SQUEE*
You are just so amazing!!!
And I can't believe you did yet another homage to Thirsty!!!
*tackleglomps you and covers you with kisses*
But every single one of these is just perfect! GAH! Green is my favorite, I have to say! The original fic was so gorgeous... and your follow up was equally as lovely!
GUH!!!
Brilliant work all the way around, darling!
And you are very right. A real rainbow has seven colors! XD
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Date: 2009-06-21 03:02 am (UTC)And, sorry, I tried to resist Vamp Cook, but you know I see purple (the colour of hot, pulsing, dark blood) when I think of him. So, I'm afraid it wrote itself rather insistently (it was the first one I wrote!).
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Date: 2009-06-20 08:17 pm (UTC)And so beautifully written.
I'm sorry I can't say anything better than that. I'm such a lame commenter. :( I really do love it though!
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Date: 2009-06-21 03:02 am (UTC)Are you feeling better, sweetie? It sucks to be sick.
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Date: 2009-06-21 04:18 am (UTC)I'm feeling much better now. Thank you for asking! (And yes, it does suck. Especially when you almost lose your voice and can't stop feeling congested. Okay, I'm done whinging now, really!)
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Date: 2009-06-21 09:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 08:56 pm (UTC)I think I like Red Windmill and Indigo Song (I <3 that 'verse) the best, but it's a hard decision to make. :D
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Date: 2009-06-21 03:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 01:01 am (UTC)I recognized all of them, but don't have names for all of them, which is lame of me, and I apologize to all of the gifted authors!) except for,Journey Roads and Thirst.
They were all amazing, but my favourites were probably Blue, for the sheer climactic HEAT of it, and Purple for the sheer, perfectly Byronic poetry of it.
Le Sigh.
Love,
Mama E.
PS. You sure know your colours girl! I bet you were the kid reading all 64 of her crayons eagerly, looking for the *best* colour names!
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Date: 2009-06-21 03:06 am (UTC)Modesty is the same way now, though. Pokemon is of assistance in this regard - Season One was based on colours! So they had Viridian City, Vermilion Town, etc.
sorry, /colour geek talk ;)
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Date: 2009-06-21 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 12:44 pm (UTC)♥!
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Date: 2009-06-21 02:54 am (UTC)love the way you've adapted the stories of other authors and had given a dash of your brilliance and served it to the readers in one smorgasbord of delight.
this is such a fun read!
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Date: 2009-06-21 03:08 am (UTC)Thanks so much!
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Date: 2009-06-21 05:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:38 am (UTC)Love your Baby Spock icon!
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Date: 2009-06-22 04:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-22 07:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 05:42 pm (UTC)Okay, no lie, Green's my favorite! Okay, so there might be a little bias, but... *siiiiigggh* Seriously. Goodness, that allusion of comparison between the green shoots of a new plant and the birth of a baby... I think you're trying to kill me with love and joy and tears, seriously. I think I will always think of that sentence when I see a new plant pushing through the ground now. Gosh.
And goodness, how awesome to be honored by someone for a story I wrote. Thank you so much, you're awesome! ♥♥♥
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Date: 2009-07-04 12:28 am (UTC)Your original is, I think, my favourite domestic Cookleta - it totally gave me love and joy and tears, and thus I'm really glad I gave you some back, echoing you.
Thank you, hon. Yk, you could thank me by writing more fic (*runs away*)
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Date: 2009-07-09 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-24 08:05 pm (UTC)*squishes*
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Date: 2010-03-25 12:27 am (UTC)