Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/221401.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      American_Idol_RPF
  Relationship:
      David_Archuleta/David_Cook
  Character:
      David_Cook, David_Archuleta
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, RPF, Alternate_Universe, Prostitution, Originally_Posted_on
      LiveJournal
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-11-04 Completed: 2009-03-23 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 20346
****** Hearts and Hyperventilation ******
by poppyfields13
Summary
     Set in nineteenth century London.
Notes
     The characters within are only based on real people, this is purely
     fiction and I am not implying events within to be occurrences in real
     life.
***** Prologue *****
prologue: stuck on survive
David Cook had a lot of money; he had inherited it from his tuberculosis ridden
father at the age of twenty. His mother had died during childbirth. He had not,
nor would he ever, work a day in his life. Five years had passed since his
father died and he spent his days in the North London Gentleman’s Club, reading
the paper, drinking whisky, playing cards and having heated discussions with
the other members. He had many acquaintances and was relatively well liked. But
he was also considered eccentric; he knew this and was fairly certain it was
because he had never shown any inkling of an intention to marry. Cook knew his
father would be horrified that his son was content to let the family line die.
He thought many of his friends, though he had no real close ones, also
suspected he was not that interested in the opposite sex and that his desires
lay elsewhere. But no-one ever said anything about this, of course.
Cook didn’t live an extremely extravagant life, though he could have if he
liked. He had sold all of his father’s estates in the country and lived in the
town house that he had lived in his whole life. He did buy a very small one
room cottage in the country though. It was all he needed and he very rarely
went there, only when he was finding life particularly insufferable. And this
wasn’t very often, for he was relatively happy with his simple, somewhat
monotonous life.
By the age of fifteen Cook had known that his life would be a lonely one. He
knew then that he was attracted to men and not women. He had accepted he would
never be able to find that someone to share his life with. He had grown
accustomed to feeling this way. He scarcely let loneliness become a factor in
his life. If he ever did start to wallow in self pity, that was usually when he
left the city, to busy himself in the livelihood of the country. Riding,
hunting, fishing and any other sport that would keep him occupied.
Usually he only lasted there a week, but that was enough to evaporate his self
pity, and he was back to his politics and literature and intellectual
stimulation. Cook also loved to go to the theatre, and rather liked to think of
himself as a musician. In fact he had written many a song on his grand piano
that his father had always hated him playing, saying it was a woman’s hobby.
Every time he would finish writing a song, with a sense of satisfaction he
would place the music sheets in a box, hidden in the closet of one of his spare
rooms where no-one was likely to find it. And there it would stay, only to see
a glimpse of the light of day when a new song was added. His music was strange,
he wrote only for himself. Cook did not believe anyone would understand it if
they heard it.
Cook had resigned himself to a life of solitude, but even though he never
thought he would have a lover, he was still a man with needs. So every once in
a while, he would leave his house late at night and make his way to what should
be an unfamiliar part of London. Obviously, to him it was not. He would walk
along the streets, searching for a boy who took his fancy. He liked dark haired
boys, though he wasn’t that fussy.
It was never very difficult to find a boy eyeing him up, then he would signal
them and they would make their way into a dark alley. There, they would drop to
their knees and work him with their mouths and usually it was over after just a
few minutes. He hardly ever took them to hotel rooms. Usually they would have
to offer that service first and if he particularly liked the look of them he
would agree and in the room they would strip naked and he made them turn
around, never really wanting to see their faces. He usually turned that offer
down though because it was more than a frantic release. It was more about
pleasure and less about need and the pleasure was too great, too taboo and
filled him with too much guilt.
But one night, on one of his nights out that had seemed like any other, David
Cook’s whole life changed. This is the story of how David Cook’s life alone
ended, and how he rather unsuspectingly fell in love.
***** Part One *****
one: steps away with hesitance
David Cook had just been serviced by a boy in an alleyway and was heading home
when a scuffle in a shop entryway caught his attention. He turned his head in
the direction of the movement to see a large man in a top hat leaning over a
small boy. He was kicking him in the chest and the boy didn’t seem able, or
wasn’t prepared to, defend himself. Ordinarily, Cook would ignore something
like this (it wouldn’t be the first time he encountered such an incident in
these parts) but something, and he didn’t know what, made him stop. “Hey!” he
cried out.
Instantly, the man stopped and then sprinted off as fast as he could, without
even turning to see who had called out. The boy lay motionless and Cook didn’t
know whether he should run as well… what if the boy was dead? He didn’t want to
be held responsible for that. But then a small groan came from the boy and his
arm jerked to his head. Cook hurried over to him and crouched down, “Are you
alright?” he asked in a concerned voice.
The boy didn’t look up, “M’fine.” He wiped his hand across his face and when he
pulled it away there was blood on his fingers. Cook pulled out a handkerchief
and handed it to him. The boy spat out some blood that had obviously formed in
his mouth and then used the handkerchief to wipe his face. Finally he tipped
his hat and looked up as he handed the handkerchief back.
Cook was momentarily speechless. The boy was not like any other he had seen,
and certainly not around here. His skin was slightly olive, foreign looking,
and it was blemish free. His eyes were a piercing hazel. Not dull hazel, like
Cook’s, but they seemed to change from deep, deep brown to icy green within
seconds. Cook thought he was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he had
ever seen.
He cleared his throat, “Why was that man trying to kill you?” he asked.
“I don’t think he meant to kill me, just hurt me really badly,” the boy said
earnestly. He had a mild cockney accent but he didn’t sound uneducated.
Cook’s mouth twitched, “Nevertheless, what was his reason for… this?” He
gestured to the boy’s forming bruises.
“Well, we had an argument over the price of… you know…” Cook nodded, not
surprised at what the boy was confessing to be, but still a little saddened by
it. “And after, he wouldn’t pay me the amount we agreed, so I tried to take it
from his pocket…” He shrugged. “Thank you for stopping him by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” Cook replied, he stood up and held his hand out for the boy
to take. “Come on,” he said, helping him up, “You need to get cleaned up and
have a rest.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, but he staggered a bit when he made it to his
feet.
“I don’t think so. You’re coming with me.” The boy gave him an apprehensive
look and Cook chuckled. “You can trust me, I promise. I’m not going to murder
you.” The boy’s eyes opened even wider at that but he followed Cook anyway,
clutching his arm as he limped.
They walked until they made it to a not so seedy area and Cook hailed a hansom
cab. He never used his own horse and carriage on these excursions. He didn’t
want his stableman, Jason, knowing about it. When they were settled Cook turned
to the boy who hadn’t spoken since when they were back in the alley. “My name
is David Cook. You can call me Cook.”
The boy’s head snapped up. “My name’s David too! Archuleta. David Archuleta.”
Cook smiled at his excitement about them having the same name. “How old are
you?” he asked.
“Seventeen.” He said it in a much quieter voice, as if he regretted being so
animated before, making Cook feel oddly disappointed.
Cook nodded and neither of them said any thing more the entire ride to Cook’s
house. When they got there David stood on the footpath waiting as Cook paid the
driver, then followed Cook’s brisk walk through the gate and up the stone
steps.
His valet, Michael, met them at the front door and he helped Cook out of his
coat. David wasn’t wearing one. Michael eyed David suspiciously and turned to
Cook waiting for an explanation. He was sadly disappointed when all Cook said
was: “Can you please set up the spare bedroom across from mine, and a hot bath
in there?” Michael nodded and left.
Cook supposed all of his staff would be up chatting about the strange situation
for hours that night. As long as none of the gossip met his ears, or David’s
for that matter, he really didn’t care. He turned to the boy. “While he does
that you may come and sit with me.”
As he walked to a doorway to the right, just before where the stairs started he
asked if David was hungry. David just shrugged and Cook took that as a ‘yes’.
He rang a bell for the housemaid to come. Almost instantly, she appeared before
they had even entered the withdrawing room. She looked even more curious than
Michael did and stared blatantly at David who looked at his feet uncomfortably.
“Kristin, can you please bring up some sandwiches or something?” Cook asked and
she dragged her eyes away from David to nod and curtsey before scurrying off
again. He was sure Carly, his Irish cook, wouldn’t be too pleased about it but
she had to deal with this every time Cook drank too much and decided he needed
food at midnight, so it wasn’t exactly an uncommon task.
They finally walked into the withdrawing room. Cook didn’t usually entertain
his guests in there, he usually took them to the library and kept this room for
himself, often thinking about his mother having tea in there, or painting or
embroidering. It was also the room where the piano was kept.
Cook had electricity in his house, of course, so he just had to flick a switch
for the room to be bathed in light. When he turned to face David the light
offered him a chance to get a good look at the boy. He could see then that a
bruise had formed around his eye and it was swollen. He suddenly had the urge
to reach his fingers out and gently caress the hurt skin, and he did in fact
lift his arm up to do it, but then he realised just in time and he turned away
instead.
Cook sat down in his favourite chair and looked at the boy who stood awkwardly
by the door. He looked a bit like he might escape any second. “You may sit
down,” Cook told him. David looked around nervously before sitting gingerly on
the edge of the chaise lounge, which was closest to the door. Cook suddenly
didn’t feel so… jolly about the whole thing. There was nothing to laugh at, he
was rather scared. “Where are you from? You look foreign,” he said.
David’s back straightened and he turned his noise up slightly, “Only half,” he
said, sounding defensive.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Cook said quickly.
David looked at him in surprise. It seemed like he didn’t expect Cook to care
about his feelings. He looked at his hands and then started to speak without
any prompting. “My mother’s from Honduras. My father met her there when he went
on a mission. He’s a vicar… you probably didn’t expect that. But he doesn’t
earn much and I have three sisters and a younger brother. My father decided
that when I turned sixteen I could fend for myself. My family thinks I have an
apprenticeship with an apothecary. I send them money home when I can. They…
would be so shocked if they knew the truth.”
It sounded very much like a confession and Cook could practically feel the
sadness in the boy. He wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. Luckily
Kristin came back with the food and Cook let that do the comforting instead, it
would probably do a better job than him anyway. David ate all of it and when he
was finished he gave Cook a sheepish look, which Cook laughed at and which
brought back the more relaxed feeling between them.
Michael appeared to inform them that David’s room and bath was ready and Cook
took him upstairs to show him the room. David walked in and looked around
quickly before turning to look at Cook who was standing in the hallway. His
eyes were expectant and Cook shook himself out of his thoughts. “Right, well,
I’ll leave you to it then,” and he shut the door with a bit more force than it
required.
He walked across the hall to his own room. He sat down on the edge of his bed
and removed his shoes wearily. Michael had lit the fire but it didn’t seem to
warm him much. He stared at his door, his thoughts drifting to the boy across
the hall, who was now, most probably naked.
He stood up and began pacing his room. He wasn’t sure for how long he did this
but he knew that with every step came the same thought and finally when his
eyes fell upon a desk in the corner of the room, a glass bottle filled with
amber liquid, he moved before he thought it through.
Cook knocked on David’s door, two glasses of scotch in his hand. A soft gasping
voice told him he could enter. Cook peered around the door cautiously. Sitting
on the large bed, his legs dangling loosely over the edge, was the boy in a
spare dressing gown that had been laid out for him.
His hair was wet and plastered to his forehead, and when Cook got closer he
could see the bruises, but there was no more dried blood around his mouth and
his skin, despite the bluish tinges, seemed fresh and no doubt very soft. Cook
sat next to him on the bed, keeping a decent distance between them. He handed
David one of the glasses but was too busy downing his own to notice the boy
sniff it and then put it to the side.
Before he really knew what was happening, David’s face was right in front of
his, his warm breath ghosting across his lips, and that was all the warning
there was. David was kissing him with a sort of fake ferocity. Once Cook had
registered what was going on, he pulled away.
Kissing David was not like anything he had experienced. Somehow, the boy seemed
so pure. The kiss so soft yet perfectly pressured. His tentative touch upon
Cook’s hand, no-one had touched him with such care before and he didn’t think
he deserved it, and certainly not at the high price of stealing something from
this sweet boy. The thought of ruining David made Cook hate himself. Because
that is what he knew would happen if he let things continue.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a voice he hoped sounded scandalised.
David looked into his eyes, confused and perhaps a little hurt, “I thought…” he
stammered.
Cook shook his head and stood up. “No… I… don’t want to do that, with you. I
mean to you. I just wanted to help. I just wanted to help you.” He looked down
helplessly at the boy, who was once again holding the glass of whisky. He
watched as the boy drank it and then look up at him with watery eyes. Cook had
to look away, “I’ll see you in the morning, you need some rest.” And he turned
without waiting for a reply. He was sure he wouldn’t get one anyway.
A part of him was overwhelmingly shocked at what had happened, and the other
part was simply intrigued. David just seemed to radiate unnatural amounts of
innocence, but yet he clearly wasn’t. And, in fact, what he was offering Cook,
in the back of his mind the older man had definitely been thinking about. He
had gone to that room for a purpose. But when David tried to give it to him,
obviously thinking he had no choice, Cook felt the… dread in him, and he just
couldn’t do it.
David was so young; he didn’t have to live his life that way. There was still
hope for him. Cook had the opportunity to save him from that life, he realised,
not encourage it. Cook knew, could feel it emanating from him, that David was
good. He couldn’t let himself taint the boy with his own unnatural desires.
Because David was too good to grow up lonely and sad the way Cook had.
