Life-Sized

[amfiguree]

[American Idol] [David Archuleta/David Cook] [PG-13]

davidxdavid started a post a day for the month of February, and for one of my days I put up an entry offering ficlets based on fairytales. It's taken a while to get round to it, and when I did get round to writing this first one, it... kind of ran away with me and wouldn't fit into less than 4 comments, so. Um. This is for daisiesdaily, and I really hope it doesn't disappoint!



Life-Sized



now with art, by the ever-fucking-amazingly talented starafar.


They'd started doing it more and more after Cinderella, David realizes. That is, the flying to the Whites' after dark. David kind of wishes he'd never let Cook talk him into leaving Never Never Land in the first place. It's not that he doesn't like Brooke's stories (Thumbelina had been really interesting, actually), or that he doesn't like spending time alone with Cook, away from the other Boys, it's just--

Well. If they'd never left, he would be tucked in the soft, comfy center of his favorite daisy right now, falling asleep. If they'd never left, he'd be watching Cook attempt to teach the other Boys how to fire a crossbow. If they'd never left, he would be doing a million other things that do not involve Captain Cowell and being tied up to a candle on the verge of being lighted up, oh my heck.

David sighs, miserably. His arms are aching, but his hands are starting to go kind of numb where they're bound behind his back, on the other side of the candle. Also, his wings are starting to cramp up. He tries to stretch as far as he can, futilely testing the strength of the thread keeping him down for the hundredth time, and then jerks when Captain Cowell sighs.

"Really, David," Captain Cowell huffs, testily, and David winces when the Captain draws a stick out of the matchbox with his good hand, "You're wasting my time--"

"Um," David gulps, "Then you could maybe let me go?"

Captain Cowell scowls fiercely. "Not until you tell me where Cook is."

"It's just," David presses on, bravely, even though his heart is a jackhammer against his ribs, "It's a little bit uncomfortable and I really don't think--"

Captain Cowell's expression contorts entirely, and he brings his face mere inches away from David. "Where is Cook?" he thunders.

It's like being hit by a typhoon, and David's ears are ringing as his head snaps back. Dazedly, he blinks, then shakes his head mutely. Oh, this is not going well at all.

Captain Cowell looks like he's about to start frothing at the mouth, which is when second mate Abdul puts a hand on his arm and takes over the reins. Despite himself, David breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. At least, until she smiles and murmurs, "David, honey."

And then she pets him. "Ignore the Captain. He has an anxiety problem. We're all friends here. Brooke's a little thief, and if you help us, you won't have to share Cook with her anymore."

David's indignation gives way to the blush creeping up his neck, his heartbeat barely recovering its steady rhythm before it's working double-time again. There's a familiar something twisting in his stomach, sort of like the toe-curling rush he gets when he's doing a nose-dive through the clouds, racing Cook to their imaginary finish line, just skimming the surface of the mermaid lagoon before pulling up and away, Cook laughing in his ear.

They haven't -- they haven't done that since Brooke got here. Cook spends all his time with her now, especially after David nearly got her drowned. He'd only realized then and there, right before she'd tumbled, screaming, head first into the lake, how terrible she was at braking mid-flight, and he'd felt awful for weeks after. None of the flowers around Cook's tree house had let him near them for days. David wonders how Cook spent all that time with Brooke.

His stomach does another funny, painful little flip at the thought, and David makes a valiant effort to ignore it. It's been happening a lot more since Brooke got here. Second mate Abdul is still smiling at him, sickly sweet, and David swallows, hard. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, sweetie?"

David twitches. "Um," he says, a little desperately. Don't let me say it, please don't let me say it-- "I..."

"Yo, Cap'n!" One-Eyed Jackson shouts from outside. "Dawg, you're gonna want to see this!"

Captain Cowell makes an aborted, agitated movement. "What is it, Randy?" he demands, clearly put-out.

David straightens against the candle, suddenly hopeful. It has to be--

And then the roof to the Captain's cabin caves in. David yelps, and time seems to slow. Wooden splinters fly through the air. Captain Cowell bellows orders at nobody. Second-mate Abdul starts to cry. There is glass and dust everywhere. The splintered half of the mast that broke the roof lands on the floor. It thuds once, twice. David feels the ground shake and the candle nearly tips over. Then, standing in the heart of the whole mess...

