Date: Sat, 5 Aug 2006 22:19:28 -0700
From: christopher. <christopherrluu@gmail.com>
Subject: breaking through part 25

Usual disclaimers apply, this story is fiction; it doesn't imply anything
about the real people that these fictional characters are based on.  Don't
read it if you're not allowed to or you're not into the whole guy-on-guy
thing, you've been warned.

Author's Note: I'm back from Asia (China, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Thailand,
Taiwan, Cambodia) and after jet lag and unpacking, the first thing I did
was start back on the story.  Thanks to all the readers who sent me a
message during the vacation, the rare visits to the Internet cafes were
really nice when there was a message to remind me of what I had back at
home.  As always, I hope that you guys like this chapter, I'm still getting
back into the mindset of writing and having the story go where I planned
it.  Any comments, concerns, questions, suggestions, ideas, and complaints
can go to christopherrluu@gmail.com.

Part XXV

     Chris groaned, his entire head pounding as he clutched at his temples,
every muscle of his body sore as he sat up and fell down again immediately.
He couldn't remember ever being so hung over, couldn't even remember what
he did to get so hung over.  He cracked an eye open, surveying the hotel
room.  He wasn't supposed to be in a hotel.  He was supposed to be on
Maggie and Peter's pullout couch.  Groaning, he sat up again, this time
slower, eyes squinting in the bright morning sunlight.  He'd slept with his
contacts on, that was one sign that something had gone wrong.  Another one
was the way the room looked.  It was neat, everything still tidy and put
together.  It was obvious that Jake hadn't set foot in it.

     Sitting up, he threw the covers off of his body, the chill of the room
hitting his skin.  He ran his hands over his own arms, trying to rub away
the goose bumps.  He looked for his slacks, trying to remember how they'd
gotten off in the first place.  He saw a jacket draped over a chair, but it
wasn't his.  He walked over and picked it up, smelling the faded black
fabric, instantly recognizing the lingering scent of cologne.  It wasn't
Jake's-- it was Topher's.  A panicked jolt ran through is body, immediately
he recalled that they'd gone out to dinner the night before, a barrage of
images flashing through his head.  He couldn't figure out which ones were
real and which ones were his own exaggerations, they were all too blurry.
Chris remembered the restaurant, something Italian, somewhere Jake had
mentioned a few times.  Did he like it?  He couldn't remember anything past
that.

     "Don't look so scared, nothing happened," Topher said, emerging from
the bathroom, towel thrown across his shoulders and boxer shorts low on his
waist.  His skin was dewy and Chris could smell the clean scent of soap and
aftershave, "Coffee, right?  Aspirin?  You were hitting it pretty hard last
night."

     "Fuck, I have to tell Maggie, she's probably freaking out," Chris said
as he stumbled around the room.  He didn't know what he was looking for,
his cell phone or the hotel phone, he didn't know where anything was.

     "I called her from your phone last night," Topher said, "she knows
you're alive."

     "I feel like I went to hell and back," Chris said, leaning against the
wall of the bedroom, his brown eyes closing again as he tried to ignore the
spinning of the room, "what were we doing?"

     "I wasn't doing much," Topher said as he set down the hotel phone, "I
was sort of making sure you didn't get hit by taxis and shutting you up
when you started yelling about how much you hated Canada and David
Fincher."

     "I hate Canada?" Chris asked, sliding down the wall to the floor.  He
wanted to crawl back into bed and forget about the pounding in his head.
Apparently, he'd already forgotten about the activities of the previous
night, "Why do I hate Canada?"

     "Something about Jake," Topher said.  It was always about Jake with
Chris.  Even when Jake wasn't with them Topher could feel his presence,
knew that part of Chris was always with Jake and part of Jake was with
Chris.  The months he had without Chris were lonely, he couldn't even begin
to imagine what Jake was going through.  Topher missed his brown eyes, the
jokes and the long talks about everything.  Even if it meant he'd have to
hear about Jake, he'd bear with it if it meant he'd get to spend time with
Chris again.  "And something about how you can't stand being away from
him."

     "Fuck, did anyone hear me?"

     Topher didn't want to say that just about everyone heard him, fervent
words mixed with too much wine and then a bottle of champagne seemed louder
and even more intense than they really were, and even though Topher tried
his best to calm Chris down, it'd been too long and he didn't realize how
much Chris missed Jake, "We were in the back, nobody heard," he lied.

     "Sorry I had to put you through that.  I'm so sorry, Topher," Chris
tried to get up but he stumbled back down to the carpet.

     Topher grimaced just watching it.  Chris was a wreck.  Topher called
Vivian right when they got back to the hotel, pulling off Chris' pants and
leading him to the bed, he explained it all, hoped that Vivian would call
Dean if it came down to it.  Jake this, Jake that, it was almost too much
to bear, but Vivian knew that just throwing out that Jake was writing the
introduction to the book would quell any rumors.  They were together all
the time for such a long time that people had probably come to their own
conclusions, there wasn't a point in trying to change people's opinions.
Topher couldn't put Jake through the tabloid wringer, no matter how much
they clashed.  It was because of Jake that Topher met Chris in the first
place.  "They'll be bringing you clothes back up and the coffee's going to
be here any minute now.  Do you want to get into the shower?"  Topher
offered his hand and Chris took it, fumbling as he got back onto his feet.

     "I'm such a fuck-up," Chris said, "just kill me so my head stops
hurting."

     "Stop being a crybaby and get your ass cleaned up.  I can't get you
back to Jake like this.  He hates me enough already."

     "But I don't hate you.  I love you for this, for everything."

     "Tell me things I don't already know," Topher said, "take your time in
there.  Hotels don't run out of hot water."

     It was so familiar, Chris just couldn't place it, not when his head
was pounding like a jackhammer and his entire body ached.  He stumbled
towards the bathroom, hoping that the hot water would bring him back to
reality.  Topher's eyes followed him, he could feel it, but it was
definitely different, no longer sexual, it was genuine concern.

***

     Chris ran his fingers over the paper of his book.  The publishers had
sent him a complete mock-up, complete with hard cover and cut pages just
like he asked for.  The plain black cover was nice, felt good in his hand
as he flipped the pages, the smell of paper and ink making a small grin
spread across his lips.  He loved books, big ones, small ones, old ones,
new ones, he loved everything that had to do with them.  The cool New York
air blew through Maggie's neighborhood and as he sat on the stoop, the only
thing he wanted right then was Jake sitting next to him.

     "I've been to the airport more these past two months than I've been my
entire life," Chris said to Jake, glad to hear his voice even if it was
just through his phone.

     "Sorry," Jake said, "but we're surviving."

     "Barely," Chris whispered, "I feel like I'm missing out on everything
you're going through and you didn't even get to see your own words in
print."

     "You don't want to be going through what I'm going through," Jake
said, "this director is crazy and everyone on set is on edge.  I'm going to
go out of my mind one of these days."

     "What are you doing right now?"

     "Late lunch."

     "I'm locked out of the house again," Chris said, "but the book came in
her mailbox and I think you'll like how it looks."

     "I'm sure I will," Jake said.  Chris could hear him dragging his fork
across his plate, sense the exasperation in his voice, "Come up a day
early, I need you."

