Date: Mon, 24 Apr 2006 21:20:47 -0700 From: christopher. Subject: breaking through part 15 This is fiction. I don't know Jake Gyllenhaal and my little story doesn't imply anything about his sexuality, but I'd do just about anything to have Jake all to myself. Feedback is greatly appreciated and any writer will tell you that they live for it; I'll answer every single one you send. Usually, I'm quite prompt about it, too. A huge thanks goes out to everyone who wrote about the last chapter, it definitely garnered more responses than any other chapter before had. I knew I had readers from all over the place, but it was confirmed this last time around because I got some messages from readers in Germany, Australia, and Canada in addition to the good old USA. I never thought I'd ever reach that far from my little computer in Orange County, but it gives me the best feeling. As always, keep them coming, even if it's just to say hello. Send comments/concerns/questions/suggestions to christopherrluu@gmail.com. Again, if you or someone you know has been forced into something they're not comfortable with, stepping into help wouldn't be a bad idea. Jake and Chris are fictional characters in fictional situations that could very well be reality. If someone you know or love is in trouble, don't hesitate to help. Thanks for reading! Part XV Jake was a professional on set. Most of the time, at least, he could push everything out of his mind and just concentrate on his lines, his facial expressions, what he was supposed to do with his hands. But the entire day, he was off. It wasn't the first time he was preoccupied with Chris, but he couldn't do anything about it now. Three or four takes was bad, more than that was a definite fault on his part, but at take twelve, even Emmy was getting frustrated with him. "Gyllenhaal, he's going to be okay," Topher whispered into his ear after he watched Jake shake his head, "we both know that." "I can't help it," Jake said. Topher could see the fatigue written all over his face, "He's down there and I'm up here. He's up against a lot." "Are you talking about Jake's writer friend?" Emmy asked, her hands reaching behind her to tighten her ponytail. "We both know that you're more intuitive than that," Jake said, "we're more than that. It wouldn't take twelve fucking takes if he was just my friend." He was immediately sorry that he'd snapped at her like that. It had nothing to do with her. "I didn't know where things stood," Emmy said, shrugging, "either way, he's great. I told him I loved his book; you should have seen him blush. He's got a sort of quiet confidence." Jake nodded, still fuming at the entire situation. He'd fly down there in a heartbeat if it wasn't for the tight shooting schedule and the fact that it wasn't necessarily an emergency for him, it was more of an emergency for Chris and as far as production was concerned, that had nothing to do with him. "And he's not hard to look at," Topher said, trying to bring some semblance of levity to the situation, "they're a good fit." "Thanks guys, but I have to be alone right now," Jake said, stepping between them and out into the rain. Smoking was out of the question, the rain one factor, Chris the other. It bothered Chris so much that Jake hid it, but after he saw Chris smoking, he felt the power of self- destruction. It was ugly and it was sad how they both felt like they had to escape by hurting themselves. Jake wouldn't put himself through that, promised himself wouldn't let Chris do it again either. So he walked out to the rain, his galoshes sending long streams of water behind him. He huffed, wishing he could go jogging to get the pent up energy out. Sighing, he decided that no matter what else he liked about Seattle, he'd always hate the perpetual rain. He reached the YMCA after just a few blocks of walking, shaking with energy and frustration. They'd all gotten passes, even Chris, because shooting in a city had a few perks for everyone. He flashed the ID card in was changed in no time, sleeveless t-shirt showing off his toned arms, his tan skin darker than almost anyone he'd seen up here. He wrapped up his knuckles with the strips of linen he'd gotten and tossed his bag into a locker. "Can you walk any faster?" He heard Topher ask. Jake slammed his locker shut, "I said I wanted to be alone, Grace." "Come on, you didn't need to snap at Emmy like that," he said, pulling off his shirt and rummaged in his own bag. Jake tightened the linen around his hands, ignoring Topher's lean chest, muscles lithe and compact. "You need someone to hold the bag, right?" That part was true, Jake hated chaining it to the floor, it didn't rock right, didn't give the way it should. He was grateful for that much. "Just don't expect much talking. That's all happening up here," he said, pointing to his temple. Topher pulled on a t-shirt and yanked off his pants, slipping on his shorts in no time at all. A few minutes later, he stood, watching as Jake punched at the bag, holding it but leaving it slack. Jake grunted with every punch, his face tense and his arms tight. Punch after punch and still they were both silent apart from Jake's heavy breathing and the sound of knuckles against plastic, chain clacking above their heads. "I could fix this right away," Jake finally said. "No you can't. You always think you can, but you can't," Topher said. Jake stopped, sweat falling down his face, his entire body red from exertion. "No, this time I can fix it all," Jake said, his voice low and breathy, "he wrote that book about me. It's about the first few weeks we were together." It wasn't real news to Topher, who knew Chris well enough to know that he wrote about real experiences, but it was still weird to hear it out loud. They both knew that Jake meant but neither knew what it would entail. It could solve everything or it could do nothing at all. Chris was down there and they were up here, action and inaction, it was all too much and Jake just kept punching, chipping away at the anger inside him. *** James stood still right between Chris and the door. He figured that James would expect him to sit back down, but he balled his hands into fists, standing his ground. He could see James' expression change. He wasn't so cocky anymore. Chris shook his head slowly, stomped over to him and reached for the knob. He didn't meet any resistance at all, the lock clicking open, James stepping aside for him. "Get your head on straight, Professor. This isn't libel, slander, or plagiarism. This is a desperate man with a misconception. A lot can change in a few years. People change," Chris corrected himself, "some people change. But I guess some people stay the same." He practically sprinted down the hall, the only thing stopping him a student right in front of the literacy poster. Chris almost ran into her, stopping right before a collision, his breath heavy and his expression fearful. "What are you doing here? I can't believe it. I'm writing because of you." Chris froze, barely able to catch his breath. "Visiting a professor," Chris said, doing his best to smile. "So you're in the program?" The program was the elite creative writing program that gave its graduates absolutely nothing. No degree, but something that equated to one when writers put it on their resumes. The Stegner Fellowship was just as good as a Master of Fine Arts degree and was the second most competitive program on the west coast. Chris had graduated quietly, not causing much of a stir when he was there, but somehow managed to become on of Stanford's most notable alumni. He was one of twenty students in the program at the time. They all knew how to push each other's buttons and they did it every time there was a critique. Looking back, he couldn't believe he went through it. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, he lived and breathed writing all day, every day. "It's going to get easier, right?" she asked, "I think what I write is good, but critiques are really hard to get through." Chris nodded; he knew exactly what she was going through. "Just stay true to what you want to say," Chris said, he heard a loud bang from down the hallway, like a fist pounding a desk. "Don't let those critiques get you down. I cried once," he said, "I'd love to read your work." "Really?" her eyes grew wide, "and I'd love to hear what you think. Your input is probably better than anything the other people in class have to say." "Input is input. Good or bad, you have to grow," Chris said, wishing he'd follow his own advice. No writer took bad feedback without feeling a little bit defensive. "Let me give you my e-mail address. Who is your advisor?" "Professor Chapman. He's tough," she said. Chris froze when he heard the name, not sure if James would be providing her with the same kind of one-on-one mentorship he'd received. He probably wasn't picky. "If I was you, I'd get a new advisor. I hear Wolff is a good guy. He's laid-back, easygoing." She nodded, listening intently to everything Chris said, "You look just like I thought you'd look. I guess we all know now though, posters and all." Chris blushed and gave her a quick hug, "I'll see you around, maybe we can get something to eat together, talk about a story." "I'd love that," she said, "my name is Chloe. If everything goes like it did for you, I guess everyone will know my name someday." "Not everyone knows who I am," Chris said, his eyebrows furrowing. "You're the only writer they talk about in the magazines every week, every month," Chloe said, "you're a star. It wasn't something we thought about until you did it." "Tomorrow--I'll be here still--so send your story tonight. I'll look for it," Chris said, "remember what I said about James, I mean Chapman, though." Chris looked over at the poster and tore it down, shaking his head. Only the four corners remained, metal thumbtacks still tight against the corkboard, "A souvenir," he lied, "even I haven't seen one before." *** Chris kept his promise, waiting for her right there the next day and walking her to class after lunch. He slowly paced to James' office again, not even trying to kid himself. Yesterday was nothing. It was like one of his books, open-ended to the point that readers could argue nothing happened at all. The door was open this time and he walked towards it, "I can hear you out there, Mr. Lewis." He stepped slowly into the office, leaning against a bookshelf and ignoring the empty chair. "I guess we both know nothing's changed. My offer is still on the table, I'll have you know." His words sent a chill down Chris' spine. He was so cool and composed and Chris was nervous and shaky. It made the entire ordeal harder, Chris feeling inferior and small in comparison to James' tranquil command of the situation. "Nobody's getting on their knees for you today," Chris said, "I just want to know that if I leave today, I'm not going to get anymore e-mails, no more bullshit." "It's not that easy," James said, "nothing's that easy." "You don't want money," Chris said. "Writers don't write for money," James said, "that's what you learn day one, when you either sell out or starve. You haven't sold out or starved, Christopher, you're one of the lucky ones." "I used to look up to you," Chris said, his voice heavy as stone and just as warm as one. It surprised him, even when he was shy and feeling antisocial, he considered his voice warm, "but you've showed me all you can show me." "Christopher, let's get this much through your head: it was never about sex. It was about something different entirely," James said. Chris watched as he walked around his desk, his stride confident and strong, shutting the door and clicking the lock. It was like watching a slow motion replay of yesterday, only this time, Chris had a feeling that James' wouldn't be caught off guard this time around. Chris bristled, his entire body stiff, "What is this about then, professor?" James shivered at the sound of the word "professor." Chris stepped away from him. not realizing that he was actually cornering himself in the tiny office. "Professor," James repeated, his eyes slowly shutting, "titles is what this is about. Dominance and submission. Who's the teacher and who's the pupil?" Chris glanced around the room, the door was the only way out of the office. He could feel his hands shaking even more now. James walked over to him, lips only inches away from Chris ear, "I'm the teacher." "I'm not your student anymore," Chris said, contorting his body to get out from under James' presence. James leaned against the window and Chris wanted to just get an answer and get out of there, he'd never felt more out of place. "Please, James, you're way out of line threatening me with something like that just so you can feel almighty." "It just shows who's in charge, Christopher. You came running, didn't you?" *** "How long have you two been seeing each other?" Emmy asked, her finger tapping lip-gloss onto her lips. For once, it was sunny and they couldn't shoot after they took a break for lunch. Jake checked his phone, still no word from Chris apart from a frantic call last night. It broke Jake's heart to hear that nothing had happened either way, but Chris was so frazzled that he couldn't tell Jake anything more than that. Jake didn't know if it was worse to be in the situation of knowing nothing at all or to know the entire story. "Almost a year," Jake said, proud that he could say that now, "so it's a big deal. A really big deal." "Topher said that you two are indestructible though," Emmy said. "I'm not worried about us, I'm worried about him. He's going down there and what happens might break him," Jake said, "everything's at stake." Emmy nodded as they walked away from the set, Jake's sunglasses obscuring any concern in his eyes. "If he doesn't write, he'll feel like he's got nothing." "He has you," Emmy said. Jake chuckled, "I don't compare." Topher had said he'd be at the coffee shop that they'd all been going to since day one of shooting, but Jake didn't see him right away. It was more crowded than they were used to, Jake figuring that every single person in Seattle had called in sick, taking advantage of the sun while they could. He saw Topher wave at them and they both weaved through the tables and sat down, "No news from him, Grace. I'm really worried." Topher looked concerned, Emmy noticed. There was no doubt that the three of them had a strong connection, being around them only confirmed the articles she had read about them during awards season. Topher and Jake had a weird dynamic between them, she saw that first, but when Chris was around, they both seemed to soften, just relax and become more laid back. "Chris said that he left a little journal with one of you, can I read it when you're done?" Jake motioned over to Topher, he'd read it cover to cover the night Chris gave it to him and then passed it onto him right away. Emmy watched as Topher patted down his coat, feeling for it in his pockets, "I'm almost done with it," he said, still rummaging, "I think I only have the last one to read." "It's a good one," Jake said, "dark though." Emmy saw his forehead wrinkle, his expression unsure. "I'll give it to you as soon as I'm done," Topher said, pulling it out of his breast pocket. Jake recognized it, one of a million plain black journals that Chris had used. "How did the scenes go this morning?" "Less fucked up than yesterday," Jake said, rolling his eyes. He was still distracted, but he knew better than anyone that there wasn't going to be an easy way to get back on track. "Stop," Emmy said, her smile warm, "you know Jake, his own hardest critic." Topher nodded, "I don't know how Chris lives with it." "You live together?" Emmy asked. It was weird not having everyone in the know, Topher realized. He didn't know if he let something slip that shouldn't have. "We moved pretty fast. I didn't want to lose him," Jake said, wishing the line for the coffee counter were shorter. "But it almost backfired. It might have been too fast." Topher could see how tense Jake was, it was really weird to see. Jake was normally really cool, always relaxed, but he realized that most of the time he spent with Jake was also with Chris. "We need to loosen up," Emmy said, "being trapped here isn't doing anything for us." "I don't know if I'll be any fun," Jake said, "I couldn't even remember if I was supposed to be mad at you in that scene this morning." "Maybe we should just catch a movie or something," Topher suggested, "museum?" "The Seattle Asian Art Museum?" Emmy suggested, seeing a bus pass by the storefront. "You like that stuff, right Jake?" Jake didn't want to be the downer, so he agreed, hoping that Chris would call. He let out a long sigh, knowing that Topher and Emmy were doing their best. He just wished Chris had someone down there to help him out, but deep down, Jake knew Chris was there alone, a lone wolf going against someone that helped make him and knew exactly how he worked. Jake hoped that Chris had learned a few new tactics to use against whoever was against him, for his own sake and Jake's. *** Chris didn't have much experience with dominance and submission. Images of whips and leather flashed through his head, but he knew that this situation wasn't about any of that. Without much more than words, James had him frozen. Chris felt his hand on his shoulder and he recoiled, his stomach queasy again. "I say the word and you're at my door the next day. I taught you well." "You didn't teach me anything but to split my long sentences, James," Chris said, purposely avoiding the word "professor." "You still need to work on that, actually," he said, laughing a little, "but you had some natural ability that I'm sure you've perfected." Chris felt his knees go weak, but he braced himself on the bookshelf behind him. He'd never felt more helpless. He couldn't tell anyone, reporting Chapman would just paint him as a victim and that was just as bad, he didn't want people to think of him like that, especially now that he was in the public eye. But he couldn't just run away again, it didn't solve any problems, but he knew now that it just confirmed that James was dominant. Chris grabbed James' wrist, tossing it from his body. Slowly, he watched as James' neck got tight, his eyes shrinking to slits, "The Christopher Lewis I taught wouldn't have done that. He'd have sunk to his knees without a second thought, like a good boy." His words sent a chill down Chris' back. "Good boy?" It made him sick. "I'm not the Christopher Lewis you taught," Chris said, straightening himself, "he's been gone for a long time." "He's in there," James said, "he just needs to be reminded of who's boss." "I'm in charge of what I do," Chris said, "I don't look back. I never want to hear from you again, James. I used to look up to you." "You already said that," James interrupted, "double check your dialogue, Mr. Lewis. I had you once and I'll have you again. I don't know what the hell clicked in you to make you think that you had a backbone." "I found out that I can write," Chris said, stepping towards the door, "I can write without you. I can write without your approval." Chris walked right up to him, face inches away from James', "I'm on my own two feet now, maybe it's time your students stay on theirs. I can't imagine it'd be good for your career if word got out about Thomas Bushard, Ed Ward, Anthony Edinger, do I need to keep going?" Chris wasn't the only one, he was sure he wasn't the first or the last, Chloe had told him about the rumors that had been swirling around campus for years, nobody talking about it except in the bookshelves' shadows and during late night sessions filled with other complaints. There was no way to substantiate any of them, no way to find out who was lying or even find out who was real, but Chris shot the names out there like bullets. When he noticed James' face go pale, all color flushing from him, he knew he'd struck something. "Good luck with the kids this semester," Chris said, backing out of the office, "and remember what I said. I don't need you." As soon as he had walked out of that hallway, Chris ran. He ran past the English building, through the quad, and into the next one. He knew the route so well he didn't even have to look. He only stopped to catch his breath, leaning against a tree. He had no idea if it was enough, but it was all he had. Chloe had given him one weapon and he hoped it was strong enough. He let out a breath and the tears just flowed, bringing him to his knees, face buried in his hands. He couldn't hold them back anymore, being there again and being there alone had all amounted to nothing more than coming down to discover that a pervert professor was still a pervert professor. He ran again, through the chemistry building, where he only knew the stairwell. Up four flights of stairs and out the door to the roof, he was out of breath again, leaning against the side of the building. The cool wind blew against his sweaty skin as he strained his eyes to see the water of the bay. On a clear day, he could make out water sometimes, but today, there was nothing. It wasn't the first time he'd been up there. He'd go up there after critiques, feeling the wind on his skin again, reminding him that a bad critique wasn't the end of the world if he could still feel and see, hear and smell. He was grateful that it was all past him and now he could just write for himself, writing for Jake. Images of Jake flashed into his mind; the way Jake's hair looked in the morning, coupled with his scruff and his sleepy eyes; his thin lips curved in his goofy smile; and the way Chris felt when Jake had his arms around him. Wishing those arms were around him as the wind whipped his jacket around, the warm sun and the chill of the wind combining in a weird sensation he could only vaguely remember. He wiped the stray tears away, hoping that this would be his last trip to Palo Alto. There was no reason to come back. Stanford didn't do anything for him anymore. It owed him more than he owed it. Chris reached for his journal but his hand shook so much he couldn't write and the wind was blowing the pages even when he squatted down and leaned against the low walls that surrounded the roof. He didn't know what to do, his entire body tingled, so much was rushing through him and he had no way to get it out. His pen fell out of his hand and he panicked, watching it roll away. He leaned his head back on the wall, struggling to remember the last time he couldn't physically write what he was feeling. Shivering, he reached for his phone instead. If he couldn't get it down on paper, he didn't know what else to do. Jake didn't pick up his phone and Chris figured he was shooting; the only reason he tried at all was because he hoped that maybe Jake was taking a break or something. He just needed to hear his voice, even if it was just the recording on the voicemail. Getting back up on his feet, he steadied himself, shaking his head as he wandered down the long stairwell, hoping the bus stops were still in the same place as they had been. The plane ride back to Seattle would give him time to sleep, time to think. Jake would be proud of him, glad to hear that things worked out, even if they didn't really quite come to a close. Few things did, though, Chris thought. He walked and settled on hoping for the best, he realized that it was the only thing he could do. *** Quietly, Chris slid the door to the hotel room open, keeping his steps soft as he walked through the still unfamiliar suite. He didn't want to call Jake, didn't want to have to tell him what happened over the phone because it was too personal. He didn't want to tell the whole story, either; it wasn't something he'd told anyone and he wanted to keep it that way. He didn't want to think about it anymore than he had already. He wrote on the plane ride home, the two hours giving him time to get almost all of it out of his system. New journal full, seventy pages full of stuff he never wanted to think about again. He noticed the bedroom door stood open and he walked up to it, hearing Jake's steady breathing, seeing Jake's body splayed out, sheets loosely wrapped around his form. Chris shut the door and flipped the lights on in the living area, knowing that there were matches and an ashtray in every hotel room. He was silent as he looked for them, finding matches from a restaurant they'd gone to last week, Jake needing the phone number. He figured Jake got a non-smoking room and stepped outside onto the balcony, the freezing cold air whipping around him as the harsh wind blew. He dumped out one of the potted plants, he could blame it on the wind if anyone asked, and tossed his journal into the empty terra cotta. A match fell, bright orange flames licking around the paper as Chris watched, a deep sigh falling from his lips. He watched it burn, all the ink and paper crackling and popping, white turning black and shriveling into nothing more than ash, wind carrying it away from Chris and his over-analytic head. Chris snapped his head around when he heard the sliding door open, not realizing that the balcony stretched all the way to the bedroom, too. "You're back," he heard Jake say, his voice hoarse, "cold?" "Getting rid of something," Chris said, "too horrible to have around." Jake nodded, pulling Chris against him, nuzzling his nose into the familiar crook of Chris' neck. "Everything's good, right?" Chris sighed again, not sure what to say. "Right?" Jake said again, his movements stopping, hands running up Chris' arms. Chris nodded, not ready to say anything out loud yet. He watched as his words burned up and tried to convince himself that everything was burning with it. "I missed you," Jake said, trying to compensate for the eerie quiet that dominated the night. He saw Chris close his eyes, turning them upwards, head resting on Jake's shoulder. Chris had said nothing but angry things for the past two days he didn't know how to get out of that mindset, concentrating on Jake's arms and his warm skin. "I needed to talk to you earlier," Chris said softly, "I really just had to get it out and I couldn't." "You couldn't write it down?" Jake asked, confused. Chris turned around, his journal nothing but flaky ashes now, nothing but black. Jake held him tight, "It's a long story," Chris whispered, shivering from the cold or the familiar scent of Jake's t-shirt, he didn't know which. "Was that?" Jake asked, nodding his head towards the flaming flowerpot. "It was," Chris said, "but it's gone. Forever." Jake pulled Chris back into the warmth of the bedroom, sliding the door shut behind them. Chris felt Jake pull off his sweater, undo his belt, pants slipping off as he pulled Chris down onto the big bed, still warm from Jake's body. "I missed you so much," Chris said, "I didn't think I could do it." "You did though." Jake pulled their bodies together, feeling Chris settle into the curves of his own body, their legs tangling together in a familiar knot. A second later, Jake felt Chris' breathing deepen, his body finally relaxing. Chris talked and he listened, the story was heartbreaking, quietly devastating, Jake could tell it hurt him. It hurt him to listen, but he did. If Chris was talking, he'd listen. A long breath and his hands ran up the familiar curves of Chris' back, grateful more than anything to have the missing part of him again. The sun would rise tomorrow and the light would shine in, proving to both of them that no matter what happened, life went on. It was just better when they were together. *** Chris carried four coffees on a tray from the closest Starbucks, only two blocks away, but he couldn't help but feel like an intern or a production assistant--the bitch of the movie set. If he didn't like the cast so much, he would have told them to get their own coffee, deal with the coffee at craft services, or spit in their drinks, but had some semblance of class, even though he was stressing over his new publisher again. He'd gone from deciding not to renew his contract with Houghton Mifflin to having a few offers and then instantly having a zillion people at his toes, agents calling Vivian, who in turn called Chris and told him that he had offers from just about everyone, her voice excited. Jake wasn't being any help, not knowing one publishing house from another, figuring that they were all equally respectable because they all had books out. The thing was, each publisher had a reputation attached. Cool writers wrote for McSweeney's, but they were so small and esoteric that it pretty much guaranteed nothing but independent bookstores. As much as Chris supported that, he had bills to pay. He'd been leaning towards Penguin, maybe the biggest publisher on the face of the planet, guaranteed international publication, big budgets for just about everything, but it seemed like selling out. Jake did that disaster movie, Chris thought, and he wasn't proud of it. Chris didn't want to sell out, even if it meant a big signing bonus. Vivian wasn't helping either; he was pretty much on his own. Simon and Schuster, Random House, Penguin, it was all really overwhelming. Chris didn't like feeling disenfranchised, he needed to be know he had a publishing house behind him. It was like having a safety net to fall back on. "Thank goodness," Jake said, reaching for a cup. Chris handed him the entire tray, grabbing a cup for himself before leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Did you figure anything out?" "Nope," Chris said, "still floundering. How are your scenes today?" "I'm going to be fucking Emmy after lunch today," Jake said as the others came over. Jake handed them their coffee, Topher brandishing a five-dollar bill, Chris pushing it away. Emmy slapped Jake playfully on the shoulder; "We've only rehearsed it once. And that time, we were fully clothed." Chris smiled, "Topher and I get to watch, right?" Jake threw him a look before Chris rested his head on Jake's shoulder, "It's really weird having this done and nobody to send it to. I feel like it's grad school all over again." "Except this time, you've got them fighting over you," Jake added, "You just have to choose one." "Can I read it?" Emmy asked, "I loved the stories that you gave to Jake. They're like, I don't know, you boil it all down. It's not like your novels." "These two short stories are really different from my novels," Chris said, "nobody's read them yet, except my agent." Jake ran his hand up and down Chris' back, feeling everyone relax as the coffee steamed in their cups. Having Chris on set was like having a tie to the outside world, the voice of reason in a crazy world of jaded actors. "Did you see your arm in UsWeekly?" Topher asked. Chris almost spit out his coffee, "Just my arm this time?" Chris had almost gotten used to the paparazzi, until they started disregarding him completely, cropping him out of pictures because it was Jake people wanted to read about. One week, half of his face was sliced off and the caption didn't mention him at all, this week, Topher saw a picture of his arm as Jake sat at a restaurant, the caption saying something ridiculous about fish tacos and how celebrities did normal everyday things. "One day, I'll get my picture in the rags again," Chris said, feigning disappointment. Jake pulled Chris in, kissing him softly on the forehead, "You have your PSA in those rags, don't forget that. Chris is making the kids read." "Hopefully they'll be reading more than just InTouch," Chris said. Topher tossed his empty cup into the trash, "Chris, what do you say while these two are at it like rabbits, I help you figure out where to sign." Chris was grateful for any help he could get, "How are we going to do that?" Everyone looked to Topher like he had the right answer on the tip of his tongue after they'd all been thinking about it for so long, "We just go to Barnes and Noble and look and see who makes the cool looking books. It's worth a shot." "It's as good a plan as any," Chris said, shrugging. Jake rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. He was appreciative of one thing though; he didn't want Chris watching the shoot. It'd just be too awkward. *** "Non-classics? You don't want that attached to your book," Topher said, setting a copy of Sean Wilsey's Oh the Glory of it All back on the shelf. The cover had caught both their attention, but Chris agreed, "non-classic" was sort of a blow to the ego, not to mention a downer when buyers saw it on Amazon. "I don't think you get to be a 'classic' until you die," Chris said, "unless you're Philip Roth I guess." He huffed, Philip Roth had been on the Houghton Mifflin roster with him. There was a sort of hierarchy involved, Chris felt, if critics and the public took Philip Roth seriously, why was he being relegated to the sidelines? A few people had given him a chance, and he was grateful for that, but he still had the reputation of a young upstart, trying new things until he found a voice of his own. Chris had a voice, he had something unique, people were just used to straightforward fiction, and that's not what he wrote. "Well look at this one," Topher said, Chris looked over and he was holding a copy of Independence Day, a picture of him and Mischa on the cover, "a classic for sure." Chris smiled, Jake always did the same thing whenever they went into a store, making sure that they had a copy of something by Chris, making sure it was faced out on the shelf. Walking through the bookstore, Chris checked all the books, pulling out the eye catching ones and looking to see who put them out. It was a crazy plan, but it was all he had to go by. Topher and Jake were a good sample of readers, and if they couldn't tell one publisher from another, Chris was probably worrying too much. "We're not going to talk about what happened when I was down there at your place, are we?" Chris froze in his tracks, like most of the thing he wanted to forget about, he did. All it took was a reminder, though, and the images flashed through his head again, the acidic smell of wine and Topher's quivering hands. "You were drunk," Chris whispered, still not looking Topher in the eyes, "we've all been there before." "In vino veritas," Topher said, "we broke up, me and Bradley." Chris turned to face him, seeing that his bright green eyes were sad, his shoulders hunched. "I don't want to mess up what we've got, you mean a lot to me, you and Jake both." "I don't know what to do when you say things like this, Topher. I love you, I really do, but you know that's not what we have," Chris said, patting his shoulder. He didn't know how long all this had been up in the air, but he finally could see the beginnings of it all settling down. "Come on, you're going to find someone. You want a crazy writer? I'll take you to some of those lame book parties that I never go to." Topher's posture was resigned, eyes turned down as they kept walking through the store. "I don't want just any writer," he said under his breath. "Do you think they're done with the scene yet? We should get back, right?" Chris asked, not sure if it had come out like he meant to say it. Topher only nodded. "Chin up, no matter what, me and you, we've got something." It was true, Chris needed someone to talk to that wasn't Jake, someone to listen to his own bitching and whining, someone for a second opinion. "Chris, come on. You know and I know that you can't just do that. We can't just forget about this stuff or pretend it never happened," Topher said, "I'm not asking you to be with me." "Then what are you asking me to do," Chris interrupted, backing himself into a bookshelf. "I can't lose you as a friend, Topher. You're really all I have, no joke." He watched as Topher's eyes dropped to the floor, expression pensive. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Topher said, his voice tired, "I just don't want to be alone." "Excuse me, are you Christopher Lewis?" Chris heard a quiet voice over his shoulder. He froze, had someone been eavesdropping the entire time? He'd never been recognized before. Turning around slowly, he offered his hand, "Guilty as charged," he said, smiling. It was a guy, probably a college student, longish hair sweeping across his forehead. He shook Chris' hand eagerly, a huge smile on his face. Topher stepped back, turning around and pretending to browse, "It's nice meeting you." "I was just wondering if I could get you to sign this book for me, I have a copy but I never thought I'd be able to meet you, especially here in Seattle," he said, his voice excited. "I missed you when you came out here last time." Chris pulled his pen out from his pocket, scribbling his signature in the book. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure Topher hadn't gone anywhere. "Thanks for reading." "Just one more thing," he said, "when you're in the gossip magazines, you don't ask them to put you in there, right? I don't know how it works." "Trust me, I don't either. I don't even know how I end up in there. Must be a slow time for shotgun weddings and illegitimate children, I guess. Do me a favor and just keep reading real books." "It's fundamental, right?" he said, chuckling. Chris shook his hand one more time, not getting the joke until after he'd already turned around. "Can't disappoint the fans, right?" Topher said, the sarcasm dripping heavily from his words. "Don't even, Topher. You'd have done the same thing," Chris said, "I've seen you do it. I've stood there on the street waiting for you." "When we get back tonight, it's going to be you and Jake. It's Topher the third wheel again, Topher the stock best friend, Topher the one in the background," he said, "how do you think that feels?" "What do I think?" Chris asked, "I think that I know exactly how that feels." He stepped closer to Topher, "How about Jake Gyllenhaal, Topher Grace, and unidentified male friend are seen at movie premiere? How about People Magazine wanting to talk to you but not me? I know what it feels like to be the one nobody cares about." "It's different," Topher said. "Exactly. You can look at it like that, but you don't. You're going to find someone," Chris said, pulling Topher's hand into his own, "It'll happen when you stop thinking about it. Trust me, I know." *** Chris untangled himself from Jake's arms and legs, well practiced moves that were almost instinctual now. He usually woke up before Jake did, swathed in limbs and sheets, knowing exactly how to get out of bed without waking Jake up, but on the rare occasion that Jake woke up first, Chris usually wasn't far behind, waking up to kisses on his neck or a thumb idly rubbing his cheek. He fumbled around the dark room for the t-shirt he wore before Jake had yanked it off, but gave up, it was probably behind the couch. It got dark later in Seattle, both his and Jake's bodies unaccustomed to the late, late night and the early sunrises. Chris came home after the bookshop, Jake showering off the smell of perfume from the scene he'd finished with Emmy, Chris shaken because he didn't what was going on between he and Topher now that everything was out in the open. He didn't know what to tell Jake, so he ignored it, hoping that if he pushed it out of his head, he'd forget one day. Nothing happened. He yanked a stack of papers out of his messenger bag, laying each contract out on the coffee table carefully, a dozen official letterheads staring right back at him. The trip to the bookstore hadn't answered anything, just raised questions. Sighing, he threw Penguin aside, non-classics not the niche for him. That was some progress, he thought, sitting back on the couch. He tossed two more aside, remembering Vivian had mentioned something bad about both of them, he couldn't remember what exactly, but if she said something, they were gone. The remaining contracts were just about identical, same signing bonus, same time commitment, same reigned in definition for "creative freedom." He sighed, reaching for his pen. He could hear Jake's steady breathing, the door to the bedroom still wide open. Their suite was spacious, but nothing compared to the hotel they stayed at in New York. Quietly tossing another contract aside, he was down to three. HarperCollins, Random House, Simon and Schuster were all based in New York, practically every publishing house was, though. Chris remembered all three meetings had gone terribly but here he was, entertaining offers. All of them wanted him bad. "You know it's only six, right? On a Saturday? Come back to bed," Chris heard from the bedroom. Jake voice was sleepy, practically yawning out the words, not speaking them. Chris left his stuff on the table, hoping maybe Jake could help him out later, but knowing Jake didn't have any clue. He just needed a push. Chris crept back onto the bed, languid movements coming naturally as he straddled Jake, a grin on his stubbled face as Chris leaned down, nipping at his neck. "You work too hard," Jake whispered, "nobody likes waking up alone." Chris ignored him, bringing their lips together as he felt Jake's hands rest on his waist, nothing but the thin sheet separating them. Jake's fingertips slid under his boxer-briefs, sliding them off his body as Chris deepened the kiss, tongues sliding over each other, hungry and desperate. Neither heard the sound of the door opening, Chris grabbing the white sheet and yanking it hand over hand to get it off the bed. Jake was hard, his boxers tented as he lay there, panting, eyes fiery. Chris reached for Jake's hard cock, stroking it through the faded fabric as he kissed Jake again, coarse beard rasping against his skin. Topher stood in the doorway after finding the doors unlocked, hoping to find a running partner but instead finding that Chris and Jake's Santa Barbara habits obviously moving up with them to Seattle. His eyes fixed on the two bodies, lithe and limber, familiar but at the same time, so new because he'd never seen them that way, engrossed in each other not with words and looks, but with touch and feeling. He leaned against the doorframe, watching as Chris pulled off Jake's boxers, hard cock exposed and rubbing against his own as they kissed, soft groans coming from both of them. Chris sat up and saw something from the corner of his eye, startled and fascinated at the same time, he looked down at Jake, eyes clouded with lust. Jake saw him in the doorframe and with a simple wave of his hand, he motioned for Topher to come over, and as if led by some invisible force, he followed orders. Hands were on him instantly, Chris' on his shoulder and Jake's reaching up under his shirt, pulling it up. Topher shuddered, feeling like he'd somehow gained admission to an exclusive club, his eyes shutting as his entire body tingled. Chris got up off of Jake, his body stretching and his neck craning to kiss Topher, feeling his thin lips part and his tongue snake out into his mouth, Jake's hands on his waist, lips on the back of his neck. Topher's hands were on his shoulders, the sensation of two pairs of hands on his body throwing Chris into a crazed state of overwhelming need. Topher's lips moved to his neck after Chris pulled off his t-shirt, hands reaching for his shorts, Jake's hands helping him from behind. Topher watched the hands at his groin, well-trained and sure, both knew exactly what they wanted. Chris leaned his head back onto Jake's shoulder, his hand reaching down into Topher's pants as he felt pre-cum smearing on the small of his back. Jake held him still, feeling his breathing quicken and his hands shake. Topher groaned, Chris' warm hands on his balls sending a shock up his back. It was too much too fast, but he rode it out, if they were offering, he wasn't going to refuse. Their lips colliding, Topher and Chris' chests pressed together, Jake watching as their mouths crashed together again and again, Topher's hands running across Jake's shoulders, feeling the hard muscle under his skin. "Goddamn," Topher whispered, breaking the silence. Chris looked at him, eyes dark and glazed, before he grabbed his wrist and brought it to his chest. Topher was confused, feeling Chris' heartbeat under his fingers, suddenly he felt the beats speeding up, Chris biting his lower lip. He glanced at Jake, his face a mask of concentration, and looking down lower, he saw that Jake had slid two fingers up into Chris' ass, a whimper escaping both his and Chris' lips. Topher's lips returned to Chris' neck, Chris' hand stroked him with long steady strokes, his hard cock slick with pre-cum. He slid his hand down Chris' chest, past his cock, fingertips feeling Jake's at Chris' hole, Chris jumping at the touch. Jake slid his fingers out, guiding Topher's inside instead, his digits surrounded by the velvety tightness. Panting, Chris leaned his forehead onto Topher's shoulder, hissing every time Topher's finger grazed his prostate. Topher didn't know what to do, watch Chris' body quiver and shudder with every movement of his hand, or just freeze to feel the sensations of the stroking on his cock. He felt Jake shuffle behind him and Chris leaned forward, lips moving down Topher's chest as he got down onto his hands and knees, Topher's fingers slipping out of him, replaced again by Jake's. Topher watched with anticipation as Chris' tongue darted out, slicking his lips before running one long torturous lick up his cock from base to tip before taking the head in, tongue playing on the sensitive tip. Topher groaned, almost buckling over at the sensations not only in his cock, but emanating all over his body. He felt his entire body quiver, eyes locked on Chris and ignoring Jake completely until he felt Chris's throat groaning around his shaft. His eyes jumped to Jake, hairs lightly dusting his chest going down to his stomach, muscles hard and pronounced, his body flushed as his knees pushed Chris' legs apart and he inched his cock into Chris. Their eyes met and Jake whispered, "You'll get your chance, Grace, he can take it." Topher groaned, the words echoing in his ears, Jake's confident smirk fading to a look of controlled confidence, Chris whimpering as Jake's thick cock stretched him open. Topher gripped Chris' hair, the sweaty strands slippery in his fingers. He was hotter than he could remember, his entire body felt like it was on fire, Chris' fingers stroking his balls as his lips ran up and down his shaft. He watched Jake's practiced movements, Chris' every reaction labored and drawn out as he stroked his own cock, rigid and shiny with pre-cum. Topher shut his eyes and came, groans loud and stunted, and Chris didn't miss a single beat, swallowing instinctively. Topher's eyes fluttered back open, his mouth agape as he watched Chris licking up his shaft, not losing any of its stiffness, and down his balls, tight in his sac. Topher pulled Chris up, their lips coming together again, he could taste his cum on Chris' lips as their tongues fought for dominance, Topher's sliding into Chris' shuddering lips. Topher could feel every single one of Jake's thrusts, Chris' muscles stiffening with every push, the force of flesh against flesh pushing right into him, too. Topher was impressed with Jake's staying power and Chris' willing reception to his every movement, their marathon-runner like endurance a