***** Part Two *****
two: heaven sent an angel
The next day, for the first time in many years, Cook did not go to his club. He
woke up earlier than he usually did, staring up at the ceiling, feeling there
was something different about that day before he remembered that there was, and
it was David.
He quickly threw the covers back, put on his robe and washed his face before
leaving his room and making his way over to the room David was sleeping in. His
stomach clenched as he lifted his fist up to knock. He was scared of what he
would find on the other side of the door. It was possible that David was no
longer there. He shook himself and rapped on the door lightly. He waited but
heard nothing so he knocked again, more forcefully. Still nothing. Now
convinced David was gone he burst though the door.
David was in the bed and he sat up abruptly, looking very disorientated. He
rubbed at his eyes and peered at Cook who felt rather silly. “Uh, good
morning,” Cook said.
“Mornin’,” David replied groggily.
Cook composed himself, and began to speak in the self assured way he was so
used to performing. “I’m going to have breakfast downstairs in the dining room
in about half an hour. You are welcome to join me, or I could have Kristin
bring something up for you…?”
David worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before replying,
“Um… I’ll join you.”
“Right,” Cook said. He continued to stay where he was and David watched him
curiously with those big honest eyes that seemed to read his soul. Cook
couldn’t help stare back, wishing he had the same ability. He had to shake
himself again. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to, uh… yes.” And he quickly left
the room.
When Cook was back in his own bedroom, instead of moving to get dressed he
threw himself onto the bed. He pressed his face into the mattress so that he
could barely breathe. It was a welcoming suffocation. A freedom from his
muddled mind.
                                      ~*~
David was already in the dining room when Cook finally entered. He sat down at
the head of the table, David to the right of him. Kristin instantly served him
his tea. He looked to David who was drinking a glass of milk and once again, he
was eating ravenously.
They didn’t speak until Cook was half way through his toast. “Do you like to
play chess?” he asked.
David’s head had been bent so low his face was practically an inch from his
plate but when Cook spoke he snapped his head up and gave him a confused look.
Cook made no further explanation so David finally answered that he didn’t know
how to.
“Well, today I can teach you,” Cook said matter of factly as he refilled his
cup.
David started to stutter, “Um… uh… I, uhm…” Cook stared at him expectantly and
he finally managed to get the words out. “I should probably, uhm, go home?”
Cook frowned. “Where do you live exactly?”
David blushed. “Um, I board with a lady…”
“I think you should stay here,” Cook interjected.
David’s eyebrows knotted together. “What? I can’t do that,” he said with
surprising stubbornness.
“I insist,” Cook replied with more confidence than he felt.
“I don’t understand,” David said, almost with a touch of annoyance. “What do
you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything,” Cook said. David gave him a disbelieving look. Cook
sighed, “Well, fine… to be perfectly honest, I could just do with the company.
My life is rather dull at times.”
David gasped a little and his soft face hardened. “You expect me to make it
exciting for you?”
“No, I didn’t say that, I just…” Cook paused, trying to find the words. He
decided being honest was probably the best route. “I get rather lonely
sometimes. I don’t need you to entertain me but… can’t we be dull together, at
least?”
“But I can’t. I have to work. How am I supposed to earn money to send to my
family?” David said.
“I’ll give you money,” Cook said. Seeing the look on David’s face, though, he
instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“No,” David said with a stony voice. “I like to earn my money.”
Trying to rectify the situation Cook lost the little dignity he was holding on
to and practically started begging. “You would be doing me a service! I’ll pay
you to keep me company!” He didn’t know why he was so desperate for this boy to
stay with him, but feeling David slip though his fingers, he would do anything
to stop it.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this. If you don’t want me for… that, what do
you want me for?” Cook’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe that David seemed to
think that was all he was good for. And he wanted to kick himself for being
partly responsible for that as, he realised, his rejection of David the night
before probably caused the boy to think Cook didn’t find him attractive, which
was the farthest thing from the truth. But that was why he needed him to stay
so badly, so he could help David see his real worth.
David continued, “I’m sorry Mr. Cook but you just don’t understand.” David rose
from his seat. Cook quickly did the same. He grabbed David’s arm.
“I won’t pay you if you don’t want! But you need the money… I have lots of it!”
With his other hand he rattled the silverware on the table for emphasis.
“David… I want to help. I don’t want you to have to… you know. You are so… and
I like you. …” He heaved a great sigh, knowing that he wasn’t explaining
himself very clearly. He thought back to the previous night. How he could feel
that David hadn’t really wanted to be with him. “With me you won’t have to do
anything you don’t want to.”
David screwed up his face, he was clearly conflicted. He looked down at the
hand wrapped around his arm and Cook reluctantly pulled away but David didn’t
try to flee. He just stood motionless where he was. Finally he seemed to give a
defeated sigh. “May I pick up some things I left at Mrs. Abdul’s?”
Cook’s face flooded with relief. “Of course!” he said overenthusiastically. “Of
course, I’ll get Jason to get the carriage ready. And Michael to get my boots
and coat…”
“Do you mind if I go alone?” David asked.
Cook’s face fell. “Oh, yes of course. You… you will come back?”
“I said I would,” David replied. His voice was gruff and Cook shifted
uncomfortably.
“Right.” He distracted himself by ringing the bell to ask Kristin to ask Jason
to get the horses ready. They both sat back down and David went back to staring
at his plate.
“Um, Cook?” It was the first time he had initiated conversation.
“Yes?”
“Well, I was wondering… since I’ll be uhm, living here – for a while – well, in
my room, I mean the room I slept in last night, I couldn’t find a bible and I
was just wondering if you had a spare one I could, um, borrow?”
Cook raised his eyebrow; he wasn’t expecting that at all. “I think I have one
in the library somewhere, that you can have.” He hoped David took note of his
use of the word ‘have.’
“Thank you.”
They were silent again for several more minutes before Cook spoke again, “You
need some clothes… I will have my tailor come by later this morning.”
“I have… clothes…” David started and then trailed off. “Um, don’t you have any
old things I could wear? I don’t want you to have to buy me anything.”
“No I don’t, and you wouldn’t fit them anyway. I don’t mind. I want to.”
David slouched. “Alright.”
                                      ~*~
Every week, very early on Monday morning, from then on Cook would slide an
envelope of money under David’s door. The first time, almost immediately David
had come to find him, telling him it was too much. But Cook had insisted and
David had thanked him, defeated, clutching the money to his chest.
On the first Sunday morning that David was there, Cook was rudely awakened by a
knock on his door. He opened his eyes and for a moment assumed it was just a
branch on his window or something that had woke him up but then he heard the
noise again and his face scrunched up in annoyance. “What the hell?” he
muttered to himself. Michael knew not to wake him that early. He groaned loudly
before asking who was at the door.
It opened and a head of shiny black hair peered around, and then David’s whole
face came into view. Cook shyly pulled the covers up to cover his bare chest,
which he then felt ridiculous about. He raised his eyebrow in silent question
of David’s presence.
“Good morning Mr…um I mean… Cook. I was just making sure you were awake,” the
boy said.
Cook gaped at him. “Why?”
“For church! It’s Sunday,” David replied, as if that really meant anything to
Cook. He gave the boy the most disbelieving look he could muster. Cook only
went to church on Christmas and Easter. If that.
He was just about to tell David so when the boy abruptly turned and closed the
door, perhaps so that Cook wouldn’t be able to reply. Cook wondered at how well
David knew him already. He listened to David humming as he made his way down
the hall and Cook couldn’t find it in himself to fight it. Diligently he
crawled out of bed and to the best of his ability he made himself presentable
for church.
                                      ~*~
After about a week of playing chess, (which Cook usually let David win, and he
thought David probably knew he was doing it too, but Cook couldn’t resist
seeing the pleased smile of David’s every time he made a good move.) Cook left
his house for the first time since they had met. He finally felt confident that
David wouldn’t run away and leave him alone. He didn’t let the implications of
this sink deep into his thoughts though. He didn’t want to be so dependent on
this… boy that he barely knew.
He didn’t know what it was about David, because he wasn’t pathetic nor did he
ever act victimised. But Cook felt like it was his duty to save the boy. Cook
had been this way as a small child too. Running around their properties in the
country, he had always come back with a wounded rabbit or bird, wanting to save
them. He felt it was right, to save something that wasn’t as strong as he was.
His father had told him he was just like his mother, and then he had made Cook
leave the room and Cook knew it was because he didn’t want his son to see him
cry.
From almost the first moment Cook had seen David he wanted nothing more than to
save him, to give him the life he deserved. The problem was that in order to do
that he had to coexist with the charming boy and that constant physical
temptation was almost too much to bear. And so he had to get away. He had to
create some distance.
He knocked on David’s door and waited for the soft voice to permit him entry.
When he walked in he found David sitting on his bed reading the bible Cook had
given him. He looked up and Cook’s chest constricted at the shy smile that
appeared on the boy’s face. Not for the first time, Cook’s speech floundered in
David’s presence. “Um… I’m going out to my club today. Will you be alright by
yourself?”
David’s smile fell a little and a strange expression crossed his face but Cook
couldn’t decipher what it was. He wondered if maybe David expected to go with
him or something, which was out of the question. But looking at the boy’s face
he didn’t really think that was it. There was something bothering him about it
though, and Cook decided he really didn’t want to know what it was.
He turned to leave but then stopped. “Uh… you can read anything from the
library if you like and I’ve made sure Kristin will bring you luncheon later
on.” Then he hurried out before he had to hear David’s unyieldingly polite
thanks.
He stayed out longer than he expected, and drank more than he expected too. It
was after ten before he walked through the door. His staff was used to this
behaviour but David wasn’t. He hurriedly shrugged out of his coat before making
his way up to David’s room. As always, he knocked first and David told him to
come in. He was curled up under his blankets, a book close to his face, the
pages open somewhere in the middle.
“How was your day?” David asked.
Cook’s brain was a little fuzzy and he held onto the wooden end of the bed for
balance. “Fine,” he said.
“You can sit down if you like,” David said.
Cook hesitated but then figured it was okay, as long as he sat right at the
end. He leaned against the edge of the mattress, hardly sitting on it at all.
He looked over to David who was watching him. “What are you reading?” he asked,
effectively distracting the boy from scrutinising his every move.
“Oh, it’s Pride and Prejudice…” he said.
Cook nodded. “That was my mother’s favourite book. Well, according to my
father.”
“Where is your father?” David asked.
“Both my parents are dead,” Cook said.
“Oh… I’m sorry.”
Cook stood up then, “Anyway, I’m going to bed.” He looked at the pile of books
on David’s night stand. “It looks like you won’t need me around tomorrow, so
I’ll see you in the evening.”
David stared at the books and didn’t look in Cook’s direction. “Alright,” he
said in a small voice.
                                      ~*~
The next day, as most of the members of the club dispersed to go home and have
supper with their families, Cook sat wondering what he should do. He wanted to
go home too, had wanted it all day. All he wanted to do was sit and talk to
David. But that was the thing that was keeping him away. It scared him.
He did this every night in the weeks to come. Eventually, he always gave up and
went home, with such a nervous need. It pleased him to see David smile when he
walked through the door. Sometimes the boy was even waiting at the bottom of
the stairs in the hallway for him. Cook looked forward to their nightly
discussions of the books David had been reading. Cook loved listening to his
interpretations of Great Expectations or Robinson Crusoe. It was better than
any of the conversations he had engaged in about literature with his friends at
the club. They never seemed to understand the characters and their feelings the
way David did.
So that’s how it was for several months. They passed by so quickly. With
David’s presence in his home, Cook felt like he was becoming a whole new
person. A much happier person. When he thought of his future (something he
hadn’t been prone to doing before he met David), he did not want to imagine it
without the boy. But in the back of his mind, he knew he couldn’t hold him
captive forever.
***** Part Three *****
three: dependency, disability
One night several weeks later, Cook could not sleep. He tossed and turned
without knowing for how long. Finally, he got out of bed and something pulled
him towards the window. He looked down into the garden and saw David’s
unmistakable figure sitting on a bench, his body illuminated by moonlight. Cook
wondered what he was doing; how long he had been down there for, and if he was
freezing. He wondered what David must be thinking about. Not for the first
time, Cook felt guilt seep through him.
He desperately wanted to go down there, to save the boy, as always, from what
was troubling him. But he couldn’t. He was the cause of the boy’s sadness, he
knew it. He had been so sure he was doing the right thing by giving David a
place to stay, where he didn’t have to give his body to strangers just to
survive. But was he really doing the right thing? Was he keeping David from
freedom? He thought maybe “saving” David was just an excuse for his selfishness
at wanting David close. When he thought of David going back out there, touching
and being touched by other men, he couldn’t stand it. He had never felt so
jealous about anything in his life.
Cook had never even been so close to anyone before. In fact, he had never
really known love at all. He had never felt it from his father, the only family
he had. This just made the whole situation with David even more intense. He had
always known deep down that he was never truly satisfied with his life, though
he had tried to trick himself into thinking he was. Now though, he didn’t think
he could ever go back to believing he was happy before he met David.
How could he really save David anyway, when he didn’t know how to fix his own
problems? Problems like that it was possible he was falling in love with David.
He had no idea how to control his feelings, and it made him feel weak. He
wanted to keep David in his home forever because he made Cook so happy. But he
also wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. If he didn’t get too
close, he couldn’t fall any deeper.
He went back to his bed and lay as still as he could, his ears alert. He
couldn’t relax until he heard David return to his room.
 
