amfiguree | One-Two Step

[American Idol] [Jason/Michael Castro; David Archuleta/David Cook (implied)] [NC-17, for the incest!]

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. I've been planning this one for a while, and it kind of grew, as apparently all my idol fic is wont to do. *headdesk* This is for

boomingvoice, so, um, I hope you like it! :D

One-Two Step

Author's Note: I do actually have more of (the Cookleta parts of) this AU written. But Bri asked for Castrocest (because she loves me), so yes. Plus, I'm not sure how many people would be interested in reading the rest of this? Also, I realize the end is kind of weird and choppy; I'm sorry! I wasn't quite sure how else to end this. /o\

Everyone who knows David knows that he isn't a fan of costume parties.

What they don't know is that that's mostly because the one time he had gone to a costume party was when he'd been six and a bottomless pit of hunger. He'd managed to score some weird-looking pastry off the food table, and had crawled under Mama's big billowing skirt to enjoy it... except Mama had really turned out to be this totally creepy Egyptian princess whose parents had demanded his execution if Mama couldn't scrounge up, like, fifty billion dollars or something--but anyway.

So when the Royal Palace announces a ball in celebration of the Prince's birthday - which, okay, everyone knows is really just an excuse for the Prince to find his, like, soulmate or something - David doesn't let anyone talk him into it.

Not that they don't try.

"David," Mama says. "Baby, it's been thirteen years."

"Dude, they'll have free food," Michael says.

"The palace has awesome acoustics, man," Jason says.

For three days, that's all David hears. And for three days, he politely deflects the wheedling as he hangs the laundry while Mama beats the blankets, or as he sweeps the floor with Jason beside him wiping the windows clean, or as he washes the dishes, squeezed into a corner of the kitchen so Michael can fit next to him to towel them dry.

The night before the ball, though, Mama sends Jason and Michael out for bowties ("Woman's not taking any chances," Michael says, yelping when Mama smacks him), then she tugs David away from the dishes and onto his favorite chair. David looks down at her hands when they come up to cradle his. They sit like that for a long time.

"I know you don't want to go," Mama says, finally. Her voice is so very, very gentle. "But Jeff wanted - your father always wanted the best for you." She smoothes her fingers over his open, spread palms, where the skin is starting to kind of crack. "And maybe, if you go, and if the Prince sees you... there could be real food on the table, baby. No more cleaning and cooking and - and maybe there could be piano lessons--"

"Mama," David interrupts, shocked. "Why are you - I don't want--" he starts, but that's not true, so he says, "I want this more," instead, because that is.

Mama presses one hand to her mouth.

"And I totally wouldn't marry someone just because he knows how to dance," David adds.

That makes Mama laugh. "Oh, David," she says. Her eyes are a little too bright when she lifts her hand to his cheek. Then she leans over to kiss his hair.

David can feel her smiling.

And that's - it's good, because it gets David off the hook, and Mama says as much when Michael and Jason come home, later, but that they don't have any excuses. She doesn't say why, but David thinks it's because Mama suspects that his brothers have been locking themselves in their room for, um, for the things they're actually locking themselves in their room for (that are not smoking pot) - which David totally didn't even know about until they told him last month.

(Okay, fine, that's a lie. David's known forever. But it's not his fault he gets insomnia sometimes, or that ironing really calms him down, or that he'd gone to put Jason's shirts in his room which had sort of, kind of, maybe led to opening the door on Michael crowding Jason against the cupboards, furiously saying, "Don't fucking pretend you don't know what I want!"

And then Michael had moved, and David almost yelled, "Oh my gosh, don't hit him!"

But he didn't have to.

Because Michael had kissed Jason instead, right there, crushed against the closet doors. And David might have gasped a little, but Jason had, too, so nobody heard. And it maybe took a minute - David didn't count - before Michael sort of stopped, and pulled away, fast, his head ducked low. "I'm sorry," he said, but then his voice cracked and he had to start over. "I'm sorry, I thought--"

And then Jason had put a hand under Michael's jaw, and Michael looked up, sort of hopefully, and then they were kissing again - oh my gosh, seriously - and then Michael was spread out on the floor. He tugged Jason down on top of him with one hand, and pulled his wifebeater over his head with the other--

And David hadn't meant to stay (um, any longer), he'd been just about to hurriedly shut the door again, but then Jason had made this - this noise, like -- and then Michael leaned up into it, and, um, bit him, and Jason made another noise - a different one, sort of all high and - and needy, and Michael touched Jason's throat, the part that was all hollowed in, and Jason dropped his head a little, and Michael lifted his too.

But their mouths were - they weren't -- they just lay there on the floor, looking at each other, and looking, and then Jason made this tiny, tiny movement. And then he stopped.

Michael must have been cold without his shirt on because he was shaking so hard, but he took Jason's hand anyway, and put it flat on his stomach, and David could hear his voice wobbling, a little, even though he tried to laugh when he said, "Jase, if you tell me you need a fucking manual--"

And then David had closed the door.