     "Yeah, I'll get my flight changed," Chris said.  It felt so good to
see his book in his hand, to know that this one was going to get much more
attention than his last book because the back had a picture of him and Jake
together.  He was just so mixed-up and scattered during the last one, but
this one was about something anyone could relate to.  Everyone dreamed,
everyone had nightmares, and nobody knew anything about either subject
because they were so ephemeral, so fleeting.  "I keep forgetting to ask for
a key," Chris said, "I have stuff to do before I get ready for dinner."

     "Big night tonight?"

     "Just dinner.  Maggie and Peter can't be babysitting me all the time.
They're going to a play and maybe going out for drinks after I think."

     "They didn't invite you?"

     "Of course they did.  They just need time alone.  I can take care of
myself for a night."

     "I can't wait for you to get up here.  I'm going to kill someone."
Jake had been struggling with Fincher's ridiculous perfectionism,
distracted because Chris wasn't there and hating that his character was the
only one in the entire movie that showed emotion.  Everyone else was icy
and distant, actors completely in their roles almost all the time and he
was getting sick of it.  He needed Chris, needed his warm brown eyes and
his smile.  Slamming his phone shut, Jake leaned back into the metal
folding chair that he was sitting in.  Gathering his plastic utensils and
paper napkin, he missed home more than anything, with their mismatched
silverware and plates, real food and real meals.  He started to understand
why Chris didn't like it.  Everything from the food to the sets was
surrounded by the sense of a temporary existence.  Chris needed things to
last, too much of what he'd been through proved to be fleeting.

     Walking over to the trashcan, the weekly tabloid caught his eye, an
entire stack of them, the trashy magazines that Chris hated so much because
they were more pictures than text, because they chose the most unflattering
pictures of everyone, and more than anything, he hated them because they
spread rumors.  Jake caught glances of them once in a while, but he grabbed
the one on the top of the stack.  The good thing about being stuck on set
was that there was no way they could get anything about him on their pages.

     "Why do you have that?" Chris asked Maggie, his chin motioning towards
the magazine in her hand.

     "Is that your new book?" Maggie asked, her eyes wide.  She shoved the
magazine under her arm and took the offered book, reverently stroking the
textured fabric of the cover, made to look like it was already old and
beat-up.  Chris really liked it and he looked up at Maggie, hoping for
approval, for some sense of admiration.  "You know what would make it
better?"  Chris immediately reached for his notebook, hoping to get any
notes about the cover down on paper, "Do this," Maggie said as she slammed
the corners of the book against the concrete of her stoop, "then it'll look
like it's been through a few dreams--and a few nightmares, too."

     "I don't know if they could do that to every book," Chris said,
cringing as he watched Maggie batter his book.  Pristine just a few seconds
ago, it looked like it had been toted across the entire world in someone's
backpack, "but I want to get one of those elastic bands on it like the
journals I use.  It's just as personal as a journal, I sort of wanted it to
look like one."  Chris followed Maggie up the steps and felt the cool air
of the house rush past him outside.

     "It's a good idea," Maggie said, handing him the book again, "I can't
wait to read the new stories."

     "And Jake's intro is there, too.  It's really good."

     "I know, I read it over and over before you got a chance to even see
it once."

     Chris set his things down on the sofa, his second home really.  He
liked it, loved it almost, because the guestroom was also an office and had
a lovely view of a brick wall.  The living room was thriving though, full
of pictures and plants, always bustling with activity.  Chris loved
watching the world pass by the window, Maggie humming along to old jazz
songs as she and Peter cooked.  It was a home, but it was so different from
the home that he and Jake had built together back in Santa Barbara.

     "I'm going to see him tomorrow," Chris said, "I can't wait to show
him.  This one will be good, hopefully this one will sell and then I can
finally take a break; I can rest on my laurels for a little."

     "The last one didn't sell?"

     "Not like the first two, it didn't.  They had high hopes for it, I
mean I had high hopes for it too, but it just didn't sell."

     He hadn't told Jake that, hadn't told anyone.  It was so hard to even
admit to himself that he didn't like hearing it.  He was a disappointment
to Knopf, they'd told him that directly, and more than anything, he was a
disappointment to himself.  His work was good, good enough to be published
and sell acceptable amounts, but it didn't even hit the bestsellers list
once.  He had Jake to distract him then, had run away from the entire world
of publishing to be with Jake.  Now though, if he really wanted to rest on
his laurels, he'd have to bear the brunt of the entire situation, good or
bad.

     "I liked it a lot," Maggie said.

     "It's rough for him up there," Chris said, "you should have heard him
on the phone."

     "He used to call me, you know," Maggie said, resting her elbows on the
countertop, "telling me how much he missed home and how he wanted to get
back to normal life.  Now you get to hear it."

     "But now you have to hear my grievances, too."

     "Grievances?  That's a ten dollar word," Maggie said, grinning.

     "I'm pretty good with that sort of thing."

     "Sure you don't want to come with us tonight?  We've got the ticket
and I don't want you wandering around by yourself."

     "I won't be by myself," Chris said, "I'll be with Topher, you know
him, right?."

     "I do," Maggie said, "I didn't know you two were still close."

     "We're not.  I'm trying to be again, though.  He's a good guy."

     Maggie nodded slowly.  It wasn't her place to say anything, but at the
same time, it really was her place to stop him from doing something so
obviously stupid.  She just wasn't sure if what he was doing constituted
stupidity.  She knew Topher, but she didn't know him well enough to know if
his intentions were good.

***

     Chris opened the door to Jake's suite, the one single thing he liked
about visiting Jake was that he didn't have to pack.  There was a suitcase
waiting for him right there, he didn't have to worry about forgetting
anything, about checking in and wheeling around his luggage, it was like a
second home away from his second home.  Jake was sitting on the couch,
script open in his hands.  He looked tired and Chris didn't see the spark
in his eye that usually lit up when he opened the door.

     "You want to explain this to me?" Jake said, running his hands over
his face.

     Chris didn't say anything, silently confused as he shut the door
behind him.

     "Tell me nothing's going on," Jake said, his voice eerily calm,
steady, and controlled.  Chris sat down next to him, Jake's leg jerking
away when they brushed together, "The one week I look at them, I see you in
there with him."

     "We just went out for drinks after the premiere," Chris said, "Natalie
and I went and I saw him and he just wanted to get coffee."

     "You're not coming out of a coffee shop.  Look at yourself, you're a
mess.  I know that Vivian called Dean to tell me not to worry about
anything, but this is something I do have to worry about."

     "Nothing happened.  I just had a little wine and it spilled on my
suit."

     Jake grabbed Chris' wrist, "Look at me and tell me nothing happened."
Chris stiffened, taken aback by Jake's sudden change, his eyes pleadingly
desperate and angry at the same time.

     Chris ran his hand over Jake's jaw, finger sliding over the stubble;
Jake flinched, his jaw tight, "I would never do that to you.  Or us.  I was
just lonely and when I'm with Maggie and Peter they always seem to just
tell me that everything's going to be okay.  I needed to get it out and he
was there to listen."

     Jake let out a long sigh, clutching at Chris' hand.  "You have no idea
what went through my head, Chris.  I just can't see you with him."

     "Nothing happened," Chris said, pulling Jake's hand towards him, "I
was talking about you the entire time."

     "He took advantage of you once, he'll do it again."

     "I made a mistake, Jake, it doesn't mean I'll do it again," Chris
said, his voice soft.  He hated remembering it, but if Jake needed evidence
that nobody was perfect, even if the seemed perfect in his eyes, Chris
could prove it.

     "It's different," Jake said, "I don't trust him.  I trust you."

     "No you don't," Chris said, "we wouldn't be talking about this if you
did."  He started to get up off the sofa, but Jake pulled him back down, "I
don't want to start this again.  We're just friends.  I'm trying again."

     "Chris, please.  I can't stand seeing you with him.  I can't," Jake
said, grasping Chris' hand in his own, "Not now, not ever."

     Chris bit his lip, Jake's eyes boring into his, the deep ocean blue
pleading for something Chris didn't know he could give, "What do you want
me to do, Jake?  Nothing happened.  You have to believe me."  He inched
closer, their faces just inches apart as Jake finally relaxed, pulling
Chris to his body as he let out a long breath, blinking back the tears that
threatened to fall down his cheek, "I trust you with everything."

     "Chris, I just, I don't want you to see him anymore."

    Nodding, Chris lay down on Jake's chest, clutching Jake's hand in his
own.  "I didn't know you'd get like this.  I didn't do it to make you mad;
I just thought maybe he deserved a second chance."  He paused, "You gave me
one."

    "You're too nice.  That's why people take advantage of you.  You have
to be careful who you let in."

     A long sigh falling from his lips, Chris settled against Jake's body.
He had a right to be acting that way, it was obvious enough, but inside, he
trusted Topher, there was something about the way he handled the entire
situation at the bar, how he could have let Chris say anything about Jake,
allowed for the hysterics, but he didn't.  He shushed Chris and made sure
that he didn't make an ass of himself or Jake, it was obvious that he just
needed a shoulder to cry on, needed someone to listen while he let out his
frustrations over his work, Jake's work and more than anything, that he and
Jake weren't together when they both needed each other.

     "He's a good guy inside," Chris said softly, "I really think so."

     Jake brushed Chris' hair off his forehead, "Maybe one day I'll believe
you.  He's got to do a lot more than get you home safe for me to trust him
again."

     "We didn't do anything."

     Pulling Chris tighter against his body, Jake nuzzled his nose into the
nape of Chris' neck, feeling their bodies come together in a familiar
tangle, a well practiced combination of bodies, arms, and legs.  "I'm going
crazy up here without you."

***

     Maggie turned off the TV, the DVD menu to Donnie Darko still on the
screen.  She threw a blanket over Chris' sleeping form, a soft groan coming
from his throat as he settled deeper into the couch.  "He's got it bad,"
Peter said softly as he kissed the back of her neck, his hands running down
her arms.

     Nodding, Maggie quietly stepped into the kitchen, leaning against the
counter as Peter hung their jackets in the hall closet.  Spending so much
time with Chris lately, she really saw how much he'd grown up.  He wasn't
scared anymore, and even though she hated to admit it, having his last book
flop was probably the thing that could happen.  Reading over the new
stories, they were so strong, every single one of them.  She couldn't help
but be proud of him, she'd been there the entire time, seeing him grow,
seeing everything develop personally and professionally.

     "We should get to bed, let him sleep," Peter's voice was quiet.

     "He's slept through everything we can dish out, he can deal with just
us talking," Maggie said, "this next book is going to change him, Peter.
It's so good, it's scary."

     "Good for him, he's worked hard on it."

     "Did you know he's already getting offers for making the stories into
movies?  They're already talking about it and it's not even published yet.
That's how good it is."

     "How do you know?"

     "You're both at the same PR firm.  I was talking to your publicist
when you were in the shower.  He's trying to get it to happen so that you
can be in consideration for a part."

     "Maggie, you're crazy.  This isn't how it works."

     "That's what I mean," she said, throwing her arms up, "this is
ridiculous.  They don't care that it's not how it works."

     "I read the stories in the magazine, they were good, yeah, but what's
the big deal?"

     "The other ones that he wrote fit them all together, Peter.  Critics
don't see the point of critiquing it, they faxed the blurbs this morning,
everyone says it's the closest to perfect they've ever read.  They can't
find anything wrong with it."

     "If things are going like that, why do you look so scared?"

     "Look at him," Maggie said, pointing to the living room, "he sleeps on
our couch and watches Jake's movies when they're apart.  This industry is
going to eat him up.  Not everyone's going to be as nice as the people he's
dealt with."

     "Chill out," Peter said, grabbing her by the shoulders, "he's got us,
he's got Jake, he'll be okay.  You and Jake both baby him too much, let him
make a few mistakes, he needs to learn that way."

     "You guys are back early," Chris said, running his fingers through his
messy hair.

     "We brought you back some of the bread from dinner," Peter said,
pushing a doggie bag towards him.  Smiling, Chris opened it, the homey
smell of bread wafting out of the bag, "you should put it in the toaster,
it's really good."

     Nodding, Chris followed directions, "What are you guys talking about?
Did another undeserving no-talent writer sell his soul to get a movie deal?
Didn't you do a movie about that already, Peter?"

    "Jake's doing okay?" Maggie asked, "I heard they had to extend the
shoot again."

     It was news to Chris, a wave of sadness washing over him at the
thought of even more of this ridiculous routine of weekend visits and
airports.  He had a few things to occupy himself during the week, but he
was seeing flight attendants and customs workers so often that they
recognized him.  "For how long?"

     Maggie looked concerned, grimacing as she realized that Chris had no
idea, "A month?  I wasn't sure.  Jake didn't know either."

     "More time for publicity," Peter added, "just keep working and you
won't even realize you're apart.  Did you finish brainstorming?"

     Vivian had suggested that Chris throw some ideas out to market the new
book, but Chris was drawing a blank.  He had never really publicized any of
his books, they sort of were released; and if he had a book tour, he never
had to take care of the details.  He spent most of his time making sure
everything was perfect, from the kind of paper the book would be printed on
to the font to the dedication.  He wanted this book to be perfect, it just
seemed more personal than anything he'd done before and if it didn't sell,
if it didn't get good reviews, it could mean that he'd have to find another
publisher.  Chris' phone chimed from the living room, the sound muffled by
layers of pillows and blankets, "Shit," he said, "it's probably Jake."

     Maggie sat up on the counter, Peter pulling the bread out of the
toaster oven for Chris, "He'll get through it," Peter said, "I'm not
worried about him."

     "He needs to get his mind off of all of this," Maggie said, kicking
her sandals off, "he's just got too much time to think about it."

***

     Chris ran through the airport, knowing exactly when to turn, where to
go for the same flight he'd taken over and over again, his bag slipping off
his shoulder as he saw the gate, the final boarding call already sounding
over the loudspeaker.  Vivian had set up two interviews, a short one with
Vogue and a longer one with Vanity Fair, two magazines that had no problem
featuring Chris ever, and both of them ran long even though they weren't
feature articles.  He rushed towards the door, giving the girl at the
ticket counter a weak smile as he caught his breath.  He'd never missed a
flight before and this was the closest he'd ever cut it.  He ran his
fingers through his hair, instinctively pushing at his bangs even though
they weren't there anymore.  Old habits died hard, especially for him.