testament to how well they seemed to fit together. Jake pulled Chris's head back and over, catching his lips as Topher licked at Chris' collarbone, tongue playing on the sensitive skin there, hand joining Chris' to stroke his cock. The feeling of two mouths, two sets of hands on him sent Chris' mind reeling, his breaths not coming fast enough. Shuddering, his teeth clenching and his jaw tight, he felt the hot cum shooting from his cock, waves of sensation washing over him with every shot. Topher watched in amazement, Chris' entire body was like a well-choreographed dance, every limb and muscle working together. Jake's moans came quick and deep, Chris' asshole squeezing him and Topher's hands on his shoulders. Chris swapped his lips to Topher's neck and Topher was surprised to find his eyes meeting Jake's shockingly blue ones, Jake's lips crashing with his own. Sharply contrasting with Chris' light and gentle kisses, Jake sought dominance and control, his scratchy beard rough and distracting to Topher's explorations and observations. Suddenly, Jake's entire body went rigid, his hands holding Chris' body tight to his as his cock pumped streams of cum, deep and long, into Chris' clenching ass. Topher felt what he thought was a collective sigh, quickly interrupted by Chris' hand on his cock again, smearing pre-cum down his shaft, still hard and eager. "We're nowhere near done yet," Chris whispered, his voice dripping with a lust Topher had never heard before. Chris shuddered as Jake pulled out, turning him around so that they faced each other. Topher watched as Jake pushed Chris' hair back off his forehead, their lips coming together in a tender crash, Topher's finger sliding back into Chris' asshole, not wanting anyone to forget the promise he'd been given. Soft whimpers came from Chris' throat, Jake's hand reaching for Topher's cock and pulling it towards Chris. Topher took a deep breath, ready to go break through any line of friendship, biting down on Chris' shoulder as his cock slid into Chris, tight and slick. His eyes rolled back in his head, every touch of skin hot with fire and every movement of his cock sending ripples through his entire being. He was connecting with Chris on a level few had ever gotten a chance to, sending groans up out of Chris' mouth, sending shudders throughout Chris' body. Jake's hands were on his back, sliding down to his lower back and feeling the muscles tighten and strain. Jake wasn't selfish, he could share and if one thing led to another, he wasn't past making dreams come true. Watching Topher's body and Chris' together made his cock throb, two lean bodies, perfectly united and moving with a grace and ease he thought Chris saved just for him. Jake pulled Chris into another kiss, reaffirming that this wouldn't change anything between them, that Jake's and his bodies worked together in a way that nobody else could copy. It different from Jake, everything was, not just the size of it, but the movements and the feelings, everything was different. Chris moaned, Topher's dick reaching deep inside him, unyielding fingers pressing into his hips. Topher's teeth on his neck, Jake's lips on his own, he felt like he was being smothered by the sensation. Jake felt Topher's thrusts quicken and slow, reacting to every sound that Chris made, making sure that this wasn't just about one person, or even two now, this was about everything working together towards one thing. Chris was groaning and Jake was panting, Topher straining to stay on his feet, thrusts getting more and more erratic, breathing irregular and his entire body tense. Suddenly, Topher felt Chris cum again, body taut as his cum shot out onto Jake's stomach. Topher kept thrusting, hands on Chris' hips to steady the both of them. Jake was kissing Chris again, feeling their bodies come down as Topher's got hotter and hotter, getting closer and closer. His mouth opening in a silent scream, he let everything just go, his entire body one knot of tightness as he thrust one last time, hard and severe, his cum shooting deep into Chris' ass, his hand ripping Chris' lips from Jake's and slamming them into his own. Chris' entire body was blacking out, his head spinning and his heart beating so fast he thought it would explode, Jake's hands were still on him, the familiar feeling of chest against chest and the new sensation of Topher's lithe body against his back, sweaty forehead resting on his shoulder. Topher gently pushed his head down onto his shoulder, lips on his ear, but it wasn't the sound of words, it was the low sound of thunder, the crack of lightning through the cold air and Chris' eyes flew open. Chris shot upright, the sudden movement sending him stumbling off the couch even though Jake's arms were wrapped around him, his entire body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He couldn't remember the last time he had a dream like that, his breathing heavy and his heart racing. "Whoa there, you okay?" Jake asked, a smile on his face as he helped Chris get back onto his feet. His hair was matted on one side from their short nap on the sofa and Chris could hear the heavy downpour against the thin metal of the trailer. He looked around, steadying himself against Jake's body and trying to regain his bearings. "Yeah, how long were we out?" Chris asked, smoothing his sweater. Jake smiled, pulling him into a hug, nose at his neck, "Not long enough." He let out a long yawn as he glanced at his watch, "Forty-five minutes." Chris felt his pulse slow, relaxing in Jake's arms, "Seattle is one fucked up town. Rain's crazy." "How many movies have you seen with drizzle the entire time? Rain in just about every scene? It's going to be amazing, think about how dramatic it is when the people see the scenes with the sun. It'll blow them away," Jake said, Chris leaning back into his body. "Want to catch dinner with Topher tonight? He said the grips were talking about a Thai place." "Yeah, anything's fine," Chris said, tensing again for just a split second. Dreams were something that always fascinated him, but he didn't want anything to do with the one that he just escaped. If anything, he wanted to push it out of his head and forget all about it. What was happening? He went from needing to write every single thing he experienced down to burning journals and pushing things out of his head. He turned around and kissed Jake, just needing to make sure that he wasn't dreaming, that there was something real behind all the facades of movie sets and actors playing characters, that what he had with Jake was something he could actually feel. --- Feedback? christopherrluu@gmail.com. I know not everyone's going to be satisfied with how things were resolved, so let's hear it; send those comments!