whiterabbit1613: anderson cooper (anderson)
[personal profile] whiterabbit1613   Jul. 6th, 2008 04:14 pm

Title: Housework

Author: whiterabbit1613

Series: AC360, CwKO

Rating: PG

Summary: Keith is handy around the house. (Romance, Anderson/Keith, 1500 words)

Disclaimer: All television shows and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. Anderson Cooper 360, Countdown with Keith Olbermann, The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are the creative property of their respective producers. The author of this work of fiction claims no ownership of any of these shows.


Author’s Note: This started out as a funny little fic about Keith being mildly neurotic, and then it turned into this semi-serious thing. There are five short stories here, but they add up to the one, bigger piece. Enjoy!

 

 

i. dishes

About three days after they officially-unofficially moved in together, Anderson realized that Keith was a neat freak.

Every morning, he would fold up his newspaper, put it in the recycling pile, and place his coffee mug in the dishwasher before leaving the kitchen. In the bathroom, he always hung up his damp towel; he always squeezed toothpaste from the end of the tube; he always replaced the roll if he finished off the toilet paper. He never left clothing on the floor in the bedroom – his shirts hit the correct, color-coordinated hamper, every time.

These things didn’t annoy Anderson. There were worse things than having a tidy roommate. (Anderson knew this from experience.) But he nevertheless assumed it was something Keith was doing out of politeness, out of a sense of discomfort with his new surroundings. Anderson’s definition of home had always been ‘the place where I can dump my shit and not have to worry about cleaning it up right away’; he naively assumed that everyone’s definition was somewhat the same.

“I feel perfectly comfortable here,” Keith retorted, after he had washed the dinner dishes, and Anderson explained his position on the matter. “Is there something wrong with not wanting to live in a shithole?”

Anderson gave a little moue, though he couldn’t completely drown either the amusement or the continued concern. “You have got to be the first person ever to call my apartment a shithole.”

Keith rolled his eyes, turned on the television, and put his feet up on the coffee table.

 

ii. laundry

“Do you have any shirts that need doing?”

Anderson looked up from his reading. He thought Keith looked amused, though it was hard to tell, because he was on his back, head hanging off the edge of the sofa, so Keith was upside-down. He was holding a hamper that seemed to be full of dress shirts. “I was going to take them to the dry cleaners when I go to the gym. I can take yours, too, if you want.”

Keith snorted. “I do mine in the washing machine.”

“The washing machine?” Anderson sat up on the sofa, a motion that amounted to a crunch and did a lot to show off his rippling pectorals. “They’re dry-clean only, Keith. You can’t wash them in the machine.”

“The labels are just a suggestion,” Keith replied. “The whole dry-clean only thing is part of a scheme masterminded by the garment industry to cheat hard-working business men out of their hard-earned cash. There is nothing they do to a shirt that you can’t do in the privacy of your own cost-effective washing machine.”

Anderson rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to do my laundry, Keith.”

Keith’s face instantly went from sarcastic to furious. “No shit, Anderson! I don’t have to do your laundry. I’m just offering! Jesus!” He turned around and stormed out of the room.

Anderson blinked. “Okay. I think it’s safe to say I just did something wrong.”

 

iii. tub

Anderson walked into the bathroom to find Keith with his head stuck under the sink. “Looking for something?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice muffled by the cabinet. “Don’t you have any Scrubbing Bubbles?”

“Uh, no?”

“So how do you clean the bathtub?”

Anderson apparently didn’t answer fast enough, because a moment later, Keith emerged in order to give him a questioning look. “Oh jeez, don’t tell me –“

“Yeah.” Anderson cut him off, sheepishly. “I really don’t, uh, clean my bathtub. I just call a maid.”

“Really? A maid?

“She comes every two weeks. Her name is Carmen.” Keith was just sort of staring at him. “What?”

“Do you know how to do anything yourself?”

Anderson rolled his eyes and turned to leave the room. “I know how to clean my bathtub, jackass. I just choose not to.”

“Lazy fucker.”

“You don’t have to clean my bathtub, Keith!” Anderson yelled, in a sing-song tone of voice. He couldn’t see it, but he was positive Keith flipped him off in response.