     "Haircut looks good," she said as she tore Chris' ticket, "enjoy the
flight."

     Chris thanked her and rushed into the plane, hoped that he wasn't the
last person on the plane that everyone glared at as he took his seat.  He
sat back in his chair, smoothing his shirt as he closed his eyes, the
safety speech echoing through his ears; he'd heard it enough that he could
recite it, go through every motion.  If the plane crashed, he'd be able to
help the evacuation, he'd know when to put his life vest on, put his oxygen
mask on before assisting small children.  Smiling, he just tuned everything
out.  He hated having Jake on location, but the anticipation always made a
little him nervous.

     "Same as always?" the flight attendant asked, handing Chris a bottle
of water.

     "Thank you," Chris said, "same old routine, right?"

     "We'll get you there in one piece.  We haven't let you down yet."

     The flight was short, a takeoff and a landing with just enough time
for a snack between.  In no time at all, Chris was walking towards Jake's
suite, running his fingers through his hair just one more time to make sure
it was sufficiently messy.  It looked darker than it had when it was long,
the drastic trim taking out most of the blond that the sun put in.  He slid
his keycard into the slot, finding the suite quiet and dark.

    "Jake?" Chris asked, surprised.  He set his computer bag down on the
sofa.  Jake's phone was on the coffee table, the tiny light blinking at
Chris as he sat there, wondering where Jake could be.  He'd taken the exact
same flight since the first week of shooting and the entire thing was being
shot on a soundstage, so Jake had regular hours for once.  Taking his
jacket off, he settled into the sofa, almost reveling in the solitude.  He
was alone, but Jake was all around him.  His clothes were strewn over
chairs and his shoes were all over the floor.  The room smelled looked like
Jake lived there, smelled like him, and Chris loved knowing that he was
literally surrounded by what he missed.

     He stepped into the bedroom, same as it always was, shoes and clothes
everywhere, old scripts sticking out from under the messy bed, spilling off
of the night table on Jake's side of the bed.  The only order in the room,
the entire suite really, was on his night table, nothing but the hotel lamp
and his cell phone charger, Jake didn't touch it, and if he did, he took
the time to clean it up before Chris ever saw it cluttered.  But today,
there was something on it, and as Chris walked around the bed, he couldn't
help but smile.  One white peony, a note underneath in Jake's scrawl, there
was no way Chris could be mad at Jake for practically deserting him.

    'Meeting with Fincher, I'll be late.  I'll bring dinner.  And
champagne.'

Chris set the flower back down on the table, flopping down onto the bed,
the familiar smell of Jake wafting up all around him.  He missed it, Jake
never came down to New York to spend a night on the pull out bed, and even
if he did, he wouldn't have had the chance to stay long enough to mask the
smell of Maggie's detergent.  He reached over to Jake's table, rifling
through the papers and the tangle of Jake's iPod headphones.  His fingers
grazed smooth plastic and he knew he'd found it.  Tossing the tube of
lubricant onto the bed, he pulled his thin t-shirt off and unbuttoned his
jeans, slipping the stiff denim off of his legs.  The same images always
came to mind, Jake first thing in the morning, stiff erection pressing
against his own body; the way Jake's entire body seemed to melt when his
cock was buried to the root; Jake's forehead pressed against his own as his
eyes shut tight, muscles rigid under soft hair and smooth skin.

     Squeezing a thin stream of lube onto his cock, Chris shivered, the
cool gel on his hot cock making him even harder than he already was,
well-practiced fingers slowly stroking his length.  He tossed the lube onto
the bed, fingers tangling in his own hair, running down his neck and over
his stomach, feeling the shivers through his entire body under his own
hands.  The room melted away as he shut his eyes, his free hand reaching
for the lube again, warming it on his fingertips as pre-cum dripped from
his swollen cock, his breathing speeding up already.  Taking a deep breath,
he circled his slick fingers around his asshole, feeling every muscle tense
at the sensation.  The room suddenly got hotter, unbearably airless, Chris'
heavy breaths seemed to suck every atom of oxygen.  He froze his stroking
and slid a finger in, the movement fluid and quick, cock jumping and his
mouth falling slack as his breathing stopped entirely.  It was there, the
dull burn, the deep ache, but it was completely different from Jake's cock
and even Jake's fingers.  He was in control here; he wasn't giving over to
Jake, to anyone but himself.  He kept stroking, movements slow this time,
fingers concentrating on the sensitive ridge right under the head of his
cock, a soft moan falling from his lips as he felt himself squeeze his
finger, the tip crooking right onto his prostate, beads of fluid falling
onto his stomach.

    Two more fingers, Chris surprising himself as he grunted, a long breath
escaping him as he arched up, shoulders rolling onto the mattress and his
toes curling as he pulled his fingers out and pushed them back in.  He was
close already, his entire body racked with spasms, his breathing ragged.
It was too fast, like he was getting pulled along too quickly, but his
hands seemed to move on their own accord, his body barreling towards
release even though he wanted to draw it out.  He dropped his cock, entire
body freezing, three fingers sheathed in his hole knuckle-deep as he just
breathed, biting his lip and clutching at the bed sheets to keep from
stroking his dripping rod.  There was a tingle spreading all over him,
stars on the inside of his eyelids as he pushed his fingers in and out of
his hole, fingertips kneading his prostate, his cock jumping in response.
Jake was in his head again as he ran his hand down his sweat-slicked chest,
fingers sliding past his cock to gently pull at his balls, afraid to even
touch his cock he was so close.  He knew exactly what would drive him over
the edge, but everything was so overwhelming that he was drowning in
everything all at once, one touch and he'd explode.  His hand flew to the
headboard, knuckles white as he gripped the wood, teeth clenching hard as
he felt his asshole squeezing his fingers.

     "What are you waiting for?" Chris heard, his eyes flying towards the
doorway.  Jake was leaning against the doorframe, eyes intense, "You're so
fucking...just fuck," his voice trailed off, low and deep as the bag he was
holding dropped to the floor and he stepped towards the bed, shirt coming
up over his head, hand dipping into his underwear, cock already leaking
pre-cum.

     Groaning, Chris' eyes shut tight and his back arched again, cum
shooting up onto his chest as soon as he grabbed his cock.  "Jake," Chris
said, long and drawn out, eyes still shut as Jake's tongue lapped at the
cum, hands steadying Chris' shaking body, "God, I...oh God."

     "I'm so hard right now," Jake said between kisses, his voice breathy.
Chris' hand was on his shoulder, Jake pulling Chris' fingers from his hole
and bringing them to his cock, lubed fingers gliding over Jake's thick
shaft, "I was going crazy watching you."  Chris was shuddering, Jake's lips
on his, Jake's hands running down his sides to lift his leg, pushing him
onto his side, "I have to be inside you," Jake said, lips on Chris' ear,
"can't stop."  Chris' arms wrapped around his neck and he felt boneless,
Jake's cock sliding into him in one hard thrust, his breath stalling as
Jake sank in, his body still overwhelmed at everything that he wasn't even
sure he was registering everything that was going on.