                                      ~*~
 
Cook got perhaps a few hours sleep before he decided to rise, much earlier than
he usually did. He washed with cold water and dressed in the dim light. He
quietly left his room and tiptoed past David’s door and down the stairs,
locking himself into the withdrawing room. He sat at the piano not moving, then
he lifted his arms and his hands automatically drifted over the keys. His
fingers knew what to do before he had even thought about it. It was as if the
song was already written in his mind and he just had to play it.
And then the rhythm made its way up his arms and into his memory. He stopped
only briefly to make notes with the blank lined music sheets he kept close by.
Usually when he wrote it was only the music but this time the lyrics were
already there, he didn’t have any choice in the matter. He wrote them down, but
he could not bring himself to sing them.
He was in there for longer than he realised because when he had finished the
sun was fully up. When he came out of the withdrawing room he found David
sitting at the bottom of the stairs. David spoke before Cook had time to ask
him what he was doing there.
“Was that you?” he asked. “I heard music.”
“It was nothing,” Cook said, waving his hand. He held the papers, carefully
rolled up, in the other.
“It sounded wonderful! Can you play something for me?” David asked eagerly.
Cook shook his head. “No, David,” he said with finality.
But David persisted, “Why not?”
For a brief moment Cook actually considered it, he hated to deny David of
anything. But then an irrational burst of anger erupted inside him. He was
trying to hide his feelings from David, not expose his heart and soul to him!
He wouldn’t let that happen and he hated that he almost did.
“I said ‘no’!” Cook had raised his voice and David recoiled slightly. He stared
up at Cook with disappointed eyes, and Cook knew he was disappointed in Cook’s
behaviour, not the fact that he couldn’t hear the music.
David turned and silently made his way to the dining room and Cook stomped up
the stairs. He hovered outside of David’s room. He didn’t feel right about
going in there. It wasn’t just a spare room any more, it was David’s room. But
it was the room where he kept his music box, so he had to. He opened the door
timidly and hurried over to the wardrobe. He pulled the door open and pushed
aside David’s pristine silk and cotton shirts, the colours Cook had
specifically chosen because of how they would look against his skin.
Cook reached up to the very back of the very top shelf and found the dusty box.
He opened it and placed the sheets inside, quickly closing it again. He
considered taking the box out with him and keeping it in his own room from now
on but he didn’t think he could stand to have it so close to him. Keeping the
music close by would only remind him of all the emotions he had let himself
feel, and he couldn’t stand the guilt. So he pushed the box back into its spot,
making sure to place other old boxes in front of it.
He made his way back over to the door just as David entered. “Cook!” he said in
surprise. “I thought I heard something…What are you doing in here?” he asked
with raised eyebrows.
Cook went straight to defensive, “This is my house! I can go where I like!”
David gave him a wary look. “I know that. I was just…” he shook his head. “I
was just looking for you. I came to tell you I was sorry.”
Cook screwed up his face in confusion. “You did? What for?”
“For pressuring you. About the music.”
“Oh… No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Cook said stiffly.
“It’s alright,” David said calmly.
“No, David. It’s not alright! I shouldn’t have done that and you shouldn’t
think it’s alright that I did.” David just gave him a curious look in response.
Cook sighed. “Let’s just go have breakfast.” He laid a hand on David’s shoulder
to guide him from the room; he couldn’t stop himself from letting it linger for
longer than was necessary.
 
                                      ~*~
 
That night, after supper, they were sitting in the library, as they usually
did, when Cook abruptly stood up. “I’m going out,” he told David, it was the
only explanation he gave. David looked up from his book, startled. He seemed to
study Cook for a moment, taking in his sweaty brow and flushed cheeks, suddenly
a shadow of understanding passed over his face. Cook reddened even more and he
abruptly turned and left the room.
He had been watching David so intently. The firelight was dancing across his
flawless skin, and he would occasionally dart his tantalisingly pink tongue out
between his perfectly plump lips. Cook had begun sweating profusely, even
though he was sitting quite far from the fire. Then he had simply had to get
away. He couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his coat and walked out the front
door without even telling Michael or Kristin where he was going. It had been a
while. He needed this.
He hailed a cab and the whole ride there all he could think about was David and
the look he had given Cook. How dare David of all people look at him in that
way? David couldn’t judge him. Or so Cook kept telling himself. It seemed
easier to be mad at David, than face the fact that he was angry at himself.
Like he always did, he asked the cabbie to drop him about five minutes away
from the district and from there he walked. It wasn’t hard to find a boy
willing to do the job, and he eagerly followed him into the alley, longing for
the distraction.
The boy sank to his knees and Cook made fast work of his pants buttons. The boy
expertly took him in his hands, working him to full attention, and telling him
how big he was. Cook had heard it all before, and he thrust his hips forward,
begging to be engulfed in the boy’s skilful mouth. He threw his head back and
waited for the pleasure to fog over his other senses.
But even as the boy sucked his cock, Cook still could not get David from his
mind. He thought about the boy who was in his house right now, probably
worrying about him. Probably biting his lips in concern. He thought about those
lips. One of the most torturous parts about having David around was that Cook
couldn’t touch or kiss those lips. Or have those lips kiss, or suck, him. He
thought about what it would feel like if it were David’s plump pink lips
wrapped around him. Probably a hundred times better than any other experience
he’d had.
He opened his eyes and stared down at the boy below him, forcing David from his
mind and trying to concentrate solely on the boy in front of him. Thinking
about David in that moment was the last thing he should be doing and the very
thing he was trying to avoid. Imagining he was with David. He had to stop
thinking about David that way; he couldn’t do that to him. It was wrong. What
Cook was doing was wrong. He wasn’t good like David. He couldn’t let David end
up like him.
But as the physical pleasure took over he found it more and more difficult to
control his thoughts. Without realising what was happening his thoughts kept
drifting back to David’s lips and Cook almost believed that he was back at home
with David, in his bed and not in some dark alley. The images, just like his
feelings for the boy, refused to disappear. It was too late and he was coming.
When the boy raised himself from his knees to look at Cook expectantly, his
slightly smug expression turned to anxiousness. “Hey Mister, are you alright? I
didn’t hurt you or anything?”
“What?” Cook asked, confused. The boy was staring at his face, looking worried.
Cook raised his hand to his face dumbly and found his cheek wet with tears. He
choked, feeling a sob rise in his throat. “I’m fine,” he said with a raspy
voice. He thrust some money at the boy who stared at the amount in shock. “Go,”
Cook said. The boy looked at him apprehensively for one more moment before
scurrying off. Cook hoped the money he gave him would keep him off the streets,
for a while at least.
Cook leaned against the grubby wall as he tried to compose himself. He was
suddenly finding it very hard to breathe and he wondered for one crazy moment
if he was dying. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe as evenly and slowly
as he could. It seemed to work because his breathing calmed after a while,
though it left his body shaking. He made his way out of the alley with wobbly
legs and he knew he wouldn’t be back any time soon. These excursions had always
been like a quick solution to Cook, a hidden world that he could escape in for
a few moments. But now he knew that it wouldn’t solve his problems.
 
                                      ~*~
 
When Cook got home he found Michael waiting for him. They didn’t say much to
each other, just the polite banter that was expected. But when Michael said,
“Goodnight, Sir,” the way he usually did, there was something else in his
voice. He sounded concerned.
In the dark of the hallway Cook could see that there was no light peeking from
underneath David’s door. He was both oddly relieved and disappointed. He
shrugged out of his dirty clothes and left them in a pile on the floor. He
climbed into the chilly sheets on his bed and lay shivering until the
exhaustion finally lulled him into sleep.
He awoke much later than usual and was quite surprised at how late he had slept
in. There was a knock at his door and he expected it to be Michael but when he
told whoever it was to come in, he was slightly panicked when David stuck his
head into the room.
“Good morning,” he said. His voice wasn’t as bright as usual, and he seemed a
little hesitant, but he smiled.
“Good morning,” Cook replied.
“I brought you breakfast,” David said, and then he disappeared for a second out
into the hallway and returned with a tray in his hands. He carefully made his
way over to the bed, watching that he didn’t spill anything. “Sit up,” he
instructed and Cook obediently pushed his pillows against the headboard and sat
back. He made sure the covers were securely around him, acutely aware that he
was naked.
David laid the tray across Cook’s lap and then lifted the small teapot and
poured the steaming liquid into a cup. Cook watched him in wonderment. When he
had fussed over Cook’s tea sufficiently he smiled down at the older man. “Do
you… mind if I stay a while?” he asked. Cook shook his head. David moved back
and settled down on the end of Cook’s bed, a strange imitation of Cook’s
previous actions in David’s room.
David watched Cook as he ate his toast, neither of them speaking. Cook could
tell that there was something brewing and finally, though he hadn’t planned
what to say, he spoke. “David… about last night…”
“Yes?” David said.
“Uh… I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, with my… actions.” David
nodded but didn’t say anything in response and Cook barrelled on. “It won’t
happen again.”
“It won’t?” David asked.
“It won’t.” Cook confirmed. David nodded again and then there was silence,
which once again Cook felt he had to break. “Umm, would you like to go to the
opera tonight? I’m sure I can get tickets.”
David’s eyes widened and he said, “Really?” with such awe that Cook knew he had
to get tickets no matter what.
“As soon as I’ve finished my breakfast and gotten dressed I will go out and get
some,” he declared.
 
                                      ~*~
 
It had been a little harder than he expected, it seemed the opera was sold out.
But finally, just as he was thinking he would have to go home and tell David he
couldn’t get them and have to see the smile drain from the boy’s face, he had
some luck. He had gone to his club for a drink and run into an elderly
gentleman who had been a friend of his fathers. And it just so happened that he
had tickets but couldn’t attend.
Cook had thanked him profusely and completely forgetting about his drink, he
ran outside and told Jason to take him straight home.
He found David in the library. “I got them!” he said enthusiastically and his
heart skipped when David smiled widely. They spent the rest of the afternoon
playing chess. Then they had an early dinner and got ready.
When David came out of his room wearing the black suit Cook had bought him for
the first time, Cook was unfortunately reminded again in a jarring way just how
stunning David was. He had parted his hair and slicked it down with oil and his
cheeks were rosy from being scrubbed. He held his bow tie out to Cook. “Could
you do this up for me please? I’ve never had to wear one of these before…”
“Of course,” Cook said. He slipped the piece of fabric over David’s head and
around his neck, bringing the ends together under his chin. He tried to do it
as efficiently as possible but his close proximity to David’s face made his
heart speed up and his fingers numbly fumbled with the tie. “It’s a little
tricky…” he said apologetically. He pulled one hand away to wipe the sweat off
on his trousers.
David just smiled up at him, his eyes sparkling. It was almost as if he was
enjoying Cook’s discomfort. Finally, Cook finished tying it and they made their
way down the stairs. Michael met them there and he first helped Cook into his
coat and then David into his new coat, which was kept on the hook right beside
Cook’s.
On the ride there David talked animatedly about how excited he was and how he
had never been to the opera before. It was very crowded when they got there and
they had to dodge through the masses of people to check their coats. When they
had done that they decided they should go and find their seats, but on the way
Cook stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, no!” he said and swore under his breath.
“What is it?” David asked, concerned.
“An old friend of my father’s – over there. Shit, he’s coming over…”
A pompous looking man with a very young woman hanging on his arm stopped in
front of them. “Cook, m’boy, so nice to see you.”
Cook bowed his head slightly and put on a fake smile. “And you.”
The man turned his attention to David then. “Who’s this?
Cook’s eyes darted around as he fought to think of something to say. “This is a
relative, from my mother’s side,” he lied. “He’s visiting from the country.
David, this is Mr. Cowell.”
David, following Cook, bowed his head also, “Nice to meet you,” he said.
“You don’t look anything alike,” Mr. Cowell informed them. “And I don’t
remember your mother being so… dark.”
Suddenly, Cook felt a burst of anger in his chest, and he wanted nothing more
than to punch Cowell square in the face. But he looked over at David and the
boy seemed to feel Cook’s rage and with his eyes he told Cook that it wasn’t
worth it.
Cook smiled tightly. “Excuse me,” he said before walking swiftly away. David
hurried after him. Cook found their seats and they wordlessly sat down.
“It doesn’t matter,” David said.
Cook turned to him in exasperation. “It does matter David! Why can’t you see
that? You’re so much better than you give yourself credit for. You’re so much
better than everyone! Much better than me.”
David looked truly shocked when Cook said that and he sat back in his seat, his
eyes staring at the crowds of people trying to find their seats. When he
finally spoke, it was very quiet. “That’s not true, Cook. I think it’s you who
needs to see that they’re… good enough. Not me.”
Cook didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t even understand what it
meant. And luckily the lights dimmed and he was saved from having to ask. He
couldn’t concentrate on the play; he just kept looking over at David who was
watching it with rapt attention. His face was bright with glee, his enthralment
with it making him even more beautiful.
Cook dreaded intermission as he thought David might try to bring up their
earlier conversation but he didn’t. Instead he turned to Cook and rambled about
how much he was enjoying himself and repeatedly thanked Cook for bringing him.
Cook had no desire to go back out into the foyer in case he ran into Cowell
again, or anyone else he knew for that matter. He told David he could go and
get himself something to drink if he wanted. He reached into his pocket for
some money but David declined.
Cook wished he had left because it was uncomfortable to sit in silence waiting
for the show to come on, though he was sure he preferred that to talking. He
sighed in relief when the lights dimmed again.
He couldn’t follow the story after having failed to pay attention the first
half and the music wasn’t affecting him the way it normally did. He went back
to dangerously watching David. Once, David turned to him and he quickly looked
towards the stage. He stayed that way for about five minutes before tentatively
turning back to David again.
After the show, David was oddly quiet. He followed Cook as they hurried to
collect their coats before the crowds got too big and then they went outside,
searching for where Jason was waiting with the carriage. When they found him
they quickly got inside where the wind couldn’t get at them. “I hope Jason’s
not too cold,” David said absently.
There was a bit of a traffic jam which irritated Cook greatly but David was as
calm as ever. Cook had his face practically pressed against the small glass
window trying to see what the hold up was when David started singing softly.
Cook turned slowly to look at the boy who was looking out of the window as
well, except he wasn’t looking at the traffic, but up at the sky. His voice got
a little louder and it seemed he was singing a song from the show, even though
he had never seen it before that night. Cook didn’t know how he could possibly
have remembered it.
Cook had heard David hum softly before but it was nothing like this. This was
startlingly melodic, hypnotic and haunting and permeated Cook’s very soul.
David glanced at him, he smiled and continued singing. Cook was so fascinated
that he hadn’t even realised that they had begun moving and all too soon they
were back at home.
In a daze Cook followed David up the stairs, nodding vaguely as David said
goodnight. As he walked over to his washbasin he felt a familiar tightening in
his chest and he began to hyperventilate. His ears rang with David’s voice and
David’s face blinked behind Cook’s eyelids, alternating with blinding lights.
Cook knew he was going to fall. He reached out to the basin table, something to
hold onto for stability, but in the process he knocked over the jug of water.
It crashed into pieces and then Cook was lying amongst the puddles and shards
of ceramics.
It was all black. Then he opened his eyes and David was on his knees, peering
down at him and looking completely alarmed. “Cook!” he shook him. “Cook… are
you alright?”
Cook’s life was becoming too much to bear. He needed to get away. Instead of
answering the boy he said, “David… I need to go away… to my house… in the
country.”
David nodded. He pulled Cook close and rocked him against his chest. “We’ll go
tomorrow. Let’s just get you to bed, and then I’ll go and tell Michael – ”
Cook blanched at the ‘we’. He tried to talk. “No, I…”
“Shhhh,” was David’s response.
He couldn’t go with David. This was David’s fault. The boy… asphyxiated him. It
wasn’t just his mind that was being tortured now, it was his body. His feelings
for David were taking over every aspect of his life. He wanted to be free from
the power David seemed to have over him, at least for just a while. But being
held so close and lovingly by David, he didn’t want that to end either. Cook
clutched at him, pressing his face into David’s chest. They stayed like that
for a long time.
***** Part Four *****
four: the truth
Eventually, after they had lain in the water from the spilt jug for an unknown
amount of time, David managed to get Cook up and over to his bed. The older man
had flinched when David started to remove his clothes for him but he was too
tired to fight it. He crawled under the covers and was instantly asleep.
The curtains hadn’t been closed the night before and Cook was woken by the very
first rays of sunlight on his face. He lay in bed, listening to the birds as
they woke and started conversing with each other. There was a dull ache in his
side from where he had fallen but it wasn’t too bad.
He was just wondering what the time could be when he heard a tap on the door.
Whoever was behind it didn’t wait for permission to enter and when Cook saw
David’s familiar face pop through the partially opened door, Cook realised he
was fine with that. He moved to get up but David stopped him.
“It’s still early,” he said as he walked over to Cook’s side. He placed a hand
over Cook’s sweaty forehead and all Cook could do was stare up at him, trying
to capture the moment forever. “You’re a bit warm,” he said, as he moved his
hand away. “I told Michael about you wanting to go away. He’s organising the
whole thing. I tried to help but he just told me to go look after you, so here
I am! I think I was just annoying him too much,” he giggled.
“About that…” Cook started. “David, I –”
“We can catch the nine o’clock train or the eleven o’clock,” David interrupted.
He stood up and walked over to Cook’s wardrobe. He opened the door and peered
inside. “If you want to go at nine you’ll have to get up shortly. I’ve already
packed my bag – Kristen found me a spare one – but we’ll have to get yours
done.” On tiptoes he looked into the higher most shelf and then pulled out a
flattened duffel bag. He wiped some dust off the side and then opened it up and
laid it at Cook’s feet. He then began busying himself in filling it with
shirts.
Cook could only watch him. He knew he wasn’t going to convince David not to
come with him. David was probably really worried about him after what had
happened and Cook was pretty scared about it himself. He didn’t want to be
alone when and if it happened again.
Maybe a trip to the country with David wouldn’t be so bad. The fresh air would
do him good. And he liked David’s company. It was just that he liked it too
much.
“So,” David was saying. “Nine or eleven? I’m not sure how long it takes to get
there…”
“About three hours,” Cook croaked as he sat up and ran his hands over his face,
which made a harsh scratching noise as they ran over his stubble. “What’s the
time now?”
“About quarter to seven. Will you be ready in an hour and a half?”
Cook nodded. “I’ll be ready. And you don’t have to pack my bag.”
David gave him a disbelieving look, but he stopped the folding shirts. “Alright
then, I’ll go get you some tea then, shall I?”
“Yes, please,” Cook said, and he watched David leave the room before walking
over to his basin. The shards and puddles of the smashed jug had been cleaned
up. The jug had been replaced with a new one sitting inside the basin. He was
surprised to find the water lukewarm when he poured it out. Someone had been
into his room before he had woken up. There was no doubt in his mind that that
person was David.
 