"Cook!" David tries to say, but his mouth has gone cottony.

The rest of the lost boys appear in the doorway: Andy, a bundle of trussed up pirate tossed over his shoulder; Neal, sporting a grin, and a bruise on his left cheek; Kyle, sitting cross-legged on top of One-Eyed Jackson; MJ, gripping the wincing boatswain by the ear; and the Castro twins, both with matching, deceptively doe-eyed smiles and a bloodied mess of pirate apiece.

"We miss anything good, mate?" MJ says, and David finally chokes out a raspy laugh.

Captain Cowell makes a vague noise of indignation, and Jason adds, "Sorry about the furniture, man."

"How kind of you to notice," Captain Cowell snarls. He glares at Cook. "Do you realize how much wood I'm going to have to--"

Cook doesn't even bother with the banter. "I don't care," he interrupts, calmly. "Stop wasting my time, and let Archie go." If David didn't know exactly how Cook holds his sword when he's about to slice someone's throat open, he'd have believed the whole unruffled act. His heart starts pounding all over again.

Second mate Paula whimpers from somewhere near the floor.

"Of course," Captain Cowell sneers. "How absurd that I didn't already think of that."

Cook's expression is grim. "Now, Cowell. I'm not going to ask again."

Captain Cowell laughs, snide. "You'll need to put up more of a fight than that for your fairy, Cook."

Cook's face hardens. He tips his head to the side, never taking his eyes of the Captain. "Neal," he says.

David feels apprehension curl in the pit of his stomach when Neal beams. "Aye, aye, Cook!" he grins, snapping off a sharp, two-fingered salute.

He's only ducked out of the room for a second when they hear it, loud and unmistakable: tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

"Oh my gosh," David gasps.

Captain Cowell goes pale. "Cook!" he roars, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to rattle David's teeth. "You wouldn't--"

Cook's jaw is set so tight it looks painful. "You fucking bet I would."

"Cook," David calls, frantic - because they've never -- it's never been this bad before, not like this. "Wait, don't - I'm not--"

Cook finally looks at him, then, fierce and firm. "Shut up and let me save you, David," he growls, and David gulps and snaps his mouth shut.

"Enough!" With a roar, Captain Cowell swings the candlestick (and David) up on his hook. He's brandishing a fresh, burning matchstick in his good hand. For a second, David is so terrified he can barely think. He's going to be burned alive, of all things--

Then he sees Cook twitch. Andy stands straighter. MJ's smile is suddenly feral. One-Eyed Jackson howls when Kyle shifts, and the twins look ready to tackle Captain Cowell to the ground. It's like the longest stalemate ever--

And then second mate Paula shrieks and launches herself at Cook, and Captain Cowell lights the candle, and the world goes hot, and the dang dripping wax is burning its way down his neck, oh my gosh, and swords are clanging and Cook is yelling, and David thinks he might be yelling too, he can't tell anymore, and oh my gosh, it's getting really hard to breathe, and they're going to kill the pirates if he doesn't do something.

David gives the thread another hard, determined yank, and he doesn't know if it's the flame or the wax or the blue fairy, but it snaps. It snaps. He doesn't even wait to get some feeling back in his hands before he's airborne, zipping across the room to Cook, shouting, "Cook! Wait! Stop!"

But something isn't right. David doesn't find his balance quickly enough, and he tumbles straight into Cook, hard, the air sweeping out of his sails, and then he falls, right into Cook's waiting open palm.

Cook's panting, sweat clinging to his face and his hair, when David finally catches his breath and opens his eyes. The noise in the background is a haze of fuzzy confusion. "Jesus fucking Christ," Cook blurts. "David. Your wing--"

"What?" David says, and struggles to sit up. "Ow." Bad idea. His right wing is tucked limply against his side, a jagged tear cutting a path through it. He hadn't even known. "Oh, it - it must've been the thread. I just, um - you can stop fighting now."

Cook swears, then, cradling David closer. His hand is so warm. "Archie," he breathes. "David."

"Shaking," David murmurs, slumping a little on his good side. "Cook, the ground's shaking."

"Fuck," Cook repeats, and the shaking stops. "Fuck, David. You okay?"