     Jake wrapped his arm around Chris' leg, thrusting hard into Chris'
hole, back into the familiar warmth and tightness.  There was nowhere else
he'd rather be, nothing else he could ever imagine being better.  He
brought his lips down to Chris', tongue sliding against Chris' as he felt
Chris' fingers gripping his shoulders, body supple and languid under his,
reactive to every single movement that Jake made, slow or quick, hard or
soft, deep or shallow.  Jake felt Chris' sharp breaths, his head thrown
back every time the head of his cock raked over Chris' prostate; Chris'
cock not losing any of its hardness, getting harder if anything, as Jake
thrust, cock slamming into Chris' clutching hole.  There was something
about they way Chris had been moving, the way he'd seemed to be completely
engrossed in just his own body that drove Jake over the edge, made him lose
control completely to see Chris indulging himself that way, to hear his
name on Chris' lips as he shot.  Jake's eyes shut and he wrapped his arms
around Chris, gripping him tight and thrusting even harder, Chris groaning
even louder, his teeth biting into Jake's shoulder as Jake rolled him onto
his back, one leg wrapping itself around Jake's waist, the other perched on
Jake's hand, his hole wide open for Jake's thick cock.

     Chris threw his head back, Jake's scratchy chest hair smoothed by
sweat and the rubbing of their bodies.  Jake's lips were on his neck
instantly, teeth nibbling against the soft skin, rough stubble rasping
against the tense cords of Chris' neck.  He'd just shot, but he felt like
was going to do it all over again, his cock hard and dripping, it was like
Jake had grabbed him while he was on the edge and was keeping him there
somehow, teetering somewhere between release and restraint.  He squeezed
his hole tight, sending a deep groan out of Jake's throat, "Fucking tight,"
he said, voice dry as he tried to swallow his spit, "so fucking tight."
His head couldn't be distracted with the formation of words, it was
spinning too fast, losing its battle against Jake's body, instinct
overtaking him as Chris writhed under him.  Jake's thrusts became reckless,
completely unrestrained as he barreled towards orgasm, his entire body
covered in a sheen of sweat and his breaths shallow and desperate.  He
pulled Chris' lips to his own again, tongue thrusting into the warmth,
mimicking the movement of his cock, Chris delirious as Jake had complete
dominance, his entire body slack one second with bliss, stiff the next as
Jake slammed into him.

     A guttural moan filled the room, Jake gripping Chris' body tight to
his own, chest-to- chest, foreheads pressed together, and eyes shut tight
as he came, thick spurts of cum shooting into Chris' hole.  He heard Chris
gasp, felt his body tense as Jake held him tight, his own body shaking as
he rode out the sensations, letting them wash over him as he released
Chris' mouth.  Gasping, Chris' fingers settled on Jake's cheeks, stubble
slicked with sweat now as he watched Jake's face relax, his own eyes
cloudy, his cock still rock hard.  He kissed Jake hard, muffling Jake's
groans, finger gripping Jake's face, sliding down to his neck and back to
his shoulders.  His lips moved down to Jake's jaw, tracing the strong
angles to his ear, latching onto Jake's weak spot, sending shivers through
Jake's already entire body.  He slid his hands down to Jake's chest,
feeling how fast Jake's heartbeat was, feeling every labored breath under
his fingers as he pushed Jake down onto the mattress.

     "Still tight enough for you?" Chris whispered into his ear, squeezing
his asshole as tight as he could, a long hiss coming from Jake's mouth in
response, "keep it going for me Jake, come on, keep going."  He could
barely hear his own voice, his heart was beating so loud in his temples.
Closing his eyes, he just let his body move.

     Chris felt Jake's hands rest on his hips, gripping them tightly as he
rose up and down, Jake's cock slick with cum and lube, every motion fast
and stunted, every sensation heightened.  Chris didn't know how far he
could push Jake, how far Jake could push him even, but right now he needed
to get off again, needed to feel Jake's cock slamming into him again.
"Goddamn," Chris moaned, surprised at how the feelings were completely
different, Jake's cock hitting him at a different angle and how his own
weight seemed to be pushing Jake's cock in even deeper inside him.  He
could feel beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, Jake's hands barely
able to keep a hold on him he was so slippery.  He opened his eyes to see
Jake's blissful expression, eyes half-lidded, mouth slack as Chris rode him
fast and hard; he leaned down, catching Jake's lips with his own, eyes
fluttering shut when he felt Jake nibbling on his lower lip.  He could only
respond with a grunt when Jake's finger traced the line of pre-cum that had
leaked from his cock, only gasped when Jake's other hand went to his
nipple, sending dual shocks through his body.

     Jake didn't know if he'd stopped cumming, but he knew he didn't get
soft and he knew that if Chris kept this up, kept sliding up and pushing
back down onto him that he'd be cumming again whether he stopped or not.
Groaning, he pulled Chris down again, their breathing labored and Chris'
entire body, every muscle fro his head to his toes just aching for release.
Jake's finger ran through his hair, erratically sliding through the wet
strands for something to hold onto, Chris' kisses were too fleeting, he
needed to keep his head still.  He gripped Chris' hips hard, slamming
upward and pulling both their bodies down onto the bed, Chris freezing at
the sudden halt of motion, Jake's mouth attaching to his again, tongue
desperately sliding against his own as his hands ran up Chris' back.

     "Shit," Jake said, his teeth clenched together, "I'm so close, so
close already."

     Chris froze, Jake's cock completely sheathed in his hole as he leaned
down, a long groan coming from his mouth as the head rested on his
prostate, every minute movement that he or Jake made sending a chill up his
back, a shudder through his legs.  He nipped at Jake's neck, feeling Jake's
hands slide down his back.  "Don't quit on me now, Jake," he whispered,
tongue tracing Jake's ear, "I can't stop...and you...can't stop."  He
reached behind him, pulling gently at Jake's balls, feeling Jake's sharp
breathing, his entire body straining under Chris'.

     "Shit, shit, shit," Jake whispered, "don't move.  Don't move."
Incoherent, Jake was shuddering, he felt like he was cumming all over
again, but he knew he wasn't, he was still too hard.

     "I'm not moving," Chris said, kissing Jake's temple, running his nose
through Jake's sweaty hair.  He wasn't moving, but he clenched his muscles
as hard as he could, Jake's fingers digging deep into his lower back as his
eyes slammed shut, his entire body tingling.

     "Fuck," Jake groaned, his forehead resting in the crook of Chris'
shoulder, "you play dirty."  Chris grabbed Jake's shoulders as Jake rolled
him over, pulling him up onto his hands and knees.  Chris hated admitting
it, but he liked it this way, no matter how raunchy it seemed; there was
just something about the way Jake's cock curved inside him, how every
stroke felt deep and severe.

     Jake pounded in, hard and fast.  If Chris could take it, he'd give it
as hard as he could.  He felt like a runaway train, like everything had
just boiled down to the need for both of them to shoot and he was doing
anything to get to it.  Chris grabbed the sheets, twisting the fabric in
his fingers as Jake slammed into him, a string of grunts falling from his
own lips without him even realizing it.  Jake's hands were on his
shoulders, pushing him back with every thrust, like he couldn't get in deep
enough, like he had to get every last millimeter of his cock into the
warmth and tightness of Chris' ass.  The room was full of the sound of
heavy breathing, the wet smack of sweaty flesh, and their groans, louder
with every passing second.  Everything was a blur, everything melting from
Chris' mind except the feeling of being stretched by Jake's cock and the
incessant waves going through his body from his prostate.  He was glad
breathing was automatic, he'd gladly give that up if it meant he'd feel
more somewhere, anywhere.  Jake leaned down, hairy chest resting against
Chris' taut back, every muscle straining under him, as he kissed the back
of Chris' neck, fingers tracing Chris' jaw to turn his head so that their
lips could meet again, so that his tongue could feel the familiar warmth of
Chris' mouth.

     But instead of that, he saw a look of pained bliss as his free hand
reached for Chris' cock, a sinister smile on his own face; "I can play
dirty, too," Jake whispered, kissing Chris hard, strokes matching his hard
thrusts.  Chris lost it and it felt like he slammed into a brick wall, his
eyes shut hard and tight as the cum shot from his cock, Jake's cock lodged
deep inside him, his mouth open but no sound coming out, Jake's hand
stroking him through his orgasm, drawing out every sensation.  Chris let
out a long breath, not realizing that he'd been holding his breath,
grasping at a few shallow gasps as he fell to the bed, Jake straddling him
as he ran his hands over his face, eyes focusing on Jake's sweaty chest,
hair matted in places, muscles flexing as he stroked his swollen rod, "I
can play really dirty," he said, same smile on his lips.  He stroked his
cock, pushing Chris' hand aside as he reached for it, putting Chris' palm
on his sweaty stomach instead, hard stomach muscles under his shaking
fingers.  Chris watched in awe, Jake scooting up his body, a knee planted
firmly in each of his armpits as he leaned down, body quivering as he
stroked even faster, one last loud grunt as he shot; hot, thick, creamy cum
landing in ropes across Chris' cheek and neck, his mouth getting a taste
and another splash landing across Chris' collarbones.  He was too
breathless to move, his fingers trailing through the pearly liquid and
bringing it to his lips, his eyes fluttering closed as Jake groaned,
practically whimpered watching him.

     Chris felt the bed shift as Jake fell down next to him, their lips
coming together again, the salty-sweet flavor of cum in both their mouths.
Chris was clutching onto consciousness, Jake's hands on his waist and their
lips together the only thing keeping him from blacking out entirely.  He
nuzzled into Jake's neck, wrapping an arm around Jake's chest as he came
back to earth, Jake's heart beating under his arm.  It was like night and
day, Jake thought: lust-driven coupling moving to this in just a matter of
seconds, it was hard to describe, even hard to believe that things could be
like this.  He pulled Chris close, their legs tangling as Jake felt their
bodies settle into the bed, pulling the thin white sheet over the both of
them.  One last kiss to Chris' forehead, Jake was sure he was already
asleep, and he let a satisfied smile spread across his lips.  It couldn't
get better than this.

***

     His entire body was sore, every single muscle, but Chris knew better
than to miss a meeting with his publisher.  Vivian's new office was here in
New York, she'd gotten a promotion, but she was still handling his work, so
spending so much time in the city seemed to be working out for everyone.
Everyone but him--he had Jake on the weekend, he was close to where he had
to be for work, he had Peter and Maggie, he even had Natalie once in a
while.  The only thing missing was what he wanted: to be home again, to
have his bed, his sheets, his beach, and his world around him.  There were
too many distractions right now, he was glad he wasn't writing.  Even final
edits took forever.  He knew this meeting would be about publicity, so he
was already dreading it.  He just wished that he hadn't gone for that bike
ride the day before, circling the park with Peter took more out of him than
he thought it would.  He felt a shake in his bag, and without even looking
at his phone he knew it was Jake.

     "You should be working, finish that movie."

     "We're lunching," Jake said.  Chris could hear the fatigue in his
voice, knew that every day they had first call at seven a.m., shot
everything a million times, and then went back and shot the same scenes a
million more times.  Jake had never been on a shoot like this before, Chris
knew that he was having trouble adjusting to how nitpicky David Fincher was
being, he usually had more control over improvisations and adding his own
character to the roles he was playing, but this movie was entirely
different, "do you think you can come up early again this weekend?"

     "Can I tell you later?  I don't know what I'm doing yet.  I might have
to do some press."

     "Come on, it gets harder every time you leave."

     Chris felt his heart melting, steps slowing down to a halt as he
looked up at the Random House building, counted the stories to
twenty-seven, the Knopf office right there, meeting room on the corner.
Part of him wanted to just drop everything and get on a plane to Toronto,
"I can't say anything for sure."

     "This book is good, right?"

     "Yeah," Chris said, "I mean, I think it is.  Other people like it."

     "Then what are they worried about?  Screw it.  I need you."

     "I can't.  You know I want to."

     "I love you so much, Chris, when I wake up without you there I just
want to go back to sleep."

     "Jake, let me get back to you.  I can't just drop things this close to
the release.  I'm late for the meeting already."

     "You're never late."

     "I've been walking slower than normal.  I went for a ride yesterday."

     "I hate that I miss things like that with you.  I'm stuck here.  I
hate it."

     "Jake, I'm going to try, but I can't make any promises."

     Chris heard Jake let out a huff, "Alright.  Keep out of trouble and
get your ass up here as fast as you can."

     "I will.  You know I love you."

     "I'll buy a million copies of that book if it means you'll stay up
here."

***

     "Weird, huh?  Both of us on the same show?"

     "Yeah," Chris said, "they still think we're best friends.  I'm just
glad they didn't ask."

     "Hey," Topher said, "we're still friends.  And friends go to after
parties.

     "Friends don't let their friends get out of control though."

     "You've never been out of control," Topher said.

     Chris raised an eyebrow, "I'm not going out."

     "Two drink limit.  You worked, now you play."

     "Two drinks is the minimum for any club you'll take me to."

     "You have to have some fun sometimes, Chris."

     Chris glanced at his phone, it was late, they were doing late-night
television after all, but part of him really did want to go out.  He just
got over the nervousness, he was so full of energy--he couldn't just go to
bed.  "Nothing too crazy."

     "Scout's honor," Topher said, two-finger salute on his right hand.

     Chris followed Topher out of the studio, cameras snapping at the both
of them as he waved, tried his best to give a smile.  He loosened his tie
and buttoned his jacket; without Jake, he was nothing to the general
public, this wasn't going to make the presses.  Publicity would never be
easy for him, but it was always going to be part of the job.  It was what
separated writers, some of them released books to no fanfare, but Chris
knew that to be big, he'd have to be on TV and get his name into the
magazines.  He didn't need to be on covers or be the main guest, he just
needed his name on people's minds when they were at the bookstore.  Topher
was the one that needed it, so Chris stayed a few steps behind him, letting
him take the brunt of the flashbulbs.