                                      ~*~
 
They took a train into a small village, near where Cook’s cottage was. Cook had
slept most of the ride there and David spent his time with his face pressed
against the window. He had never been outside of the city, he told Cook. When
they got there, Cook borrowed a horse as he normally did, and this time,
another for David.
They had a little difficulty attaching all their belongings to the saddles but
eventually they got it. Cook jumped up onto his horse with ease, but when he
looked back down, David was still standing beside his horse looking at it with
a puzzled expression on his face. Cook fought the urge to laugh. He got back
down and walked over to where David was standing. “You need some help?” he
asked with barely controlled amusement.
“Well, I haven’t ridden one of these things before,” David said, a little
defensively.
Cook smiled, “Just put your foot here… and, uh, I’m just going to have to touch
you here…” he placed one hand on each side of David’s waist. He tried not to
think about the last situation he was in that was back-to-front like this.
“I’ll hoist you up on the count of three, alright?” David nodded. Cook couldn’t
see his face but he could tell by the way David’s body tensed that he was
apprehensive. “I won’t let you fall,” Cook reassured him. “One, two… three!” He
held on to David tightly as the boy scrambled his other leg over the side. When
he was quite secure in his position he smiled down at Cook and thanked him
coyly.
Cook dazedly walked back to his horse and it took him two tries before he made
it on again. For never having rode a horse before David was pretty good. He
seemed a little scared the first couple of minutes, exclaiming over how high up
he was, but after that it was like he was a natural, and Cook told him so.
David grinned, looking pleased with himself.
It was about half an hour’s ride before they got to the cottage. It was small
and painted yellow. Cook pointed to it when it came into view. “It’s lovely!”
David said. He gave Cook another of his excited grins and Cook couldn’t fathom
how he could take so much pleasure in simply looking at a silly little house.
But that was David.
The boy stumbled a little when he got down from his horse, but Cook was
relieved he could do it himself. They tied the horses up, took off their
saddles and bridles and the luggage, and gave them food and water. Then they
walked towards the house. Cook opened the door with the key he had around his
neck and entered the dim room. They were greeted with a slightly musty smell.
The room was small, probably the size of Cook’s library in his town house.
There was a bench and some cupboards in the back, right corner, beside a door
that led out to a small lean-to. In the middle of the room was a table with two
chairs and on the left wall there was a couch and a bookcase. Beside it was a
ladder that led up to a loft which served as the “bedroom”. There was no bed up
there, just a mattress placed over a low square of wood. Cook was a little
embarrassed by the state of the cabin. Normally he was the only one to ever
come here. He could feel David trying to peer around him to get a better look
and reluctantly he walked further into the room.
“Um, perhaps we should open the windows,” he said, “it’s been a while since I
was here last.”
David nodded and they each walked to one side of the cottage to open curtains
and windows. Cook jumped when he heard a crash and turned around to find David
crouched on the ground looking up at him sheepishly. “Sorry,” he said, he
picked up something as he stood up. “I accidentally knocked this over.”
“What is it?” Cook asked.
“It’s a, um, liquor bottle.”
“Oh… here, I’ll get rid of it.” David handed Cook the bottle and they went back
to their task. Cook felt relieved but also a little frightened by the fact that
he hadn’t thought to bring any whisky with him this time. He had nothing to try
and numb the feelings that were to inevitably arise around David.
When they had the little room airing out nicely, they began to unpack their
things. Luckily, Cook had brought sheets for the bed with him. He climbed up
the loft and began his attempt at making the bed. Shortly after, he heard David
climb up too. He heard a giggle and turned to find David watching him and
laughing over Cook’s atrocious bed making skills. “Here, I’ll help you,” he
said as he took one end of the sheet.
“Um, we’ll have to share. I hope you don’t mind,” Cook said as they worked,
keeping his eyes on the task.
David was silent for a moment before saying “I don’t mind.” Cook wasn’t sure
how he felt about sharing a bed with David. Mostly petrified, he decided.
When they had finished making the bed they climbed back down the ladder and
started unpacking the food they had brought with them. “Maybe we could go
hunting,” Cook suggested.
David screwed up his nose. “Er…you can. I don’t think I could kill anything.
Sorry.”
“No need to apologise.” He should have known David wouldn’t enjoy that, he told
himself. Cook used to be the same. He had hated knowing where his food came
from as a child. He remembered one night he had refused to eat his dinner
because it was rabbit, and that day he had just rescued a limping rabbit in the
forest. Flospy, he named it, he had been so worried he was about to eat
Flopsy’s brother or sister that he had started crying. His father had gotten
absolutely furious with him and the next day his father took him out and made
Cook shoot a deer. After that day Cook lost all qualms he had about killing
animals. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t fight against the
way his father wanted him to be. He didn’t really want to, because having his
father’s approval about something was the closest he ever got to affection.
Cook admired that David still felt compassion towards helpless animals. But it
reminded him that David was so much more innocent than Cook, and Cook wanted to
keep him that way.
“What about… fishing?” he asked.
“Um… fishing’s alright,” David said, shrugging. “Is there a lake around here?”
“A few miles down the road. Maybe we could do that tomorrow,” Cook said. “Why
don’t we just go for a ride this afternoon?”
“Are you feeling well enough?” David asked.
Cook smiled, although it was rather forced. “I’m fine.”
David returned the smile. “Alright then. I need to practice anyway.”
 
                                      ~*~
 
They started at a walk but soon David had urged his horse to a trot. He was
laughing animatedly as they rode through the fields and trees. They eventually
stopped when they reached the edge of a property Cook said they probably
shouldn’t enter. They slid down off their horses and David cooed at his,
running his hands over the creature’s long black mane. They had canteens filled
with water and Cook was gulping down his. When he had had enough he put the top
back on and watched as David went to take a drink from his canteen. After he
had done that he turned to Cook and gave him a funny look.
“What is it?” Cook asked. And then before he knew what was happening David had
dumped the contents of his canteen all over Cook’s head and was running off
laughing. Cook stared after him, dumbstruck.
Cook shook himself out of his stupor. “You little…!” he yelled and went chasing
after him. David screeched louder and sped up, occasionally turning back and
flashing Cook devilish grins. Then he turned and started running backwards,
poking his tongue out and making funny faces. At the sight of his joyous
expression Cook felt a strange pull in his stomach and in the next few steps he
made the feeling moved to his chest.
He stopped abruptly, and leaned over to place his hands on his knees, willing
himself to calm down. He sat down in the grass and leaned over with his head
between his legs. He breathed in and out very slowly. He heard footsteps in the
grass. “Cook?” David’s breathless, worried voice asked. Cook didn’t look up,
just listened to the grass rustling as David sat down next to him. He felt a
warm hand on his back and it sent a shiver over his body and made his heart
beat harder. He shrugged it off. “I’m fine. Just not used to all this
exercise.”
“Are you sure?” David asked, not sounding convinced at all. “You’re not having…
whatever it was that happened last night?”
Cook stood up, trying his hardest to walk in a straight line. “I’m fine.”
Maybe if he kept saying it, it would be true.
 
                                      ~*~
 
When they returned to the house, they were both drenched in sweat. Cook dragged
out the slightly rusting tub and went to work boiling water from the well. It
was a warm day so they set it up outside. He told David he could go first and
before he could leave, to go back inside and hide, David had removed his shirt
and Cook couldn’t help but stare.
He stood, rooted to the spot, gaping. David’s body wasn’t overly muscular;
there was still a trace of boyishness about him. But his upper arms were strong
looking and his stomach was perfectly taut. The setting sun reflected across
his skin, turning it a delicious gold. David turned around to place his shirt
in a place where it wouldn’t get wet. He stopped when he noticed Cook still
standing there. “Oh,” he said. He looked like he was going to say something
else, but instead he waited for Cook to talk first.
“S-sorry,” Cook stuttered, and then he rushed back inside. He didn’t know what
to do with himself when he was in there. He was afraid he would be too tempted
to take a peak out the window if he stayed so he climbed up to the loft and sat
with his head buried in his hands, trying to extinguish the desire he felt for
David. But the images were fresh and too hard to ignore. Seeing the boy like
that was the last thing he needed.
This was the position David found him in when he came to tell Cook it was his
turn. “Are you still feeling unwell?” he asked him.
Cook was getting a little sick of David’s fussing. Every time he asked Cook how
he was feeling Cook was reminded of exactly why he wasn’t feeling well. “I’m
fine, David,” he said, with more edge to his voice than he meant to.
If David was put off by that he didn’t mention it. “I filled the bath for you,”
he said as he climbed down the ladder.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Cook said as he followed him.
“I wanted to.”
Cool felt simultaneously guilty and annoyed. Why did David have to be so
goddamn good and nice and perfect all the time? Cook wished for once David
could just be… more like Cook. Then Cook wouldn’t have to fight so hard at
keeping his desires to himself. He wouldn’t feel like he was ruining David just
by thinking about the less than innocent things he would like to do to him. But
at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t feel so strongly about David if he were
more like Cook. He didn’t want anyone else, he wanted David. Just the way he
was.
 
