A very big thank you to all of the readers who have taken the time to send kind messages for the story. I very much appreciate it. Please send any feedback, complaints, and correspondence to breakingthroughstory@gmail.com.
The usual disclaimers apply. This is fiction.
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Chapter 23
"We're going to be late," Chris said from the bathroom. He was doing his best to make his hair behave, but wound up running his fingers through it and letting it do its own thing.
"I don't care," Armie said, not bothering to even look up from the task at hand. He was cutting the end off of a cigar out on the balcony and set about lighting it, the heady scent of tobacco and resin wafting out into the open air. "I just told them we were on our way."
"Very funny," Chris said as he walked from the bathroom to the closet. He was still only half-dressed and though Armie could say he was further along, the cigar break may not have been the best idea. It would be at least half an hour now. Chris slipped his black dress shoes on and pulled a white button-up shirt off its hanger. This wasn't the time for creativity. "It started half an hour ago."
"It'll take longer than that just to get there," Armie said. "So there's no point in rushing."
"By the time we get there, everyone will be drunk."
"Unlikely," Armie said before taking a few slow puffs. "Don't exaggerate."
Chris went out to the balcony to join his husband, rolling his eyes at the sight of Armie leaning back in a chair, his feet up as he smoked. "Don't get a big head or anything, but people are expecting us."
Armie grinned and tapped at his phone, filling the bedroom with The Psychedelic Furs' "Love My Way."
"C'mon," Chris said, offering an outstretched hand. Armie tapped off his cigar before setting it down in its ashtray. He grabbed Chris' hand and pulled, bringing Chris down to his lap. Their lips met and Chris worked to button up Armie's shirt, doing the exact opposite of what he'd normally do in this situation. Armie tasted like smoke, smelled amazing, and looked as good as Chris had ever seen him.
"You're serious, aren't you?" Armie asked.
"It's a party for us, it would be really rude of us not to show up."
"Who sets up a party the day after opening night?"
"That would be your mom," Chris said, reminding Armie that his mom was in charge of everything having to do with the charity. "And that would by why we're not there yet, right?"
"Are you wearing a tie tonight?" Armie said, changing the subject immediately.
"Nope," Chris said, buttoning the top buttons of Armie's shirt. "But according to your stylist, you are."
"Okay," Armie sighed. "I guess we should get going. But when we get there, let's just say hi to everyone and head out. Just get in and out."
"We'll have to get In-N-Out if we miss dinner."
Armie stubbed out the cigar, hoping that it would be fine left out in the open. He'd get back to it later. "Alright, alright," he said as Chris got off of him. "Let's do this."
It took 45 minutes, even though both of their phones said it would only take half an hour. And while not everyone was drunk, Chris and Armie could tell that a few people did have too much to drink and that a few may have already left. As soon as they entered the party, held on the rooftop of the Ace Hotel in Downtown L.A., Chris could feel a sense of relief sweep over the entire crowd. Now that the guests of honor had arrived, they could celebrate without guilt.
Together, they made a beeline to Dru, giving her a hug as she congratulated the both of them. The play, which Chris had based on "American Made," had already sold out every one of its dozen scheduled showings, raising plenty of money for the Hammer Foundation. Armie had directed the production, happy to have one more joint project to their shared name.
"It was wonderful," Dru said. "I may not agree with your politics, but I can't deny how beautiful that story is."
Armie's arm went to its usual place around Chris' waist. "Thanks, mom. That means a lot coming from you."
"I have to say hi to my editor," Chris said. "Excuse me. It was great to see you, Dru."
"Chris," she said. "Keep up the good work. It's wonderful."
Chris slipped away, grabbed a bottle of tonic water from a passing waiter, and gave his regards to David before setting himself up at the edge of the party with the L.A. skyline surrounding him. The sense of accomplishment felt great and he let himself enjoy it instead of going with his usual M.O. and wondering what to do next.