     "It's not far, is it?"

     "Just a few blocks," Topher said over his shoulder, "come on, hurry
up."

     Chris grabbed Topher's hand, strides long to catch up, "How long are
you in town?"

     "We haven't even gotten started yet," Topher said, "don't think about
it ending yet."

***

     Chris opened the door to the soundstage slowly, quietly peeking in to
see if there was anyone there yet.  Inside, there were PA's everywhere,
interns milling around everywhere, people talking on their walkie-talkies
and headsets.  He held his access pass in his hand, too embarrassed to have
it around his neck, showing it to everyone, whether they needed to see it
or not.

     He walked towards the office, opening the door just as slowly, "I'm
here to pick up a script revision.  For Jake."

     "I didn't know he had an assistant," the woman said, eyes not leaving
her computer screen, "I'll have someone bring it out for you."

     Chris sat down in the office chair, glancing around at the sparsely
decorated office.  Everyone on set seemed on edge, it was definitely not
somewhere Chris wanted to be all the time, no wonder Jake wanted a reminder
of the outside world all the time.  "I can get it myself."

     "In the copy room.  Tell him that his call time is five
a.m. tomorrow."

     "What if he's not better yet?"

     "Then he'll be here at five a.m. on Monday."

     Chris walked into the copy room, grabbing the script from a tall
stack.  He leaned against the counter, flipping through the pages.
Scanning the pages, he recoiled, the margins were full of tiny text,
describing in detail every single thing about every single line of
dialogue: volume, intonation, speed, expression, everything.  Chris
couldn't believe how detailed the camera movements were, how David
Fincher's notes made the script four times longer than it had to be.  No
wonder everything was so crazy, they had to deal with this all the time.

     The dialogue seemed stilted too, it just seemed cold, Chris thought,
granted it was supposed to be a story marked by emotionless people, the
writers just seemed to take it too far.  Chris resisted reaching for his
pen to add that the characters were actually looking at each other in these
scenes, not on the phone, but it wasn't his place, this wasn't his job.

     "Who do they send the revisions of the revisions to?" Chris asked,
sticking his head out into the main part of the office.

     "Writing department.  They're in the next building.  Second story."

     "Which room?"

     "Entire floor.  We use interdepartmental messengers on set."

     "Who revises the revisions?"

     "Fincher mostly, story editors give it to him and he sends it back.
You've got the final draft in your hand."

     "What if there's a little mistake or if something's just wrong?"

     "Nothing's ever wrong."

     "Alright," Chris said, tucking the thick stack of papers under his
arm, "thank you for this.  I'll make sure he gets it."

     She didn't say anything as Chris closed the door behind him, making
his way to the writing department.  The script was far from perfect and he
had to tell someone.  He couldn't have Jake looking like a fool on the
screen.  Heart racing already, he wasn't sure what he was getting himself
into.  He just knew he had to do it.

***

     As if going to Toronto every weekend wasn't bad enough, Chris found
himself waiting for his taxi from the airport for the second time this
weekend.  With Jake sick, their phone calls consisting more of Jake's
sneezes and groans than actual conversation, he couldn't say no to an
impromptu visit, but it didn't mean he could stop promoting himself in the
city.  Flying back to New York for just two nights, Chris had another late-
night interview done and went to the opening of the new David Auburn play,
hoping that some of those pictures would make it into the society pages of
the Times or even Vanity Fair.  The rest of the time was just a blur, but
he remembered meeting some friends and not getting any sleep at all.
Parties seemed to blur together in a haze of drinks and dancing, laughing
and talking in the dark clubs until he'd wake up on Maggie's couch,
half-undressed.  He was supposed to be staying out of trouble, but it all
seemed harmless.  It was the easiest way to get publicity: to just be out.
He wasn't sure it was the most effective way, but was definitely the
easiest.  But while he was supposed to be staying out of trouble Jake was
supposed to be resting and getting better--and he wasn't.  Jake looked and
sounded just as bad as he did before Chris left.

     "Do you need anything?" Chris asked, sitting down on the bed next to
him.  Thumb running over the back of Jake's hand as he held it loosely.

     "Just you," Jake said, "and a miracle.  And drugs, I need drugs."

     "It's just a cold, Jake, don't be so dramatic."

     "You're the best," Jake said, a weak smile on his face as Chris's
fingers brushed his hair back, Jake's body tingling at the gentle touch.

     "Did you take your medicine yet?"

     Jake only nodded, running his hands over his face.

     "How are you still awake?" Chris asked, "it usually knocks you right
out."

     "I can't get you up here and just fall asleep."

     "You're such a baby sometimes.  Go to sleep.  It's the only way you'll
get better," Chris said, rolling his eyes, "just go to sleep."  He leaned
down, kissing Jake lightly on the forehead.  He felt like he was being a
bad boyfriend, like he should have been wiping Jake's forehead with
washcloth or something, but he didn't have a fever, he had a cold, not the
flu--no washcloths necessary.  No visit necessary either, to state the
obvious, Chris wasn't a miracle worker.  He sat there and watched Jake fall
asleep, breaths slowly becoming deep and regular, chest rising and falling
as Chris sat back against the headboard.  He could watch Jake sleep all day
back at home, through half-lidded eyes in the hazy morning light, but here
it seemed to lose its novelty with Jake's sniffles and coughs.  He wasn't
sure if Jake was contagious or not, but he wasn't going to take a chance.
Nobody liked being sick.

     Closing the bedroom door behind him, he threw a sheet over the couch
and settled in.  Jake would be out for hours and Chris wished that he could
have the same deep drug- induced dreamless sleep, wished that he could just
forget about everything for a few hours.  He tossed on the sofa, not
realizing it was hours before he normally went to sleep.  He grabbed his
phone and as usual, nobody had called him.  Frowning, he grabbed his hoodie
and headed out, fingers instinctively dialing Maggie's number.

     "Chris is that you?" Jake yelled from the bedroom, voice still muffled
by traces of phlegm and weariness.  He sounded confused and a little
annoyed as Chris shut the door behind him, slowly pushing the room service
cart into the suite.  He was surprised, Jake normally slept for a few hours
when he took his medicine, Chris didn't realize he'd been gone so long.

     "I went to get something to eat.  Are you hungry?" Chris said back,
not quite as loud, "I brought it up here."

     "Room service?" Jake asked, scooting up on the bed, back against the
headboard.  His nose was red from blowing it so much, eyes watery from the
sneezing.  "I'll get cleaned up and we'll eat."

     "Don't move, I'll bring it out," Chris said, leaving the cart at the
foot of the bed.  He grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom, ringing it out
after soaking it in hot water.  This is what real relationships were about,
he thought, not the fluff; if he was wiping Jake's snot off his face, they
really had gone through everything.  "Did you have a nice nap?"

     "I'm dying."

     "And you're still reading this shit?" Chris said, pushing the gossip
magazines from Jake's night table into the trash.

     "No, hold on, they said you had a whole spread.  They were talking
about it on Entertainment Tonight before you came in."

     "Whatever, I don't want to see what they're saying about me."

     "The publicity you've been doing must be good if you're getting in the
trash mags and the real ones."