                                      ~*~
 
They had decided to get up early to go fishing and when Cook awoke the next
morning, David was curled up beside him. It had taken Cook forever to fall
asleep the night before; sleeping in the same bed as David was torturous. They
had both laid down very far away from each other, Cook teetering right on the
edge. David had fallen asleep quickly and then shifted to face Cook. With the
light of the candle Cook watched the boy sleep. His lips were slightly open and
Cook could swear he felt the warm air of David’s breath dance across his face
despite the distance.
And then he had become aware, and horrified, that he was growing hard. He
rolled over and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else. He was not
going to touch himself and certainly not when David could wake up and find him
in that position. That would be too mortifying to bear. After the incident the
other night with the boy in the alley he had made a vow that he wouldn’t even
touch himself anymore because he knew that if he did the images of David
pleasuring him would surely plague him again and that made him feel too
incredibly guilty.
He had finally fallen into a fitful sleep and when he woke up David was no
longer on the other side of the bed but right beside him; his legs curled up
and pressed against Cook’s side and his warm forehead pressed against Cook’s
arm. Cook didn’t want to wake the boy. He wanted to lie like that forever. He
turned his head so that their faces were inches apart and he felt David’s small
puffs of breath on his face. He wanted to soak up the moment and save it in his
memory forever. He couldn’t help but think how nicely they fit together. When
David was asleep, and snuggled up to Cook like that, Cook could pretend that it
was okay to feel how he did.
When David stirred Cook closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He didn’t
want David to know that he was aware of their close proximity, and enjoying it.
He felt ashamed of himself. He expected David to move away, but instead David
just burrowed into his little cocoon by Cook’s side and gave a contented sigh.
That was when Cook pulled away. He faked a yawn and stretched his arms over his
head. He leaned up on his elbows and stared down at David, who looked up at him
with his wide and disappointed eyes. “Time to get up,” Cook said, nudging David
a little roughly. David sighed again, and it was not at all contented as it had
been before. He obediently threw the covers back and crawled out of bed. Cook
hurried down the ladder, trying to ignore David’s apparent morning rituals of
rubbing his fists into his eyes and running his hands through his wild black
hair.
When they had gotten washed and dressed, Cook got the fishing equipment ready
while David packed them a lunch of bread, cheese and apples. Cook was ready
before David was. Cook watched David and wondered how long a person could
possibly fuss over a hunk of bread and cheese. The boy hummed to himself as he
did it and Cook stared at the back of his head and willed himself not to
analyse the domestic dynamics between them.
David got onto his horse perfectly fine by himself this time and they rode in
silence to the lake. Cook could tell that David was really enjoying himself
because every time Cook glanced at him David had a dreamy smile on his face.
Although he still felt it was a bad idea, him spending so much time with David
alone, Cook was sort of pleased David had come with him. Just knowing he was
able to bring David some form of happiness eased his guilt about his feelings
for David ever so slightly.
They didn’t have a boat but there was a dock on the lake and they sat at the
end, their legs hanging over the edge. “I’ve never gone fishing before,” David
said.
“Really? Well, it’s pretty easy. You just sit there, waiting for them to bite,”
Cook said.
David giggled. “I can do that.” Cook showed David how to put the bait on the
hook and throw the line out. When they had done that, Cook fell silent again
but David spoke. “It smells so good here. Not all… rotten like the Thames.”
Cook nodded. “Yeah, it does.”
David breathed in deeply and sighed. He closed his eyes and tilted his head
towards the bright morning sun. “You’re so lucky to be able to come out here
whenever you like.”
Cook had never really thought about it that way. He had never felt particularly
comfortable in either the country or the city. But seeing his surroundings
through David’s eyes, it became clearer to him that he was pretty lucky. “I
guess I am,” he said.
“Did you come out here with your father?” David asked.
Cook gave him a sharp look but David seemed to be determinedly not looking
back. Cook stared down into the water and answered quietly. “No. Not right
here. We had houses all over. All big cold houses that always had more servants
than they ever had guests. I sold those places and found this place on my own.
By accident really. I was riding and I was alone and had gone too far. I found
the cottage and it was all run down. I spent the night there and then the next
day I went into the town to find the owner. And I bought it from him that day.
It was the day after my father died.”
“How did he die?” David asked. Then quickly he added, “If you don’t mind me
asking.”
“Consumption.”
“Oh,” David nodded. It wasn’t an uncommon illness.
“I was quite relieved, to be honest,” Cook said. He had never told anyone this
and he was distantly afraid of what it meant that he was revealing this
information to David but the urge to get it out was more overpowering. “He was
sick for a long time, but before that he acted just the same. He hated life.
Maybe that was why he got so sick? And he didn’t ever want to be around me
because it was my fault my mother died.”
“How could it have possibly been your fault?” David whispered.
“She died giving birth to me.”
“But that’s not your fault!” David said, outraged.
Cook shrugged. “My father thought so. He never said it, but I could tell. I
would catch him looking at me sometimes… He said I was just like her and so he
pushed me away. I guess it hurt too much. He could have just loved me for being
her child but he didn’t, he couldn’t get past the resentment.”
They sat silently for a moment before David said, “I’m sure he did love you.
Deep down.”
Cook hung his head. “I don’t think so.”
David took one of his hands from around the fishing pole and placed it on
Cook’s knee. Cook flinched but David did not remove his hand. “I know he must
have. I don’t know how he couldn’t.”
Just then David quickly pulled his hand away and grabbed onto his fishing rod.
“Oh my gosh,” he said. “I think I caught a fish!”
“Pull it in!” Cook yelled.
“Help me!” David cried in a panicky voice. Cook moved and wrapped his arms
around David’s body; he placed one hand on the rod and the other over David’s
hand. Together they pulled the fish in. It was a pretty big fish and it flopped
around on the deck a few times before going still. “Aww, poor fish,” David said
wistfully.
Cook shook his head in amusement, “You won’t be saying that later when he’s all
grilled up in butter.” He dipped a bucket into the lake and filled it with a
little water and then put the fish in it, hoping to keep it cool.
After that Cook caught a fish too, although his was much smaller. Then they sat
for about an hour and a half without anything.
“I’m hungry,” David said.
“We could have our lunch now then,” Cook offered.
David grinned and opened up the carefully wrapped package that was beside him.
Cook saw why it had taken him so long to prepare. There were several neatly
made sandwiches in there and when Cook bit into one he tasted the pickled
onions that Carly made every summer. When they had finished eating the sun was
beating down on them and Cook noticed that David wasn’t sitting in such a perky
position anymore. They sat for quite a while, waiting for another fish to bite
but it was pretty apparent they had already caught all they were getting that
day.
“Gosh, it’s so warm today!” David said eventually. “Maybe we should go
swimming?” He looked over at Cook hopefully.
Cook frowned. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to see David shirtless again. “We’ll
disturb the fish.”
“I don’t think we’re going to catch anymore fish, Cook,” David said.
Cook stared down at the two fish in the bucket. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So let’s do it!” David exclaimed. He pulled the line back in and laid the rod
beside him. He stood up and began taking off his shirt. Cook really wanted to
look away, he did, but he couldn’t resist. Luckily, though, it was the only
piece of clothing David removed. He jumped in the water and Cook watched
anxiously, waiting for his head to pop up. When it did he splashed water at
Cook. “Get in!”
“Why do you like dumping water on me?” Cook asked playfully, getting into the
spirit of it and already shedding his shirt. He jumped into the water, close
enough to David so that the force would splash water over the boy’s head, but
not close enough to harm him. Sure enough when he resurfaced David was coughing
and wiping his eyes. Cook laughed and soon they were having an enormous
splashing fight.
They swam around for a while, the cold water quickly warming, having races
which David always won. Cook was surprised that almost every time he looked
towards David the boy was staring back with a huge grin on his face. That was
when Cook would dunk his head and swim away. Eventually, he got too tired and
hauled himself up onto the dock. He lay on his stomach to let the back of his
pants dry and from that position he watched David continue to splash around.
When David finally got out. the back of Cook’s pants were thoroughly dry and he
was on his back drying his front. David lay down on his stomach as Cook had,
resting his head on his arms that were folded in front of him. Cook could feel
David’s eyes on him. But he refused to look back.
 
                                      ~*~
 
That night the nice weather dissolved and it started to rain, hard. Cook and
David had to run around the little house to place jars and pots underneath the
leaks in the ceiling. Soon they were hearing thunder and flashes of lightning
were momentarily brightening the dimly lit room. They dragged the couch across
the room so that it was right in front of the fireplace and listened to the
rain as they ate their fish.
When they had finished, Cook turned to David, who was sitting with his knees up
and his arms wrapped around them and finally had the courage to ask the boy
something he had wondered for a while. He felt that since he had told David
about his family, David could tell Cook about his. All he knew was that David’s
father had sent him away to fend for himself at sixteen. He wanted to know what
David’s relationship was like with his father. He needed to know that David’s
father truly loved his son.
“What about your family?” he asked.
David raised an eyebrow. “What about them?”
“I want you to tell me about them. I told you about my father, now it’s your
turn…. Please.”
David looked into the fire and took a breath. “He’s not a bad person at all.
But he’s very strict. And religious.” David fiddled with a hole in the
upholstery of the sofa. “Like I said… he would be devastated if he found out
what I really did for money. He probably wouldn’t be pleased about you either.”
Cook shifted uncomfortably, wondering what words David would use if he were to
ever describe their situation to his father. David continued, “I know he
thought he was doing the right thing when he sent me away. He wanted me to
become a man. I guess I wasn’t ready.”
Cook thought that it was true; David was a boy, not a man yet. But who was to
decide what a man really is? And why should David need to be one when he was
already the most wonderful person Cook had ever met? “I think you’re fine just
the way you are,” Cook said.
David shook his head sadly, then, and looked away. Cook couldn’t understand
what that meant, and he was too afraid to ask. “Let’s talk about something
else,” David said firmly.
“Alright. Like what?”
“Um… What’s something you really, really love to do?”
Cook thought for a minute, then answered “sleep” as solemnly as possible.
David gave him a disbelieving look, “How can you love sleep? You’re never awake
to enjoy it!”
Cook laughed at David’s strangely rational statement. “I will not accept your
logic. Sleep is my favourite thing to do,” he said stubbornly.
“So it’s not… playing music?” David said tentatively.
Cook stilled. He could feel David watching him. Then he felt the boy move
closer to him. Too close. Impossibly close. His chest was pressing against
Cook’s arm. He slowly turned his head even though he wasn’t ready to answer,
and was instantly transfixed by the look in David’s eyes. It wasn’t like
anything he had ever seen before. It was this hypnosis which made Cook unable
to resist as David pulled Cook’s body towards him; the boy sat back and gently
pulled Cook’s head down to rest on his chest.
Cook lay there, soaking up the warmth of David’s body, his eyes wide with
shock, but he couldn’t move. David ran his fingers through Cook’s hair and he
gasped and shivered at the touch. They lay this way for a few moments before
Cook finally found his voice. “No,” he whispered.
“Hmm?” David asked sleepily.
“No… music’s not my favourite thing.”
David didn’t say anything in response. His hand stopped lazily running through
Cook’s hair and he tugged on it a bit, forcing Cook to raise his head. Cook
looked up and found himself incredibly close to David’s face. He stared into
David’s eyes and the boy was watching him back, with yielding honesty. He was
waiting for Cook to do something. Cook knew he was. Their breathing seemed
obscenely loud in the small overheated house. A feeling of claustrophobia, of
loss of control, began to seize Cook’s body. He started to panic and broke the
gaze.
He thought back to the first night when he had met David, where he couldn’t let
David kiss and touch him because he knew the boy didn’t want to. He had wanted
David to want him in return, being with David and knowing that it meant nothing
to him would have only left Cook feeling just as empty. Now he thought when he
looked into the boy’s eyes that David did want Cook back. Cook had convinced
himself never to let that hope enter his mind, but now it was there and it made
things so much more complicated.
He wanted to kiss David so much, and he certainly didn’t want to hurt the boy
by not kissing him. But he couldn’t do it; he couldn’t encourage that…
behaviour. It was too late, Cook had already made the decision he would never
let David end up like him. Cook knew he couldn’t change who he was. He had
always known he was different and always felt like an outcast. He knew the way
he felt about other men was wrong. He had promised himself he would prevent
David from straying down the same path. David wasn’t as old or as weak as Cook.
He didn’t have to be an outcast. He was too good for that, he didn’t deserve
it. But now Cook felt whatever he chose to do, he would he hurting David, one
way or another.
His head rested on David’s chest again and he let his arm hold on to David’s
body as tightly as he could in the awkward position. He tried to calm his
breathing but it was difficult when he could feel and hear David’s heart
rapidly speed up underneath him. He couldn’t look back up at David’s face,
afraid of what he might do. He just held David as close as he could. There was
no other way he could comfort the boy, or himself.
They stayed in that position for a long time, long enough for the fire to die
down. David’s heart slowed to a soothing beat – a rhythmic lullaby. Their
bodies kept each other warm. Cook had calmed so much that he was on the brink
of sleep. David slowly moved his hand to rub up and down Cook’s back and the
older man exhaled in contentment, but when David’s fingers ran though Cook’s
hair, massaging his scalp, Cook released a groan of pleasure and startled
himself back to reality. He jerked away, scrambling to stand above the boy, who
stared up at him with surprised, hurt eyes.
Cook couldn’t say anything; he just turned around and climbed the ladder up to
the loft. David didn’t follow him and even though Cook had not expected him to,
he felt disappointment. He lay in bed, waiting anxiously and at the same time
feeling completely stupid for doing so. He cursed himself once again for being
such a weak person. He should have never have let it happen. He had tried so
hard to keep an emotional distance between them and yet it was futile. All the
work he had put into it seemed to have completely dissipated to nothing. He was
left with a situation that was much worse. Cook hadn’t succeeded in saving
David from a life like Cook’s at all; maybe he had even made it worse? He had
saved him from the streets and put him into a situation that was just as
harming to David’s pure soul. He had just wanted to help David and he couldn’t
even do that right. He decided all he could do now was discourage David from
those feelings as best he could.
Finally, he crawled out of the bed and peered over the ledge of the loft. David
was sleeping fitfully on the sofa and he was shivering slightly. Cook turned
back to the bed and picked up a quilt that was sitting on the end. He climbed
back down the ladder and placed the quilt over the sleeping boy. He laid his
hand over the boy’s heart but he hardly felt a beat. He stared down at him for
a moment before pressing a small kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he
whispered. “It’s for your own good.”
***** Part Five *****
five: alike inside
Cook sat in his garden, back at home in London, in the seat he had seen David
perched on in the middle of the night a few weeks previous. He stared at the
flowers that he had no participation in growing. No part in creating something
so beautiful, and pure.
He felt out of place sitting amongst so much beauty. The flowers all reminded
him of David. It was where David belonged, not Cook.
Cook stood and walked over to a yellow rose. He leaned forward and inhaled the
scent. Since he and David had returned from the country, Cook had gone back to
his old habit of spending almost every waking moment at his club, leaving David
to his own devices. When he was away from the boy he would constantly worry
that when he returned home David would eventually not be there anymore.
But he always was, waiting for Cook. When Cook saw the smile spread across the
boy’s face when he walked through the door, and the glint of something else in
his eye, Cook felt guilty, which was nothing new. Because he liked seeing those
things, and he knew he shouldn’t.
Cook reached out to caress the velvety petals. So soft and delicate, so easily
destroyed. Suddenly his hand enclosed over the flower and he crushed it. When
he pulled his hand away, petals fell to the ground, creased and ugly.
Cook couldn’t trust himself with David. He would ruin him.
When he turned around to walk back inside, he saw David standing at the library
window, watching him. Cook instantly looked away and instead of returning to
the house he sat back down on the bench. He remained there until it was cold
and dark, and only then did he feel comfortable sitting in that garden.
 