So, um, yeah. David's sort of known for a while now.)

But that just means that David is extra careful when he helps them prepare for the ball. He makes sure that he forgets to, um, iron their tuxedos (which are really Dad's old ones, so they're kind of creased) and also uses all of Jason's shampoo, and dumps Michael's shaving kit behind the head of his bed. Also, mysteriously, all the masks in the house go missing except for Spiderman and the one of Two-Face that Jason bought as a gag gift one time.

When Jason spreads his hands and says, "I guess we're ready," Mama looks appalled.

Which, um. David kind of doesn't blame her.

"I don't think shoes are going to help you tonight, boys," she says, shaking her head, but she hands them both a pair of new sneakers anyway. They're shiny, and new, and they cost $45 each. David only knows because he saw Mama's taking out some of the old jewelry that Grandpa left for her that morning.

"Holy shit," Michael breathes, and Jason says, "Ma," in this tight, low-pitched voice.

"We're going to be late," Mama says, briskly, and shoos them out the door. She pauses for a second to give David a small, pinched smile. "David," she says. "Those sneakers..."

"It's okay," David replies. He's been sharing shoes with Michael ever since he can remember. "We don't mind."

Mama looks at him for a moment. "Okay," she says, eventually, and hugs him, tight, before planting a kiss on his forehead. "I'll tell you all about it when we get back."

They leave at seven, but it's barely ten thirty when Michael flies back through the front door, on a sort of hobbly hop, one hand wrapped around his foot. Jason's right behind him, one arm slung under Michael's shoulders. He glances behind them, quickly, before closing the door with his free hand. "I think we lost them," he says.

David isn't even paying attention as he gets up from where he'd been dozing on the couch. "You're bleeding!" he exclaims, eyes fixed on Michael's foot as Michael slumps back into Jason gratefully.

"Yeah," Michael says wryly, but he's flushed and breathing hard and even David can see his heart isn't in it. "I got that."

"Oh my gosh, shut up," David says, as he comes around to look at the damage. There's a long, nasty cut on Michael's foot, and it's still bleeding pretty bad. "Sit," he commands, pointing at their old orange futon. Jason pushes Michael onto the couch as David goes to grab their first-aid kit. "What happened?"

"He ripped my sneaker off!" Michael says, indignantly.

David blinks, and looks at Jason. "What?"

"The prince?" Jason offers. "He kind of asked Mike for a dance--"

"And you said yes?" David finishes, appalled. He settles on the coffee table, and pries the kit open. "Michael!"

"Normal people don't fall in love over one dance!" Michael argues, waving a hand distractedly. "Mama wanted -- ow, fuck!"

"Sorry," David says, patting the top of Michael's newly-disinfected foot gently. He reaches for the bandages. "What were you saying about the prince?"

"He asked me to dance," Michael repeats. "And I said okay, because Mama was going to kill me if I didn't, and it was going fine, but then he started talking about a proposal--"

Jason snorts.

"Dude, like you weren't about to throw cake in his face," Michael snaps.

Jason shuts up, but he's still smirking.

"So," David says, placating. "Um, the proposal?"

"Right," Michael says. "So he was talking about proposing, and, like, people were starting to look at us. So I started to panic, obviously, and I tried to make a run for it, and then the fucker stole my sneaker!"

David blinks, trying to picture it in his head. "But - how?"

"Michael fell into the food table," Jason explains. He's full on grinning now. "Head-first. The prince got a little hand-sy tried to help. Mama's still there cleaning up."

Michael buries his face in his hands on a low moan.

David winces, and then puts a hand on Michael's shoulder reassuringly. "Well, um. Maybe the Prince will forget all about you in the morning?"

The Prince doesn't.

And the morning brings the Royal Limousine, four Royal Guards, and Michael's right sneaker, set on a plush, purple Royal Pillow, to prove it. "His Royal Highness, the Prince," one of the guards trills, "Has decreed that every unmarried, eligible bachelor in the kingdom must..." the Guard's voice falters momentarily, "Have a go at this sneaker."

The guard clears his throat before going on. "And whomsoever's sole fits its sole shall be escorted to the Palace for an audience with the Royal Prince immediately."

Michael blanches, pale under his dark hair, and David sees Jason lean back against the couch, bleary-eyed. If he hadn't known to look, he would've missed Jason kicking Michael's left sneaker discreetly under the couch.

David lets out a little breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

And then Mama comes out of her bedroom, and David's heart starts its mad gallop all over again.

She still looks worn out from the night before, but David sees the sleep clouding her eyes clear the moment the shoe is presented.

"Michael!" she breathes, "Isn't that--"

"Oh my gosh!" David says, a little desperately, just as Jason says, loudly, "Mama."