"I think they were about to put the chairs up on the tables," Sebastian said, joining his friend.
"We weren't that late," Chris said. "Putting everything together has been really stressful."
"I'm glad you don't let work get in the way of Taco Tuesday."
"You cancel way more Taco Tuesdays than I do."
Armie wasn't surprised that Chris ducked out of the conversation with his mother, but he was surprised at just how many people wanted to talk to him. He always saw this as more of a passion project for Chris, but as per usual, Armie's involvement took more than its fair share of the spotlight. His strategy of spending as little time as possible at the party wasn't fleshing out like he wanted, but the passed hors d'oeuvres were better than he expected, too. He shoved a few in his mouth between conversations, inching closer and closer to Chris after every compliment and ultra-short conversation.
"Did you read any of the reviews?" Sebastian asked.
"David told me that everyone was very positive," Chris said. "But I felt good about it, which is what matters. I'm not really a playwright. I needed a lot of help. It's not my thing."
"I thought you'd written them before."
"I needed a lot of help then, too. There's a whole team of people helping me with so much. They deserve a lot more credit than they get. Jake's mom basically taught me how to write a screenplay. David helped me find a guy to help with this play. All I have is big ideas."
Sebastian squeezed Chris' shoulder, "Big ideas seem to be all you need. You're doing just fine."
"Someone's going to figure out I'm a hack pretty soon," Chris joked.
"Friends!" Armie said, wrapping his arms around both Sebastian and Chris. "Did you see that they're passing around tiny fish tacos?"
"Did you see that there's no actual sit-down dinner?" Chris said. "We're going to have to get burgers after all." He reached up and straightened Armie's tie, rubbing his chest after everything looked tidy.
"Is there a big cartoon check or something involved tonight?" Armie asked. "What are we waiting for?"
"You just got here," Sebastian reiterated. "At least take me with you."
"No, no. Not yet," Chris said. "We were joking about pulling an Irish goodbye earlier but I don't think we need to."
Armie scanned the crowd. It was thinning and he could see a few people waving goodbye and offering up hugs. The party was winding down, no doubt about it. Maybe everyone was sick of celebrating them. They'd been busy, after all. It wouldn't be surprising if everyone were growing tired of it all.
"Are things better with your mom?" Chris asked, reaching down to hold Armie's hand.
"Getting there," Armie said before taking a sip of water. "It's going to be a process."
"It's easy to forget how cool it is downtown," Chris said. "The last time I was here was when you were showing me your family's building. It's different at night."
Sebastian and Armie looked around, soaking in the lights shining against the night sky, the instantly recognizable silhouettes of the buildings, and the quiet hum of the city around them. "I've never written anything about L.A.," Chris said. "Isn't that weird? I've lived here long enough, you'd think it would creep in somewhere."
"You have a thing for rural America and Route 66," Armie said. "And Japan. And San Francisco."
"I never felt like L.A. was very welcoming," Chris said. "But now, after everything, it does feel like home."
"Make sure to glorify the unbearable traffic, the income gap, and the fact that just about everyone who comes here gets their dreams shattered," Sebastian added, tossing his arm over Chris' shoulders. "Now, let's get some burgers."
"Veni, Vidi, Venezia," Chris read aloud. "That's a ridiculous headline. I don't think that even makes sense if you translate it."
"Pictures look good though," Armie said, grabbing the copy of "Architectural Digest" from Chris' hand and scanning the spread. They were out on the patio, soaking in the early morning sunlight as Chris looked over the magazine feature, which had been the very first time they'd ever been officially photographed together. The magazine wanted to feature the house, but they were a package deal. Armie flipped through the story, looking over each photo. "Yeah, you look great."
"The house looks great," Chris said, correcting him. It had been a huge production and while they were instructed to "look natural," Chris could see just how posed and forced they were in every snapshot. How often did Chris sit on the kitchen island, barefoot with his chinos rolled up just so as Armie poured him coffee from a French press? Never. They both drank pour-over. And Armie never leaned against the stairs, but there he was, looking handsome in a button-up that showed the perfect amount of chest hair. For anyone that wasn't present for the photo shoot, it looked like the perfect California fantasy. Views of the canal, fuchsia bougainvillea blooming along the walkway wrapped around the house, an overflowing dish of oranges and lemons sitting on the coffee table -- it was all too good to be real.
"Did Nick tell us this was the first two-story Spanish-style home built on the canals?" Chris asked.
"Maybe we forgot. We might have fallen in love with the views and not heard anything that he said," Armie explained.
"Are we a 'Hollywood power couple'?" Chris asked. By now, he'd moved so that they could look at the magazine together and ended up practically sitting in Armie's lap.
"Yes. That I can confirm," Armie said, letting out a soft laugh. "Look how amazing all your awards look, even out of focus." He hated to think about it, but he knew that his mom would be reading the article, looking at these same photos. He hoped it would do something to impress her, especially since she hadn't made any effort to see the house or spend time with him outside of the social events that he always felt obligated to attend. After his first marriage had started to fizzle out, he and Elizabeth had held off as long as they could until divorcing. But the distance was there. She moved on. Armie did, too, only his actions didn't quite align with his mom's hopes and expectations. Chris wasn't her idea of an ideal partner. The relationship wasn't something that would be in the pages of "Town & Country." Except, by now, it was. Dru just decided to ignore it.
Chris let Armie take hold of the magazine while he settled in beside him, maneuvering their bodies together so that they were laying on the chaise beside each other instead of on top of one another. Chris turned to his Kindle while Armie continued to scrutinize the article.
"Look at this tiny shot of the Santa Barbara house," Armie said, pointing to an inset photo and purposely avoiding the word "your." It was theirs now. Next to the grandeur of their Venice house, it looked like a dollhouse. It was certainly charming, but definitely not something worthy of the pages of "AD." Chris wondered why the writer even mentioned it, especially since the photo didn't even have a caption. They'd had almost all of the furniture from the old glass house moved to Santa Barbara. Even though they'd been in the new house for a while, it was still slightly strange to Chris not having his usual midcentury-inspired furniture around. It didn't really fit with the look the cottage either, but Chris was finally thinking about renovating the inside and getting things a little less stuffy.
"Way to put things in perspective," Chris said. Past and present didn't seem to fit together, but he was making do. He fiddled with his wedding band for a few second before turning his attention back to his e-book. Armie stroked at his arm, taking in the rest of the article as salty air wafted over them.
"Are you going to nap or read?"
"Read," Chris said.
"I don't believe you."
"This book is complicated," Chris said.
"Why are you even reading Stephen Hawking?"
"Respect."
Armie chuckled, pulling Chris closer. "This is what I've always wanted. This life you showed me."
"I haven't showed you anything," Chris said, his eyes focused on his Kindle. "This is just the life we have."
Armie kissed the back of Chris' neck, his beard scratching at the skin. "This is a very charmed life. Being married to you is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
"Stop being so sentimental," Chris said. "It makes me uncomfortable."
"Your books are deeply emotional, raw, and revealing," Armie said, a hint of NPR radio host coming to his voice. "But that's not you. At least not right now."
"Don't quote my own reviews to me," Chris said. "I haven't let that many people in. You'll take what you get and you'll like it."
Armie laughed, rolling the two of them back over, so that Chris was on his back and Armie was kneeling between his legs. "I love you. I love you more than anything."
"I love you, too, Armie," Chris said. He reached up to stroke his cheek, smiling wide as he pulled Armie down, their noses grazing and their foreheads touching. "Opening up isn't easy for me -- except when I'm with you. Then, it's less miserable."
"You always know the right things to say," Armie said.
The bright, golden sunshine made everything extra-saturated, from the green of the low hedge that surrounded the patio to the rippling blue of the water just a few yards away. Chris let out a slow breath and smiled. There was so much to be happy about at that moment that he just wanted to let it all soak in. Armie's kiss brought him back to the here and now. With a reality that bordered on fairy tale, there was no reason to be anywhere else.
Nobody was more surprised to get a message from Jake than Armie. He would never describe their situation as a friendship. Instead, he thought of it as friendly. Necessary because of the circles that Armie and Chris moved in, but not anything that he'd sought to nurture. He wasn't sure, then, why he was pulling his TaylorMade driver out of the trunk and walking towards the driving range knowing that Jake Gyllenhaal would be inside.
"Hey, man," Jake said when he spotted Armie, which was never difficult. He didn't look nervous, but his body language said otherwise. "Thanks for coming out."
"No, thanks for asking," Armie said, reaching to shake Jake's outstretched hand. It was awkward for the both of them. "Do you golf?" Armie asked.
"Not actual golfing, but I like to hit balls. It's good to get rid of pent-up energy."
"Same," Armie said, feeling a wave of relief go from his head down to his toes. "I haven't done it in a while." Jake was cordial and warm, which Armie appreciated. Their past interactions were always polite and civil, so he wasn't expecting things to be different now. What was different was the fact that Chris wasn't there. Jake's email had been clear about one thing: he wanted Armie to come alone.
Jake pulled his baseball cap off, adjusting his hair underneath before putting it on again. He set down the pail of golf balls between the two of them and locked eyes with Armie again. "Congratulations on the play. On everything, really. I'm always congratulating you when we meet up."
"Thanks," Armie said, grabbing a few of the balls and tossing them onto the turf at his feet. He lined one up on the tee and stepped back, getting into position. Small talk was something they both had to do for work, so Armie was skipping it. This situation didn't call for formalities. "Are we here to talk about what I think we are?"
He assumed that this was the crux of the whole meet-up. He thought that something would come up, knowing that Jake did all of Chris' books, but nothing had materialized until now. He was waiting for Jake to bring it up.
"I can't say that I wasn't disappointed when I never got the call to record the book," Jake said, swinging his driver, lobbing the ball out wide. "I thought he'd still want me to."
Armie didn't say anything, just casually swinging his own club, sending a ball flying through the air past the 150-yard marker. Chris did have a thing for consistency, but he was also the author with three last names, so there was an argument against that consistency, too. Armie had run the scenario in his head a million different ways by now. Talking through it at a driving range was not one of the ways he thought it'd happen.
"I think I've been a little disenchanted by what I thought was going to happen with everything. Part of me thought that things would be the same apart from living together. I honestly believed that we'd still see each other regularly."
"I don't think that's what happens with anyone," Armie said. Another swing and both of their eyes followed the path of Armie's ball. "I haven't talked to my ex at all since I signed the papers." There was another bout of silence between them. No words, the only sound coming from Armie and Jake was the swing the club and the crack that came when metal came into contact with plastic.
"I figured that since our relationship was so unorthodox, our divorce would be, too," Jake said. He watched as Armie swung a few more times. Armie was nervous, but thankful for the activity at hand, which kept them from having to talk for long periods of time.
"If you want me to talk to him about the audiobook, I will. I don't want to overstep," Armie finally said.
"No," Jake said. He swung again. "He's made up his mind and we both know how stubborn he is. Can be. No, is. He's stubborn."
"You'd be surprised," Armie said. He shot off one, two, three more balls and stood up to look over at Jake.
"It's not just that," Jake continued. He pulled his hat off and set it down. He leaned against the half-wall opposite of Armie and sighed. "I'm seeing someone. Things are going really great, but no matter what, I keep thinking that I made a mistake with Chris."
"We've all felt that," Armie said.
"Right. But it's obvious that Chris is using all of this conflict in a good way. His book was great and original and I get that. I'm glad he's using everything he's going through in a constructive way. I just want to know if...I don't know...does he ever talk about how hard it is?"
"He hasn't for a while," Armie said sincerely. "It hasn't been easy, if that's what you're asking."
"But you managed to put him back together after I broke him."
"No, he did that himself."
"My sister likes to remind me that Chris and I were kids when we got together. There's no way we could have lasted forever. We had a good run."
"I don't think my ex-wife could even think of the things you're saying," Armie said. "It was messy and I don't think we could even speak to each other in any sort of polite way at this point."
"We're...cordial," Jake said, his brow furrowing. "I wouldn't say we're friends, but maybe soon I'll be able to talk to him without remembering how I shattered him."
"He'd like that, I'm sure," Armie said. He reached into his bag for bottles of water and handed one to Jake. "I don't want any bad feelings between any of us. We're adults. It's not impossible."
"Honestly, I can't think of a better guy for him," Jake said. "My sister, my nieces, I only hear good things from them."
"Should I tell him about this talk?"
"You think he'll even believe that it even happened?"
"I almost don't. Neither of us is very good at golf."
Jake took a long sip of water. It wasn't that he wasn't handsome, because Jake definitely was, but Armie found himself more drawn to the conversation and openness than the blue eyes and crooked smile. Chris had never talked about their courtship and most of the articles that Armie had read glossed over those early days, too. He wondered what drew Chris in during those early days. He wondered if Jake thought the same thing about him. It wasn't difficult to draw comparisons -- just about every weekly tabloid had already done it -- but there was no way to see what Jake really thought.
"I'd say that we should go for a drink, but we both drove."
"I'd take you up on it," Armie said, not sure if he believed his own words. He knocked a ball around with his club, rolling it back and forth on the turf. "Listen. If you're looking for some real closure, you'll have to get it from him."
"In an ideal world, maybe," Jake said. "I'm taking it a day at a time. Some are better than others. Maybe if you two stopped getting seen all over L.A. or maybe if the internet slowed down for just a few hours, it would be easier for everyone. It's hard."
"It's not as impossible as it seems," Armie said. He hit one more ball, a dud that landed somewhere near the 25-yard sign. "It'll take time. You know him better than I do, maybe more than I ever will. So, you know that it all just takes time." Armie leaned over the partition and gave Jake's shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks for this." He was glad that there was a half-hour drive ahead of him. It would take at least that long to process what had happened and figure out exactly what to tell Chris.
"Did he buy back the rights to his book?"
"No, I just have film rights," Jake said. "And the play was for charity. It would have been a dick move for me to ask for that dollar back."
"So, he wasn't joking. A dollar."
"One dollar."
"One dollar. Wow. This guy. Is he ever going to stop surprising me?"
"Not if he's the guy I know."
"You cooked for me," Armie said as he walked into the kitchen. It felt like he'd been gone forever, but his watch confirmed that his afternoon errand really only took a few hours. He tossed his keys and wallet into a shallow bowl set out just for the task of emptying pockets and noticed that all the doors were open and a cool, gentle breeze was wafting into the house
"Yeah, just don't look in the garbage. I don't know where those boxes came from," Chris said, letting out a soft laugh before Armie kissed him. "Just warming it back up. You smell like grass."
"Is this from the place on Abbot Kinney?" Armie asked as he picked a grape tomato out of the salad. Chris was dutifully slicing a cut of meat that looked to be fresh from the oven. Armie grabbed an avocado from their stash on the counter and started to reach for a knife, but Chris stopped him.
"I remembered to ask for extra dressing this time," Chris said. "Go sit down, I can be domestic for once." He pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and handed it to his husband, "Go, go. Relax. I can handle an avocado."
"Alright, alright. No complaints here," Armie said, striding out to the patio, where he saw a few candles lit and a small cheese platter set out, the tiny crackers already stacked with slices of white and orange cheeses. They ate out there more often than they did in the house, so the setup wasn't that much of a surprise. Armie sat down, leaned back, and took a long sip of beer, glancing back inside to see Chris plating their entrees, a look of focused concentration on his face as he placed pork tenderloin beside heaps of salad. Armie started on the cheeses, knowing it was more for him than Chris anyway. He was more about dessert than appetizers. Armie was the opposite -- he'd never met a starter he didn't want to try. They'd made entire meals out of chicken satay and eggrolls at Thai restaurants or skewered meats at Japanese yakitori restaurants.
Armie smiled as he saw Chris run his fingers through his hair before carrying the two plates out, carefully setting them down on the table. "So, this is sort of a celebration. I am negotiating -- well...David is -- a deal with PBS. They want me to do a special or maybe even a series where I check out creative writing programs for young people all around California," he said as he sat down beside Armie. "I would interview Dave Eggers in San Francisco and the Writers Group out here. Go to a retreat out in Ojai. Different things."
"That's incredible," Armie said, wrapping his arm around Chris' shoulder and kissing his temple. It would be something new for him and Armie was excited to see him take it on. With appearances on the radio and at big events under his belt, he was getting more comfortable with talking about himself and his work. It was a huge jump to actually be on television, but Armie knew Chris could do it. He'd been spotlight-adjacent for so long, coming in and out of the public eye often enough that people knew who he was, it seemed natural that he'd come into his own.
"I was just going to write about it, but David built on that idea and said it could be a front-of-camera thing," Chris continued, the words speeding up as his excitement built. "And then, I thought that we could do some of it together, because I actually talked to your mom and she promised that the Hammer Foundation would underwrite the entire thing. She said it was her wedding gift to us."
"That's really incredible," Armie said again. "She's not all bad. Or, she's trying not to be."
"Yeah, I've been working on it for a few weeks, but I didn't think it would actually go through. Your mom and I talked about it at the after-party," Chris held up his glass of water, clinking it against Armie's beer. "New adventures, here we come."
"It sounds really, really great," Armie said, rubbing Chris' shoulder. "I didn't know anything about it. You didn't say anything."
"I didn't think it would happen," Chris said. It had been an idea for so long Chris had almost forgotten about it. But when the theater reserved an entire day of the play's performances -- the matinee and evening shows -- for young writers from all over Southern California, he remembered again and worked to flesh it out. David thought it was great, PBS thought it was great, and as long as someone partnered with production to offset the cost, it was definitely something that the network would support. Then, when the pieces were coming together, Chris finally asked Dru if she knew anyone. Her charity network was huge, Chris knew that much, but he never imagined she'd take it on herself. He was hoping for a few phone numbers and got the jackpot, instead.
"We should have gone out to celebrate," Armie said, motioning at the food, the patio, and the familiar surroundings of their own home. A huge accomplishment deserved better.
"No, this is perfect," Chris said, thoroughly enjoying every bite of food and every time Armie's knee brushed his own. "This is exactly how it should be."
Chris took a deep breath, biting down on the sheets as his fists balled tight. He tried to keep his breathing even, but it was a struggle with Armie's tongue and fingers working wonders on his asshole. He could smell laundry detergent on the bedclothes as he did his best to keep from whimpering too loud, but as Armie tapped on his prostate and licked at his ring, his efforts weren't winning. Sharp sounds came from his throat and his cock dripped, a steady stream of pre-cum leaking as Armie pulled at his balls and stroked him with a loose grip, all the while lapping at his hole. Chris had already cum, shooting into Armie's mouth moments ago, but he didn't even recall going soft as Armie flipped him over, his slack body pliable and willing to go along with anything that Armie had in mind. Chris arched his back and spread his knees even further apart, the motions met with an appreciative grunt from Armie. Chris felt lips and tongue on his hole, unrelenting as his elbows were on the verge of buckling again.
Armie's lips traveled up, kissing a line up Chris' spine, tracing along each bump on the way to his shoulder. He smiled, stroking himself with a lube-slick hand as he nibbled at Chris' skin, kissing the bloom of pink left by his teeth. Armie lined himself and pushed through the tight ring of muscle, eliciting a long, drawn-out groan from Chris, the sound low as it rumbled through his chest. Armie stayed buried balls-deep, fully sheathed in the tight warmth of Chris' chute, feeling along Chris chest with one hand and holding himself up with the other, clasping Chris' own hand on the bed. He felt Chris squeezing around him, clamping down and clenching as he breathed, Armie's lips moving to the back of his neck.
Chris rocked slightly struggling with the stretch and the pain, biting down on his lip as he fucked himself on Armie's length, working a few thick inches in and out, his jaw tight as he felt the rub and burn. He grunted softly, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as Armie moved his hips, the sound of slick, sweaty skin replacing his own groans. Armie's hands were on his waist, pulling and pushing him back and forth as he drove his dick in and out, pumping with long, steady strokes.
Armie pulled Chris up, their lips connecting as Armie's chest came into contact with Chris' back, sweat-slick skin moving together as Armie's tongue slid into Chris' mouth. Chris felt hands all over him, his entire body tingling in the familiarity of feeling completely overwhelmed inside and out. One second, Armie's hands were on his neck and chest, the next, down to his abs, adding a playful stroke or tug at his balls and cock. Their lips stayed locked together, the backwards angle leaving Chris' neck craned, a prime position for Armie to squeeze his throat to hold him steady, his hips driving in deep and strong. Chris shuddered, his breath catching with one particularly forceful thrust, his body almost falling over the edge again.
Slowing down his hips, Armie stayed in deep, reveling in the feeling on his cock, the fluttering squeezes and sudden tightness coming together, drawing a deep ache in his own balls. Chris was completely open to him, every inch of him available for mouth and hands, every move pulling a moan or gasp from Chris' lips. Armie latched onto Chris' neck again, pumping in steady, building a rhythm as he heard the slap of Chris' cock against his abs, his balls drawn up tight.
Armie pressed his hand into Chris abs, sliding it down and squeezing his ring finger and thumb around the base of Chris' dick. His hips worked faster, slamming in against Chris' ass with every thrust, his makeshift cockring adding to the already-intense sensations running up and down Chris' body. He shut his eyes tight, barreling towards his own orgasm as he struggled to maintain control. His body moved on its own accord, hips slamming forward, his arms pushing Chris down to his hands, one leg coming up for leverage as he hammered in. Chris unspooled under him, cumming hard, his body shaking under Armie's. His hole got tighter, practically choking Armie's dick as he ground in hard, pushing as deep as he could go before shooting his own load, grinding in as he shot, a deep groan filling the room.
Collapsing on top of Chris' body, Armie nibbled at his ear and rubbed his nose against the back of Chris' neck. He felt Chris' body relax underneath him, a contented sigh escaping his lips. Armie pulled Chris close as he rolled off of him, their limbs in a tangle of sweaty skin and crumpled sheets.
The Venice Beach Public Library wasn't the prettiest or most historic building around, but Chris appreciated how close it was to the house. A few blocks was all it took to get him to a calm, quiet place with the same familiar library smell that he remembered from his childhood. Books, Scotch tape, and a combination of old paper and new plastic: it was all there. He'd just dropped off a huge box of donations, books that didn't quite fit in the office's built-in bookshelves and ones that publishers had sent to him, hoping to get a quote or two for a new author's book. He took slow steps up and down the library aisles, running his fingertips over the books and soaking in the atmosphere. Old favorites were sitting alongside new friends, hardcover editions that Chris could remember from high school and college sat unchanged. He'd been slow to adopt digital books and now he'd be hard-pressed to go anywhere without his Kindle, but there was something about actual books that held a certain magic.
Fiction gave way to non-fiction, where Chris spent very little time. Cookbooks sat alongside history books. He'd just finished a book on astrophysics an even though it was intended for a wide audience, he still felt his head spinning at the concepts he'd been exposed to. Fiction was the place for him, he decided. He could appreciate all the hard work that went into researching something like a look at WWII, but he'd leave that to the pros.