                                      ~*~
 
Cook sat at his piano, early one Sunday morning. He did not play anything
particularly melodic, just thumped on the keys, trying to release his
frustration. His sleeping patterns had turned into practically non-existent and
sometimes he wondered if he was going insane.
The more he tried to suppress his feelings for David, the stronger he seemed to
feel for the boy. It was cruel. And David wasn’t helping at all. The boy was
now apparently determined to make Cook notice him. He seemed to realise Cook
was hiding something, and hiding from David, so when Cook was home, David never
let him out of his sight. And he watched the older man with piercing eyes.
When Cook dared to look back, David would fix him with a stare that implied he
knew something that Cook didn’t. He gave Cook this exact look when Cook stepped
out of the drawing room and found David right outside the door.
“Were you listening?” he demanded.
“Yes,” David said without an ounce of guilt. He stared Cook down with that look
and Cook turned and walked into the dining room, having withered under David’s
gaze.
They sat down and began their breakfast in silence. Cook determinedly stared at
his plate. When he finally spoke, it was to his cup of tea. “I don’t think I’ll
go to church with you today, David.”
“What?” David said, clearly surprised and upset. Cook couldn’t help but look up
then and seeing the hurt on David’s face he instantly knew he shouldn’t have.
He was afraid he would relent.
“You should still go; you can sit with Brooke and her husband. You should…
invite one of the girls for a walk in the park afterwards.”
“No,” David said vehemently.
He sounded angry, and David did not get angry. Cook knew it was dangerous
territory to continue but he recklessly barrelled on, still ignoring eye
contact. He really hated himself for saying it, but it seemed like the most
logical way to dissuade David from any… unhealthy ideas he had about his
relationship with Cook. It didn’t matter that Cook felt totally hypocritical,
he just didn’t want David to be like him.
“I bet you’ve had many sweethearts before, right?” he said. He’d tried it
before, and failed miserably, but he was desperate. He felt it was the only
way. It sounded so fake and judging by the expression on David’s face, the boy
clearly knew it. He looked away and didn’t answer the question.
“I’m sure any one of them is dying for you to ask them. How could they resist?
You would make the perfect…um…”
“Stop it!” David shouted suddenly.
Cook finally looked up with a gaping mouth to stare at the angry boy.
“Just stop saying that!” David continued. “Stop saying that I’m perfect. You
know I’m not! And you don’t think I’m fine the way I am, like you said you did
when we were out at your house in the country. You don’t.”
“Of course I do!” Cook said defensively. “What are you talking about?”
“No you don’t! Because I’m like you, Cook. And you can’t accept it about
yourself.”
Cook looked away again, “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”
“Don’t lie.”
Cook stood up. “I’m not lying. You and I are nothing alike, David.” He had to
stop himself from saying anything about David whoring himself. He knew it would
have hurt. It would have instantly made David cease this argument, but he
wouldn’t do that. Because despite everything, Cook still knew that David was a
better person than he was. That was the true reason why they weren’t alike.
The angry expression on David’s face melted and turned into pure pain. “Why are
you doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything. Nothing,” Cook said with finality, and he left the
room.
 
                                      ~*~
 
David went to church without Cook.
And he didn’t come home straight away. Cook wondered if maybe David had taken
one of the church girls to the park. While he waited for David to return, Cook
tried reading the paper, but he couldn’t concentrate. He even wandered into the
drawing room and sat at his piano. But his hands did not touch the keys once.
He just sat, staring at them, and when he finally heard David enter though the
front door, some murmuring between his unmistakable voice and Kristen’s, Cook
did not get up. He listened as the boy climbed the stairs, went into his room
and closed the door.
Feeling relieved that David was home again, safe; Cook went to tell Kristin to
bring him the rest of the day’s meals in his room. He had no desire to see
David again that day. Cook didn’t want David to leave him, but being around him
was just as difficult.
When Cook was closed into his room, he poured himself a drink. And then
another. He sat by the window, staring down at the empty bench in the garden,
surrounded by colourful flowers. He stared at them from a distance, as his
bedroom slowly darkened.
He barely ate his supper. Instead he got slowly more and more inebriated and
then he stumbled over to his bed, shed himself of his clothes, and lay down in
the inviting bed. He was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.
 
                                      ~*~
 
Cook awoke sometime during the night to the sound of heavy rain pelting down on
the roof. He snuggled further down in the blankets, hoping the raindrops could
lull him back to sleep.
Instead he heard his bedroom door creak open. He lifted his head up but then
automatically dropped it back down to the pillow as it had begun spinning
uncontrollably. He was obviously still intoxicated.
“Cook?” he heard David’s breathy voice ask timidly.
“Mmm?” was all he could manage to reply.
Suddenly a bang of thunder shook the room and Cook saw David’s dark shape jump.
“Uhm, could I please… sleep in here?”
“Are you afraid?” Cook asked
“Yes.”
Cook was afraid too, for different reasons, and if he hadn’t been so drunk he
would have declined, but he was not thinking straight and so he mumbled for
David to come in.
David hurried over to the bed. Instead of going around to the other side he
crawled over Cook’s feet and then scurried up the bed and under the blankets.
The movements he made to the mattress felt like an earthquake to Cook.
When he was settled in, they both lay perfectly still or a moment, but then
Cook could feel David tentatively move around behind him. David pressed his
clothed chest to Cook’s bare back. The fabric felt soft against his skin and
the warmth of David’s body permeated the cloth to Cook’s own skin. Cook sighed
at the comforting feeling of it.
David’s body was rigid with anxiety but Cook felt him gradually relax as the
moments passed and the rain died down to a lazy pitter-patter. Cook heard David
sigh contentedly and whisper, “Thank you.”
Then David moved away a little and Cook felt a warm hand on his back, fingers
trailing down his spine. He shivered at the touch. David ran his hand up and
down, massaging Cook’s back. The older man groaned in pleasure but it suddenly
turned into silent sobs. Especially with the amount of alcohol in his system,
he just could not control his feelings.
“Shhhh,” he heard David say, the hand on his back never ceasing the comforting
caresses. It calmed him and through his drunkenness Cook still wondered how
David could cause such juxtaposing emotions within him.
He allowed the sounds of the rain and the warmth of David’s touch lead him
through the fog, and he couldn’t be sure, but he thought he might have felt
delicate kisses on the back of his neck before he once again fell asleep.
 
                                      ~*~
 
When Cook woke in the late morning, David was gone. But when he poured the
water from the jug into the basin, it was warm. He had a pounding headache but
he was acutely aware of how badly he had let his guard down the night before.
He was just so tired. Pushing David away took up so much of his energy;
fighting against his feelings took so much effort. He couldn’t help that he was
vulnerable while drunk and sleepy. He hadn’t meant to let David in, in either
the literal or emotional sense of the word.
He had come too far now, though, to ruin everything he had worked so hard to
prevent from happening. He was angry at himself for slipping up. And angry that
it had felt so good to be held and touched by David in that way. A teasing
taste of what he did not deserve to have.
Cook did not go down for breakfast. He could not face David, and he was feeling
too ill to eat anyway. Instead, he placed some money in an envelope, as he
always did every Monday morning, crossed the hall and slipped it under David’s
door.
 
                                      ~*~
 
Later, as he lay shivering under his blankets, not really from the cold, but a
combination of sickness from the alcohol, and self-loathing. David knocked on
his door. He knew the knock was David’s and he contemplated telling the boy to
go away, but although he could effectively ignore David himself, he found it
extremely difficult to actually refuse the boy company when he came looking for
Cook.
“Come in,” he said.
David walked in and closed the door. He was holding the envelope of money.
There was something about his expression that was unnerving. “Why was there
another two pounds in the money this week?”
With the effort he could muster, Cook pushed himself up to face the boy. He
honestly couldn’t answer the question. He wasn’t sure why he had done it.
Perhaps, it was his guilt. He wanted to make up for it and it was the only way
he could think of. He had always dealt with his problems by using money.
“I don’t want you to give me money anymore,” David said.
“But – ” Cook desperately searched for something to say. He thought maybe David
was saying he didn’t want Cook’s money anymore because he was going to leave
him, and Cook couldn’t stand that.
“I only take it because I need it for my family.”
“But, what, so – how are you going to send them money now? Your parents. You’re
not… you’re not thinking about going back out on the streets are you? You
can’t!”
“No. But maybe I could get a job doing something else? Maybe… maybe you could
help me?”
Cook was momentarily speechless. “Err, I suppose I could… try.” Cook was quite
surprised at David’s turnaround. Cook had never made David feel like he should
be ashamed of his occupation, well, he hoped he hadn’t. Cook was more concerned
that other men used him without caring about what a sweet, innocent and amazing
person he was. Cook had never wanted to know too many details about it, for
obvious reasons. And although he wanted David to see he was better than it, he
hadn’t tried to convince the boy he had any other options than to live with
Cook.
He should’ve been happy that David was thinking about something else. But he
wasn’t. He thought that maybe he finally had pushed the boy away, and that
David wanted to find something else to do so that he could use that to get away
from Cook.
“I don’t want to do those things for money again. Ever,” David said.
But if Cook had succeeded in pushing David away, why was the boy so adamant
about not going back to working the streets? “Why?” he asked, although he knew
it was an unsatisfactory question.
“I want the person I do those things with to mean something to me. I never
realised that could happen.”
Cook froze. Then turned away, his voice hardened. “What makes you think it can
now?”
David was quiet and Cook was glad he had turned around because he wouldn’t have
been able to bear the hurt look he knew he must have put on the boy’s face.
Finally David sighed. “I just don’t like the idea of you paying me for my
company, anymore.”
Cook turned back. “Are you leaving me?”
“No! Not unless you want me to. I want to stay with you. But I don’t want you
to pay me for it. I don’t want you to pay me to be your friend, I am your
friend.”
“I don’t deserve your friendship,” Cook said.
“Cook, that’s not true! If anything, I don’t deserve you!”
“Stop!”
David looked shocked. He closed his mouth and stared at Cook expectantly.
“Just… please, I’m so tired. Just let me sleep. I can’t…”
David frowned, his defeated expression matching how Cook felt. “I’ll bring some
dinner for you later.”
Cook lay back down and pulled the covers over his head childishly. Trying to
push David from the safety of the little world of white he created beneath the
sheets. Yet, he listened intently as David left the room and his
uncharacteristically heavy feet padded down the stairs.
Later, when David brought his food, he ignored the knock and waited until he
heard those retreating footsteps again before opening the door.
 