The Royal Guards are looking between them now, clearly suspicious. "What's this business, then?" one of them demands. "Who's Michael?" He looks kind of, um, mean. And maybe also prone to violence? And is that a - a gun holster in his jacket pocket, oh my heck--

"Oh!" David exclaims, and then instantly regrets it when all the attention turns to him. "Um."

The Head Guard - the one with the gun - inspects him, eyebrow raised. "Are you Michael?" he thunders, when David doesn't volunteer anything else.

David's stomach flips. Which is when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Michael square his jaw. "No," Michael says, quietly. "I am."

Jason twitches, and David knows without having to ask that oh my gosh, he is totally freaking out, and Mama still looks like she has no idea what's going on, and Michael's fingers are curled, bloodless, against his fists, and all David can think about is that Michael's going to have to marry the Prince and - and be miserable for the rest of his life--

"Michael bought me the shoe!"

It takes David a second to realize that it's his own voice he's hearing echo in the room. And another second to realize that he's the one stepping forward. And that he's reaching for the sneaker, oh my -- what is he doing?

"You?" the Head Guard sniffs. "This is your shoe?"

"Oh," David says faintly. He feels a little like he might be sick. "I, um. That's--"

"David!" Michael's staring at him, wide-eyed, when David turns around. "What are you--"

That's the only thing David needs to make up his mind. "Yes," he says to Michael. It comes out firmer than he thought it would. And then he turns back to the Guard and repeats it. "Yes, that's mine."

"If you say so," the Guard mutters, but he nods at one of the other men and David suddenly finds himself on the couch. He can feel his heartbeat thrumming against his throat, like a melody waiting to be sung.

Jason shakes his head. "David--" he tries.

"I'm a size 8," David points out, quietly, without looking at him.

The Royal Guards look at each other for a second, and then the one with the Royal Pillow shrugs and says, "Well, you got the size right."

And - okay, David's not an expert or anything, but he kind of wants to point out that there are, like, a ton of people in the country, and probably, like, half of them are size 8s, or something, but David's pretty sure it's the law that you don't question the man with the gun? (And if it isn't a law, it totally should be.)

And then one of the guards is on his knees, slipping the sneaker onto David's foot - which is totally weird - and for a second, David hopes; please don't let it fit, please, please, please.

Except of course it does. It fits like a really awesome glove, and David looks down at his foot and wiggles his toes a little sadly.

The guards are conversing amongst themselves, still unconvinced, and David takes the minute it gives him to look up at his family.

Mama's staring at him when he glances up, shocked beyond words. Then she looks at Michael, and back again. "Baby," she says.

David shakes his head as he rises to his feet. "No, it's okay," he says. "I'm - this is okay."

Before Mama can protest anymore, the Head Guard has put his hand on David's shoulder. "All right then," he says. "We'll be escorting you to the Palace for an audience with the Royal Highness."

Michael and Jason trade anxious looks.

"Don't worry," David says, holding out his hands a little hopelessly, as the guards try to (gently) nudge him toward one of the many doors to the Royal Limo. "I won't - I'll just explain, and this will all be cleared up."

"Baby," Mama repeats, reaching for him.

"Really," David insists, but his voice is starting to creep higher, and when he catches the tips of Mama's fingers with his own, his vision is so glassy he can barely see. "I'll be fine, you'll see."

And then he's inside the Royal Limousine.

And then they're driving away.

David takes a deep, shuddery breath, craning his neck to see out the window, till his home, and Mama, and Jason, and Michael, are just tiny little specks in the distance. David gets the feeling it's going to be a long time till he sees them again.

Then one of the guards - the one who'd put the sneaker on him - nudges him in the side. "Hey, man," the Guard says. "You thought about what you're gonna wear to the wedding yet?"

"Oh my gosh," David says.

6 months later:

Hey guys :)

How's Mama? And everything at home? Did you guys get the tap fixed yet? Sorry I haven't written for a while, things are kind of crazy here haha. But something really weird happened the other day (nothing bad, though!) and, um, I just wanted to let you guys know. Remember the Cook I've been telling you guys about? The one I met my first day at the Palace? Um, the one who's been giving me etiquette lessons and stuff? Um. I sort of found out that he's not really a cook? He's, like, the Cook. Like, Prince Cook? Um. Haha. Kind of weird, huh?

But he's, like, really nice and stuff, and we're sort of, um. Like, I guess we were kind of dating? Maybe? I was totally going to email so you guys would be the first to know, but Cook said this isn't the kind of thing I should do online? Um, also, he says we'll be home in a couple of days because he has something really important he wants to ask Mama. We'd be back now but Cook is, like, ~~totally freaking out~~ a perfectionist and wants to prepare gifts for you guys.

Dang it, I hope they don't lose this letter in the mail haha. That would be kind of surprising if we just show up. We'd be all, "hi guys!" and you'd probably be all, "huh??"

But anyway, I'm really excited to be coming home haha! I can't wait to see you all! :)

Love,
David (and Cook)

~~P.S. Jason, how do you use a condom?~~