 

iv. vacuum

The sudden roar in the next room was what startled Anderson awake. He had been napping in the bedroom, sprawled out on the sun-warmed sheets, enjoying the luxury of 1200 thread count after two weeks on assignment in the jungle. He’d been there for several hours, dozing on and off, but the brutal noise was enough to drag him out of his pleasant cocoon and to the doorway.

Anderson was on the verge of chewing out his boyfriend; why he had suddenly felt the need to vacuum the living room was something of a mystery, and was likely to remain as such. Even for Keith, it seemed rude to make such a racket while Anderson was asleep. But as he caught sight of Keith, he decided to keep quiet.

Keith had his headphones on, and whatever he was listening to was apparently quite catchy and upbeat, because he was swing-dancing around the room like the vacuum cleaner was his energetic partner. Anderson hadn’t known that Keith could dance, but he evidently could swing quite well, because his foot work was tidy and precise, and even with the vacuum in hand he could execute some pretty complicated maneuvers. The other thing that struck Anderson was how ridiculously happy Keith looked, like he really, really enjoyed dancing, or like maybe he had a great memory associated with the particular song.

At that moment, Keith caught sight of Anderson standing in the doorway. He instantly stopped dancing; in fact, the vacuum swung out of his hand and banged to the floor. He pulled off his headphones and stood there in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. “I know, I know,” he said bitterly, “I don’t have to vacuum your living room, Anderson. But I –“

“No, um.” Keith stared at Anderson as he was cut off. “It’s fine. You didn’t have to stop dancing. Sorry to bother you.” Anderson backed out of the room as quickly as he could, Keith staring at him the whole way, their eyes locked until Anderson swung the door shut and closed his eyes.


v. dinner

“What are you making?”

Keith looked up from the sports section as Anderson walked through the door. His hair was looking more grey than silver as he stooped over for a kiss, which he was happily given. He looked tired, Keith thought.

“Turkey burgers. And, uh, something with avocados in it that I dug out from the fridge.”

Anderson nodded. “Probably guacamole, don’t you think? You made tacos last Friday.”

“Yeah, that must be it.”

Dinner was on the table a short while later. Keith poured Anderson a glass of white wine and opened another beer for himself. Anderson ate like he could barely find the energy to lift fork to mouth. “I have Klondike bars for dessert,” Keith said, “but I don’t think you could take one down in a fight, right now.”

Anderson’s fork clattered onto the plate, much to his surprise. He looked at Keith, sheepishly. “You know, I think you’re right.”

He was too tired to reach his own feet; Keith helped him sit on the bed, and then knelt down and took off both shoes and socks. When he looked back up, Anderson was smiling at him, a soft, happy expression that Keith usually only got to see after a particularly good round of Sunday-afternoon sex. “What is it?” he asked.

“Here I’ve been thinking you were Cinderella.”

“Fuck no. I am Prince Charming, and don’t you ever forget it.”

Anderson offered him a hand up, but Keith didn’t try to pull himself off the floor, not trusting the strength in Anderson’s arm. He took the hand, though, and pulled it to his mouth for a kiss. “What happened to you at work today?”

The blue gaze turned a little sad. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Okay,” Keith said. “That’s okay. Let’s go to bed.”

He helped Anderson undress before taking off his own clothes. They curled up together under the blankets. Keith was acutely aware, in that moment, in the dark, of how compact and warm Anderson was in his arms. “Andy? Are you awake?” There was no response, so Keith snuggled closer and closed his eyes. “I just wanted to tell you… um. When I do the dishes, or do the laundry, or scrub out the tub, or vacuum the living room, or cook your dinner, I’m just trying to tell you that I – that I love you. Okay? It’s a good thing. I only clean out the drains for people I care about. So don’t worry about it. Well, that’s it, I guess. Good night.”

Keith dozed off right then, so he didn’t see the smile on Anderson’s face, or hear his whispered reply.

 

A/N: Thanks for reading!


originally posted here
.

Profile

whiterabbit1613: self portrait (Default)
whiterabbit1613

Style Credit

  • Style: Serif center headerimg for Paper Me

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags