A very big thank you to all of the readers who have taken the time to send kind messages for the first few chapters of the story. I very much appreciate it. Please send any feedback, complaints, and correspondence to breakingthroughstory@gmail.com. I'm looking forward to continuing this creative endeavor in 2018 and hope to rebuild the sense of community that had been established the first time around between readers and writers.
This new story will take place in a loose version of the present day and most of the main ideas from the first go-round will remain. With a 10-year jump in time, some things have changed. The new story will do away with a lot of the tertiary characters in the old narrative.
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Chapter 6
"It's because I'm a creative," Chris said. "I am controlled my emotion, not logic."
"Does that really work on anyone?"
"No, because it's bullshit. I had to get away."
"Next time, let me know."
"Sorry," Chris grumbled. It was the first of many, many calls he had to return. His editor and publicist probably hated him at this point, but they knew what they had signed up for. He had told a few people, but to the rest of the world, he'd disappeared for almost a week. He'd spent the time in Santa Barbara, away from everything, phone included. It wasn't everyone's idea of paradise, but it was idyllic in its own way.
Back in Venice, rifled through his junk mail and took stock of his surroundings. Thanks to Jake, reporters everywhere were trying to figure out if the golden couple was back together. And thanks to that fact, Armie was in the news, too. It was either a very small world or a very slow news week, Chris figured. It was, more likely, a combination of both. Now that he was back in the real world with a very bare-bones outline for a new short story, it was probably best that he face his real-world responsibilities. That, or he could watch Netflix.
Sitting on his couch, Chris binged superhero shows while he responded to his emails. It was more efficient, he thought, to let everyone know he was fine with a cut-and-paste greeting. Impersonal as it may have been, it was fast. Even after talking to Jake about Armie -- he's a cool guy, Jake insisted; he's not as much of a douchebag as everyone thinks, he insisted -- he still wasn't sure what to do. Jake hadn't mentioned anything that Sebastian had brought up, but Chris didn't pry. It wasn't right to ask an ex about a romantic pursuit, if that was even what Armie was. Jake probably wouldn't have great things to say about anyone looking to take advantage of his ex.
Chris did hear some not-so-flattering things from other people, however. Armie had gotten his role in "The Social Network" after gifting David Fincher a Porsche. Armie married his ex so he'd have access to another chunk of his trust fund. She divorced him because their not-so-secret open marriage wasn't fooling anyone. Armie slept with casting directors, he offered stays at his family's Cayman Islands estate to reporters to get cover stories and Chris even heard that his family bought chunks of Disney stock to get him an in with the company for two different movies. It was all hearsay, but just knowing it was out there meant that there had to be some truth to it, Chris thought. As competitive as the movie industry was, rumors had a way of growing from some sort of fact. Blue eyes and good looks could only get a person so far.
"How is your arm?" Chris had ignored every message Armie had sent for the past seven days, but he was diving right back in.
Instead of a message, Armie called immediately. "Call off the search party. The prodigal son has been found."
"Are you still wearing the sling?"
"I can if you want me to," Armie said, his voice dropping an octave. Chris could practically hear him grinning.
"I was at a retreat," Chris said. "No phones. No email."
"You have a weird idea of a vacation. Can I come over? I've missed you."
"No. Give me your address. I'm coming over there."
"Is that so? Give a guy some warning."
"I'm serious. It's time we figure things out."
It took Chris over an hour to drive to Armie's mansion in Los Feliz. Traffic combined with the fact that they both lived in enclaves built far, far away from major freeways made the 25-mile trek seem like a cross-country road trip, especially since he drove through Chinatown, Koreatown, and Little Armenia. Thanks to his night of shame, Chris knew that Armie had a huge family home in Los Feliz. But when he arrived, he didn't expect the Regency-era architecture, the huge front yard, and the security gate. Jake's family had a much more modest midcentury home in the Hills. Chris thought that only oil barons lived in places like Armie's. Then, he remembered that Armie's great-grandfather actually was an oil baron.
"This could all be yours," Armie said as he threw the front doors open. "Ours." He was wearing a white T-shirt, dark blue jeans and no shoes. Armie always knew how to show off. The sleeves accentuated his biceps. The jeans made him look even taller.
"It's...something," Chris said, looking across the front of the house. There were huge windows going down both sides of the house. Everything was white and looked pristine. Chris wondered about the upkeep. It couldn't be cheap. It was at least five times bigger than Chris' two-bedroom Venice hideaway. Knowing that he basically got extorted out of his savings to buy it, he couldn't even imagine what a house like this would go for. Old money had its perks.
"I'm happy to see you," Armie said. He wanted to pull Chris into a hug, but wasn't quite sure what to do. "Sling's gone. I'm a brand-new man."
"I didn't mean to worry you," Chris said. "It was a whole off-the-grid, intensive writing thing." The lie was there, but the story was believable.
"I'm glad you're here."
"Can I come inside?"
"I'd like that," Armie said, recalling a similar exchange between the two. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Inside, Armie's house was very white. Instead of the contemporary steel and glass confines of Chris' own fishbowl, Armie lived in a fortress of marble and plaster. The floors gleamed. The walls were washed in a soft ivory. It looked like something out of "Town & Country." It was an updated version of what he grew up visiting, Armie explained. His ex-wife had been responsible for everything but the grill set up outside.
Chris followed behind as Armie pointed out the different rooms, each one outfitted in inoffensive neutrals. Chris couldn't find anything that had personality. It was like walking through a nondescript photo shoot. Then, they arrived in the kitchen. From the doorway, Chris could see this is where Armie spent most of his time. It was more cluttered and lived-in. The attached family room and dining room looked worn-in, too. The TV was paused. Armie had been watching a documentary about sharks.
"Do I pass?" Armie asked as he handed Chris a bottle of mineral water.
"It's beautiful," Chris said.
"It's stuffy, but I don't spend a lot of time in most of it. I keep it up for my parents."
Chris stared out of the back door, watching the sparkling pool ripple with the early afternoon breeze. Armie's yard was surrounded by tall oleander and what looked like citrus trees. It was manicured but still homey. Armie's prized grill was to the right of the door. Chris felt Armie behind him, his hands rubbing at Chris' shoulders. When Chris didn't protest, Armie let his hands wander lower, down to Chris' sides, around the front to feel at Chris' abs. He could feel Chris leaning back against him, melting into the embrace.
"I thought a lot about us," Chris said. "About what you want."
Armie rubbed his face in Chris' hair, mumbling something nonsensical. "I hope this is good news."
"It's not bad news," Chris said, turning around. He let Armie push him against the glass and their lips met. Tongues sliding together, Chris let his eyes close. Armie tasted like toothpaste.
"Can we keep going this time?"
Chris nodded, letting his fingers slide up under Armie's tight T-shirt. "But we should wait until after the movie for anything else."
"I can live with that," Armie said breathlessly. His kisses got deeper, more aggressive. Chris could feel Armie's hips rutting against his own. When Chris heard the sound of Armie's T-shirt hitting the floor, he felt his own defenses drop. The feel of skin and hair, the warmth and the sense of urgency; everything came together and he let himself feel. Armie's mouth moved lower, kissing at Chris' jaw and neck. Armie pulled Chris' shirt off, too, both of them groaning at the skin-on-skin contact.
Armie dropped to his knees, his hands undoing Chris' jeans and yanking them down along with his black briefs. Instantly, Chris' hands tangled in Armie's sandy hair. The heat of Armie's mouth came as a shock and Chris almost buckled in half. Armie's hand shot up to steady him.
"Oh god," Chris groaned out, feeling Armie's tongue run up and down his cock. Armie slowly bobbed, his hands running over Chris' lean body, his hips and his legs. It was new and exciting and he'd thought about it almost every night, imagining how Chris would react, how he'd feel and taste. Now, it was all right here. Armie tugged softly at Chris' balls, bringing out a soft hiss and a whimper. Chris was breathing hard now, especially as Armie bobbed on his length, lips tight.
Chris pulled Armie up, their lips connecting again. He struggled with Armie's jeans, but he was too clumsy to get them off. "Armie," Chris said, his voice dry and breathy. Armie shivered at the sound of his own name. "Bed. Bed, please. I'm going to fall over." Chris swore he felt his heart stop for a split second when Armie picked him up and walked a few paces to the sofa. It wasn't a bed, but it would do.
Armie let Chris pull him down, their bodies crashing together again. Hands were everywhere. Armie's jeans had managed to slide down, tangling his feet. He reached for them, but Chris' insistent kisses kept him from mustering up the ability to control his own hands. He bit his lip when Chris' hand wrapped around his cock, hoping to keep any unflattering sounds from escaping. After a few seconds of maneuvering, the jeans were off and Armie was straddling Chris' chest, watching his dick slide through Chris' lips. Their eyes locked together as Armie fucked Chris' mouth, feeling the slick heat on every inch as he struggled to control his thrusts. He let the sensations wash over his body, the ripples spreading from his dick to his back and up his spine, right to the tips of his fingers, which were gripping Chris' skull.
Every sensation was magnified. The wet, slurping sounds and Chris' soft grunts filled the air and the feel of each others' hands. Chris felt his whole body tingle. Armie buried his cock as deep as it would go, holding his dick in Chris' throat and almost cumming right then. He pulled out and kissed Chris again, reaching down to stroke their dicks together. He tried to get away from the edge, but his body seemed to be taking over.
"We need lube," Chris whispered, his hands feeling the cords of Armie's shoulders, his thumbs tracing his beard as they kissed. The toothpaste flavor had gone away. It was raw now.
"Upstairs," Armie managed to croak out. "You were right. We need a bed."
Armie got up off the couch, offering a hand. Chris couldn't believe his luck. Light streamed in from behind Armie, highlighting every contour and making his hair practically glow. Chris couldn't move. Armie reached down and pulled Chris up, bringing them together again into another deep kiss. Chris kissed at Armie's chest, his biceps and his shoulders. It was so new and novel. He wanted to explore, but his body ached for intimacy, not familiarity.
Stumbling upstairs, stealing kisses and touches with just about every step, Chris let Armie lower him down onto the thick duvet. It puffed up around him and the laughed softly. "I didn't think this would actually happen," Armie admitted, nipping at Chris' collarbone. "I wished for it, but I never thought..."
Chris interrupted that line of thought with a firm tug on Armie's dick and felt a harder bite on his neck. Lube-slicked fingers slid into him, making his breath catch in his throat. "Is that okay?"
Nodding, Chris buried his face in the crook of Armie's neck. Sweat. He tasted sweat. Armie's fingers twisted and scissored, working his hole open as Chris stroked their dicks, feeling his own cock throb against Armie's doing his best to ignore the white-hot heat that was pulsing through. He felt Armie shift and shut his eyes as his legs spread wider, instinctively heading up to Armie's shoulders. Then, he arched his back, gripping the blanket in his hands and clenching his jaw tight as he felt Armie push into him. Both of them groaned despite the effort to keep it back, Chris' body yielding as inch after inch of Armie sunk in. Hips rocking, he felt the tightness grip him, the velvety squeeze enveloping him.
Chris shuddered with every forward thrust, Armie's dick raking across his prostate. Chris' toes curled and he threw his head back as far as he could with the loft of the blanket under him. His body arched more, making way for Armie's intrusion. He could hear his own name, almost inaudible, falling from Chris' lips over and over. Armie let Chris' legs fall and wrap around his waist, watching Chris' muscles tense. Armie thrust again and again, watching Chris' body react. He was rapt, seeing each move create so many more. Chris pulled him down for a sloppy kiss, drowning his own whimpers out with Armie's grunts.
Chris rolled the two of them over, sinking that much deeper and feeling the blunt head of Armie's dick reach past its previous mark. "You look incredible," Armie managed to say, watching the languid roll of Chris' hips and the bounce of his cock as he moved. Chris didn't respond, his head cloudy. Instead, he leaned down and licked at Armie's lips, capturing his tongue in another wet kiss. Armie's hips thrust up despite his brain's protests. He wanted to last, but the both of them were racing towards orgasm, barreling forward. Armie grasped at Chris' hips, his fingers sure to leave bruises, his knuckles white as he grit his teeth and fucked up into the tightness, his balls rising, his breath quickening and both of their bodies gleaming with a sheen of sweat. "I can't last," Armie whispered.
Nodding, Chris ground his hips down, grunting at the sensation. He licked and kissed at Armie's chest. Armie's unloaded with a loud groan, holding Chris down on him, both of them freezing in the moment. Chris felt the warmth inside of him, felt Armie tense and relax with each throbbing shot, felt Armie hand stroking and squeezing his own dripping cock. He shuddered and locked their lips together. He thrust into Armie's grip, inadvertently fucking himself on Armie's softening cock. It only took a few strokes. He painted Armie's hairy abs with his own load and steadied himself with a hand on Armie's shoulder.
"Chris," Armie whispered, his lips grazing Chris' ear.
Chris shook his head, settling in against Armie. He couldn't speak, not as he was taking in the scent of Armie's skin and the watching his chest hair sway every time he exhaled. Armie's hands traced up and down along Chris' spine and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
The sizzle of Cajun-spiced salmon ripped through the calm of the night. By the time they'd managed to get back to their clothes downstairs, night had blanketed Los Angeles in blues and purples and Armie had sucked one more load out of Chris.
Pulled up to his chest, Chris half-closed his eyes and felt the cool air on his bare back as he watched Armie cook. On his own insistence, he was wearing Chris' briefs. They were a size too small, but he wasn't deterred.
Intimacy had turned into domesticity very quickly, but Chris' stomach wasn't going to argue if Armie insisted on feeding it.
"It's nice, right?"
"It's more than just 'nice.' So much more." Chris didn't know if his scantily clad companion was referring to the house, the present situation, or the thought of being together.
"Tell me about what you wrote."
"What?" Chris' brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Armie was asking about. He waded through the murk of his brain and came up short. "Same old stories," he said unconvincingly. "Meditations on life and socio-economic disparities. War. Famine. Conspiracies." Now he was just spouting out words that vaguely reminded him of NPR.
"I read this story in the 'New Yorker' about a deaf person who played piano. He felt the vibrations. It was muscle memory. I can't remember."
"Stop."
Armie smiled and tossed a handful of Brussels sprouts into a pan and tossed them a few times. He set the cast iron onto the grill, right by the fish. "But at the end, we found out that it was all in his head. Childhood trauma with his parents made him think he was deaf. It was a stress thing."
"That sounds like a fever dream."
"Was it?"
"No, I wrote that story on a plane. I saw a kid practicing piano on his tray table. No sheet music, no actual piano, no headphones."
"And you got a whole story from that?"
"Can't turn off my brain," Chris said, leaning back. For this one moment, while he was sitting with his prince charming in a castle on the hill, Chris wished that he could.
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