                                      ~*~
 
Cook did not see David the next day. He got up especially early, forgoing
breakfast, but instead of going to his club he sat in the park, watching the
people of various walks of life pass though.
At times he found himself studying them intently as they walked on, oblivious
and totally concerned with their own lives. And at other times he could only
think about David, replaying the boy’s words over and over again.
I want the person I do those things with to mean something to me.
He ate some bread and cheese in a public house sometime in the mid afternoon.
He had really lost a lot of weight over the last few months, his anxiety often
preventing him from being able to eat. Afterwards, he walked around the streets
of London aimlessly.
Cook was surprised at how he had never really noticed that there were many
miserable faces around him, staring to the ground. It was a melancholy
realisation, that so many people were unhappy. And it was all his own doing
that he was one of them.
It was dark by the time he arrived back home. David wasn’t waiting for him as
he usually was. He took off his coat, and was thankful David’s coat was still
hanging on its hook beside Cook’s.
He went in search of the boy, first going up the stairs. He paused outside of
David’s room; he placed his hand on the door ready to enter when he suddenly
heard something that made his heart stop. A soft, beautiful voice was singing…
something all too familiar… Cook froze. It couldn’t be.
He fumbled with the handle and barged into the room to find David sitting on
the floor, papers sprawled around him and Cook’s box of music open. David
looked up, obvious guilt radiating through his expression.
Cook just stared at him, shocked. Finally he spoke, stuttered, “What… what are
you doing?”
David was suddenly released from his frozen state and he frantically moved
about, crawling around the floor to gather up the papers. “I’m sorry, I’m so
sorry,” he kept repeating.
Cook went hot and it suddenly felt like sweat was fighting to get out of every
pore in his body. His breathing quickened familiarly. He shook his head
vaguely. He just did not want to believe that this had happened.
He turned and practically ran from his house. His body was moving of its own
accord as he walked and walked, his legs seemed to know where he was going. He
hadn’t even taken his coat but he didn’t seem to feel like cold.
When he finally stopped walking it was dark and he had no idea how long it had
been. He looked about and suddenly realised where he was. He stared at the
doorway where he had first seen David, a fragile boy. A sweet, pure boy under
attack in an ugly world.
It wasn’t David’s fault that he had been curious about the box. It was probably
Cook’s fault. David was probably bored. What scared him was now David knew the
things about Cook that he had been hiding. Hiding from everyone, his entire
life. David had read his soul.
Just then, a boy who seemed quite familiar sidled up to him, “Hey honey,” the
boy said, fingering Cook’s collar. Instinctively he leaned into the touch,
although he knew it wasn’t real comfort. But then David’s face flashed before
his eyes and he roughly pushed the boy away. “Get away from me!” he screamed,
quite unhinged, and ran in the direction he had come.
***** Part Six *****
six: simple and true
Cook was making his way to his room when he heard a small and unmistakable
voice say his name. He turned to see David standing in the doorway of his own
room, framed by glowing candlelight.
“I packed my bags. I’ll leave in the morning… or I could leave right now if you
want. I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” the boy said.
Cook took a deep breath and a step toward him. “You don’t have to go anywhere,
David.”
“But…”
“I like having you here. A lot. I… You know that.” David looked confused, as he
had a right to, considering the way Cook had been behaving. It made Cook feel
awful.
“I… I’m sorry about…” David stuttered.
Cook shook his head dismissively, almost desperately. He was still upset, but
it was nothing compared to how upset he would be if David left. “I would have
been curious too. I’m sorry I ran away like that. I was just in shock. No-one
else has ever seen those before.”
“Really? But why? They’re amazing.”
He shook his head again. “It’s not why I wrote them.”
David paused. “I think I understand.”
Cook was now standing right in front of David. He could practically feel the
warmth from his body, and he wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by it. He
was sick of forcing himself to live in the cold. Maybe, he could have some
warmth. Maybe he did deserve a little bit.
He lifted his hand up to touch the boy’s cheek and David instantly leaned into
the touch. “I don’t ever want you to go away, David. Please, don’t leave me,”
his voice wavered, rising sobs caught in his throat.
David stared up at him with fiery hazel eyes, “I won’t” he whispered.
Cook closed his eyes, he felt faint. He gripped David’s shoulder for support.
He felt David place a hand on his hip. He leaned forward, his eyes still
closed, and rested his forehead to David’s. “I love you,” he finally confessed.
David breathed in and out heavily. “I love you, too.”
Cook couldn’t help but let out one of the threatening sobs. “I didn’t want this
to happen. I didn’t want you to have to end up like me. Sad and lonely and
having to pay for pleasure...”
“But, why would I be like that, if I had you?” David asked.
“You’ll get sick of me, and by then it’ll be too late. You’ll realise you’re
too good for me.”
“No! You can’t think that,” David said ardently. He pulled Cook into a strong
embrace.
Cook didn’t fight it. His body, his heart, couldn’t reject that warmth any
longer. But, his mind was still filled with his insecurities. “You’re so young,
David…” he said weakly, into David’s hair.
“I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. I have been for a long time.” Then he
pulled away, but instantly took Cook’s hand in his, and squeezed it
reassuringly. He pulled Cook into his bedroom and closed the door. Cook dazedly
allowed himself to be led over to the bed. He sat down when David nudged him to
do so. And, like a rag doll, mutely watched as David removed his shoes for him.
David pushed his shoulders back and Cook lay onto the bed, finally finding some
of his own movement, and twisting so that he was resting his head on David’s
pillows. Their scent was intoxicating.
He watched, fascinated, as David started to undress him. It wasn’t desperate,
and it was strangely… not sexual. It was just David taking care of him, showing
Cook he loved him through such simple gestures. Small gestures that meant so
much more than one could ever tell just by describing them.
When David kissed his stomach, and down his thighs, and up to his chest again,
Cook knew it was about so much more than just physical attraction. It was about
love. He could feel it in every tiny little nudge of pressure from David’s
lips. And Cook had never experienced that before.
His eyes were wide, when David leaned back and began to undress himself. Cook
was frozen. So many emotions were running through him, that he had no energy to
control his body in any way.
David was beautiful, like a Michelangelo statue. He seemed too perfect, too
rare and precious to touch. Cook felt he didn’t even deserve to be looking at
him. He wanted to say something, to tell David how truly gorgeous he was, and
that Cook didn’t deserve him. He choked on his words, but David read his eyes
anyway, and gave him a look that said you are.
He gasped when David leaned over him, and lowered his warm body over Cook’s
cold one. He was lying in between Cook’s legs, their naked bodies pressed
together so tightly, so perfectly. Nothing else could feel so comforting. David
lay still, with his head buried in Cook’s neck, holding him.
David carefully started to place delicate kisses over Cook’s shoulders and
chest. He kissed Cook’s heart. He was treating Cook like he was so fragile, and
Cook realised he needed that.
Slowly, Cook lifted his arms, which had been lying limply at his sides, until
they were wrapped around David’s back. David lifted his head up to look into
Cook’s eyes, and Cook hoped he could see the gratitude there.
Of course, there was a sexual element underlying what was happening between
them, but the lust was overpowered, by something so pure. Just holding David
was all Cook needed. Only when David shifted a little, and their groins grazed
against each other, did Cook feel a real jolt of arousal.
David kissed him. Cook wasn’t familiar with kissing. He had done it before, but
very rarely. He had honestly never liked it. Not when it was just pretend, a
show. Something he only got because he paid for it.
It was so different with David. He was enjoying the kissing more than he ever
thought was possible. David’s mouth tasted so sweet. And so unique, he didn’t
think any other mouth could ever be as delicious.
David’s hands massaged over his chest, and again Cook felt a shock of
excitement, when David squeezed his nipples. He gasped and David looked at him,
shy but determined.
“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” he whispered. Cook tried to
speak but David put his fingers to his lips, stopping him. “I want to be so
close to you. I want to show you how I feel. I… I want you inside of me.”
Cook trembled. “You… do?”
“Yes,” David said. “Because, I’ve never done that with anyone. Never given that
to anyone, and I want to give it to you.”
“But…” Cook started to protest.
“You told me, with you I never had to do anything I didn’t want to. I want to
do this.” David said. He moved back off of Cook, and off the bed. He walked
over to his washstand and picked up a bottle of lotion Cook had given him as a
gift.
He climbed back onto the bed, beside Cook, pressed up to his body, and he
handed Cook the lotion. With effort, Cook leaned onto his elbow and looked down
at David, who was staring up at him so earnestly. “David. We don’t have to.”
“Oh no, I want to,” David said firmly. “Cook… I love you.” He took Cook’s free
hand, and guided it between his legs. “Please.”
Cook hovered over David anxiously. He was scared, and it must have shown on his
face, because David tenderly ran his fingers down the older man’s cheek. “It’s
alright,” he whispered.
Cook closed his eyes, afraid his tears might suddenly spill from them. “I love
you so much, David.”
“I know.”
It took a long time to prepare David. Cook was extremely slow and careful, as
much for his sake as for David’s. When he finally entered him, David was
holding both his hands over his face, pressing his fingertips hard into his eye
sockets, gasping.
“I’m sorry,” Cook said in a strangled voice, trying to keep himself still, and
to keep himself from coming.
David pulled his hands away, and urgently placed them on either side of Cook’s
face. “Don’t be sorry, Cook. It feels… so good.”
Cook had to see David. They had to be facing each other. He had never done it
that way before, and he knew why. Because he hadn’t loved any of the others.
They weren’t David. And with David, it wasn’t fucking. It was a whole other
realm of pleasure.
And then it was over. It all happened so fast, Cook couldn’t stop himself from
exploding, and then David was too. And it was very messy. But there was nothing
awkward, or anti-climatic about it. It was perfect. It was the most romantic
night of Cook’s life.
They slept together, afterwards, completely entangled, a deep, deep sleep.
***** Epilogue *****
epilogue: turned into something beautiful
The drawing room was open and a soft piano melody drifted through the door.
David Archuleta walked into the room, following the sound. He wrapped his arms
around the man who was sitting at the piano, he clasped his hands over the
man’s heart, feeling it suddenly speed up and vibrating against his palms.
“That sounded beautiful,” he whispered.
David Cook turned to look into his lover’s eyes. “Really?” he asked, joy in his
voice. David nodded. “I’m glad you like it. I, uh… wrote it for you. I want you
to sing it. You can sing it to your parents… when we go to visit them.”
“When we what?” David asked, completely taken by surprise.
Cook turned around on the piano bench, and dragged David down to sit beside
him. “I want to meet them.”
“You know we can’t… can’t tell them about us,” David said.
“I know. But they’re important to you. And that makes them important to me.”
David grinned. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” They could never say it enough.
David turned in his seat to face the piano. He tentatively tapped on one of the
keys. “Teach me the song?”
Cook smiled. He turned around also. “It goes like this…”
They sang of hearts, and hyperventilation. They sang their story, and it had a
happy ending.
                                    The End
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