"There you are," Armie said, his voice low, as he saw Chris round a corner. "You said you'd be right out."
"Sorry, got distracted."
"Yeah, I figured. You knew I wasn't going to wait in the car."
Chris blushed, reaching out to rub at Armie's forearm. "Give me a few minutes."
"Take your time," Armie said before kissing Chris' forehead. "I'll be around."
Back among the shelves, Chris let himself daydream again, his brain bouncing ideas around as he zigzagged through the various sections of the library. He saw Armie on his phone, sitting in the young adult area, which was completely deserted at the moment. Of course, Chris made sure his books were in their proper place, chuckling at seeing the old covers again. A few looked tattered, like they'd been checked out a million times. Others had dog-eared pages and one looked almost destroyed, with coffee stains warping entire sections of the book. He made a mental note to get a new copy sent over. Straightening up the section -- and the few books that were filed under the letter G, thankful that his various last names were just steps apart -- as best as he could, he wandered back over to Armie.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Armie asked as Chris approached.
"I wasn't looking for anything specific," Chris said. "But every writer looks for their books. It's an instinct."
"That's when you usually find what you need," Armie said, getting up on his feet. In this part of the library, the bookshelves were only half as high as in the adult area, making Armie look even taller than he was.
"Thanks for indulging me," he said as he felt Armie wrap an arm around his waist.
Chris tapped an email out on his phone as the two of them walked out, the familiar swoosh sound of a sent message coming as soon as they stepped over the threshold. "There's probably a lot of good that the show can do," Chris said. "For literacy, for libraries, for kids and schools. We need to make sure that it's doing as much as possible."
"That's probably why my mom wanted to get the foundation involved. It's a passion project for you, so she wants to help out. It makes her look good, too."
He didn't know if they were requests or demands, because it seemed to blur when he typed them out. David was making sure that the show was what Chris wanted, just a way for young writers to get a little bit of mentorship and to give everyone out there a clearer idea of what being a writer really was. Sure, there was a lot of time spent in coffee shops and a fair share of creative expression that looked like self-indulgence, but it was a business, too. He wished someone had told him that at the beginning. It was as much about selling a story as crafting it, but there was a huge possibility of losing sight of everything in the process, which was often why so many people quit.
Armie could almost hear the gears turning in Chris' head. Ideas were floating around, coming in and out of focus at a rapid-fire pace and Chris was doing his best to figure them out. Armie had seen it plenty of times. Notebooks filled with text and scribbles, words crossed out just as often as they weren't. He was familiar with the diagrams, storyboards, and flow charts that would turn the most logical man into a maniac. There was a shoebox full of Post-It notes that Chris had finally thrown away during the move. It was, he explained, an experiment gone wrong.
Chris reached for Armie's hand over the gearshift, not even realizing that he'd done it as he tapped on his phone with his free hand. Armie treasured the moment like he always did, filing the memory away and smiling as he turned onto Abbott Kinney. The street was buzzing, which was great for the shoppers, but they made for a snail-like pace as Armie drove. Chris thumb ran over Armie's knuckles, absentmindedly going up and down the peaks and valleys as they inched closer to home.
"She owes us for donating so much of the money from the play to the foundation," Armie said. "Did you think of it that way?"
"No," Chris said. "I'm not that cynical."
"Technically, the play paid for the show."
"Stop," Chris said. "Let me enjoy this."
Armie silenced his voice, but he didn't keep his mind from wandering. He didn't want to taint the success of the play by adding on an unwanted layer of dread on top of it. If Chris was going to look at the situation through rose-colored glasses, Armie would let him. He'd do his best to let things happen, but if his mom was going to keep Chris from realizing this, there'd be no hesitation. He'd step in if he had to, but Armie hoped against all hope that it wouldn't come to that.
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