"Um," David says, faintly. The adrenaline is starting to fade already - he's tiny, okay, he sort of wears out really quick - and he's kind of maybe a little groggy? "I don't think so."

And then, amidst the fighting and the debris and the warmth of Cook's skin, David passes out.



When he wakes up, David knows right away that something's different. He pushes himself up on his elbows, slowly, and is immediately distracted from whatever little miracle has, like, totally healed him by the sight of Cook's head, laid on top of the bed. Both his hands are curled in the sheets, like he's been praying, maybe.

"Cook?" David says, quietly. His voice sounds a little thin. He clears his throat and tries again. "Cook?"

"Mmmf," Cook says.

David smiles a little, and touches Cook's hair.

Actually touches it, and feels it slide between his fingers. Oh - oh, wait, how -- "Oh my gosh!"

"What!" Cook yelps, head jerking up as he straightens in his chair. "What, no, I'm awake!"

David's too busy gaping at his hands, his giant hands, to remember to apologize for waking Cook. "Cook, what - I'm -- I've grown! I'm not - how did I...?"

Cook seems to have caught on. His laugh sounds kind of watery. "A lot of fairy dust," he admits. "You don't really wanna know."

David finally looks up, then. 'Yes I do,' he wants to say, but the words catch in his throat when he sees--Cook looks exhausted. He's scrubbing a weary hand over his face, but his hair is totally messed up, and his forehead is wrinkled from the sheets, and there are dark, dark smudges beneath his eyes. "Hey," Cook says, gentler, when he catches David looking. "You okay?"

David knows he's not just talking about his new human-sized body. He thinks about it for a second. "Yeah," he says, finally. "Um, I'm still going to throw out all our candles later, but fairy dust is pretty strong stuff."

Cook studies him for a second. Then, "Okay," he says, reluctantly. "Brooke's making you soup, if you're hungry."

David's heart sinks. "I, um, okay," he says. He thinks about not drinking it, but that would be rude, and Brooke's being really nice, so. It's really not her fault that David feels all... weird and hot or whatever whenever she's around.

"It's okay," Cook adds, in a voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to drink it if you don't want to."

"Oh, good," David sighs, before he can stop himself. And then he stops. "Um, I mean--"

Cook stares at him, for a second. And then he laughs. Like, the whole bent over, hacking-up-a-lung kind of laugh that kind of makes David chest go warm, and his mouth start to twitch despite himself. Cook's laughing so hard he's practically choking, and then he does choke, and obviously David starts laughing too, loud and happy. And then Cook bows his head a little, his shoulders still shaking, silently, and it takes a while for David to realize--oh.

"Cook," David says, and touches Cook's back. "Hey."

Cook lifts his head, then, breath hitching. His face is damp, eyes red and puffy. "Dammit," Cook says, aiming for another laugh, but it cracks at the end, like a question. "Dammit, David."

Then he touches David's cheek.

And David kind of freaks out a little bit when he realizes his cheek is - it really is big. Big enough that Cook can press his palm to it, warm and callused, and David's heart does this stupid skipping thing, and he swallows hard and says, "Um."

"Eloquent," MJ snorts, from where he's leaning against the door.

David jerks back, heat already creeping up his neck, but Cook doesn't even look up. "I'm thinking you're gonna want to leave now," he says, quietly, still watching David with his soft, still-wet eyes, and--

"Oh," David says, uncertainly, but he pauses as he reaches to pull the blankets back. "Um, I'm - maybe not? Unless - if you want me to--"

And then one of Cook's hands is on his neck, yanking him forward, and David barely notices MJ muttering about "bloody idiots" and pulling the door shut behind him, because Cook is kissing him, oh my gosh. He has his other hand on David's shoulder, now, fingers spread, thumb rubbing idly at the base of David's throat, and he's just kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him, and, um - this is maybe what David's been wanting to do for a while now.

Probably.

When Cook pulls back, it's only to say, "Breathe, Archuleta," and David says, "Oh," because - so that's why his head feels so light - and then his fingers are curled in the fabric of Cook's shirt, and they're kissing some more.

So, um, if Brooke wants to stay, David totally doesn't care now.

And he's totally having some soup.