     "I'm not really doing anything at all," Chris said, "just eat, you
need to get better so we can go home."

     "Come on, let me just see how cute you look in the pictures.  I missed
all your TV interviews because I'm practically in a coma at night."

     "I don't take good pictures," Chris said, part of him worried about
what they'd captured.  He'd been out pretty late with some known partiers,
and even though he wasn't really getting to into the scene, he knew what
pictures could make people look like they'd been doing.  The power of
suggestion was all the gossip magazines used, and they knew how to use it
to its fullest.

     "What's going on?" Jake asked, "why don't you want me to see them?"

     "It's not that, I don't even know what they said about it.  It's just
that I've been doing publicity and you know that means parties and stuff.
People."

     "People?"

     "Topher and I hung out one night, okay?" Chris said, getting it right
out into the open, tired of tiptoeing around the subject, "I don't know if
there's a picture of us in there, but nothing happened.  We just had drinks
after I did the Daily Show.  He was on the same night I was."

     "You weren't going to tell me or anything, is that it?"

     "Because there's nothing to tell," his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The
food was getting cold and he had worked hard in the hotel kitchen making
it.  Maggie assured him that this minestrone was the one that her mom
always made Jake when he was sick and now it was just sitting there,
completely ignored, "We went out to a bar after.  That's all."

     Chris could tell Jake was angry, but his body was too tired to show
it, instead, it all showed up on his face, "I don't get it."

     Chris leaned against the wall, he didn't know what else to say.  He
just hated the look Jake had on his face, a combination of accusation and
disappointment.  It was the worst thing that Jake could do to him, made him
feel small, insignificant.

     "Does he give you something that I don't, Chris?" Jake said, throwing
the comforter off of himself and throwing his legs off the bed, burying his
face in his hands.  "What is it about him that keeps you going back to
him?"

     "Jake," Chris said, voice quiet, "I don't want to get into this
again."  His words came out slowly, every single one deliberate and forced.

     Jake turned to him, same disappointed look on his face, "It kills me
to know that you have to run to him.  Why are you doing this?"

     "I'm not doing anything," Chris said, "I keep telling you.  What do
you want me say?  Do you want to hear that we hooked up?"

     "Lay it all out, Chris.  There's something about him that you like,
it's obvious.  You wouldn't keep talking to him and hanging out with him if
there wasn't."

     "We were on the same show.  I didn't plan it or anything," Chris said,
the anger evident in his voice, "and he probably thinks I'm an asshole
because all I talked about that night was you."

     Jake stayed on the bed, silent.

     "I talk to him because I can't tell you things about you," his words
moved from being painfully slow to faster than he could handle, stumbling
into each other, "like how I hate that you wear my sweaters because you
stretch them out but I love seeing you in them; and how I like watching you
through the window of the studio.  I sound like a crazy person.  All I talk
about is you.  And he listens.  It breaks his heart, you know it does, but
he sits there and he listens because he's the only person that I have that
will."  Chris slid down the wall, sitting on the carpet, legs drawn up to
his chest.  Exasperated, he looked down at the beige twists of carpet,
every moment of silence weighing on him.

     Jake's features softened, his body falling down onto the mattress,
eyes closed as his fingers massaged his temples, "I'm...I don't know.  I
didn't know.  I just thought, you know how hard it is for the both of us
when I'm working or you're working.  I didn't know you didn't have someone
to talk to."

     "Me and you talk every night, Jake, and we talk during the day, but I
mean...there's no way I can talk to you about you or your sister about you
or even Peter about you.  There has to be someone there and he was just, he
was there."

     "Nothing's happening."

     "Nothing," Chris said.

     "Nothing's going on."

     "Nothing," Chris said again.

     "I'm sorry," Jake said.

     "I'm sorry," Chris said back.  It just seemed like the right thing to
say, but both of them could feel how uneasy it was to say, how fragile the
entire situation remained.

     "Thanks for coming up to visit your sick jealous boyfriend.  I didn't
mean to chew you out like this."

     "Fiancee.  I'm visiting my fiancee."

     Jake let out a chuckle, "Fiancee."

     "Eat your soup.  I was down there for three hours making it."

     "They let you into the kitchen?"

     "Shut up," Chris said, "I don't care if it's cold, you're eating it.
I only fucked it up four times."

***

     "I fucked up," Chris said, throwing the magazine down onto the table.
Natalie grabbed it, flipping it to his spread, "Two pages, you see that?
Can someone else fuck up so that I'm not news?  Was it really that slow of
a week?"

     "They're not all bad," Natalie said, her eyes scanning the page.
There was a picture of Chris at the premiere, another of him with Topher
leaving the bar, one of him walking out of the airport door with one of
Jake's baseball caps on his head, a picture of him leading Mischa Barton
out of a club, more of him on his phone in the city with Peter, a huge
stack of magazines in the other hand; all of them under a huge headline:
'Work Hard, Play Hard: Christopher Lewis takes on New York.'

     "I need to stop hanging out with famous people."

     "You are a famous person."

     "I'm only famous when I'm with famous people.  Nobody pays attention
to me when I'm by myself."

     "How are the scallops?"

     "Overcooked," Chris said, eyes focused on the magazine still, even
though it was upside-down, "They told me to get my name out there, this
better sell books.  I just didn't know I'd have to risk my reputation to do
it.  How the hell am I supposed to show my face around people like Michael
Chabon and Zadie Smith when I'm in the fucking UsWeekly?"

     "People take me seriously and I'm in it all the time.  Let your work
talk, not this."

     "Do me a favor and make sure that everywhere you go, you're carrying
my book.  That'll sell it," Chris said, suppressing a light laugh, "or it
could stop people from buying it.  I'll take the chance."

     "No wonder he likes to keep an eye on you when he's gone, you get
party crazy.  All this was in one week?"

     "They told me to promote myself, I couldn't think of anything easier
than just going out."

     "Did you like it?  Going out gets old."

     "I just treated it like work--more like work with drinks.  I don't
know how people do it every night.  I was so tired."

     "It's hard, isn't it?  You guys are always together and then you hit
this three months of nothing."

     "It's not nothing.  I see him on the weekends.  It's like...I don't
know, ridiculous, sort of.  But it's the best we can do."

     "If we go shopping today, would that be considered 'work' for you?"

     Chris smiled, "Definitely.  This lunch is work, actually."  He
motioned over his shoulder, two photographers snapping pictures from across
the street.

     "Then you're working overtime today, buddy."

***

      Jake was more focused than ever, finally over his cold, and back on
set he surprised the other cast members and even Fincher himself when he
was nailing almost every scene in only two or three takes.  The shoot was
finishing up, the months turned into weeks and he could almost see the end.

     "Wait," Fincher yelled, "who did the revisions on the last script?"
He was furiously flipping through a script as everyone on set looked
around, nobody taking credit for it even though nobody knew if it was a
good thing or a bad thing.

     Jake sat down on a chair, unbuttoning the collar his Star Trek-type
uniform.  Fincher could go off on one of his tirades and they wouldn't be
shooting for a while, they were all used to it by now and he figured he'd
get comfortable.  He glanced over his shoulder to Fincher and saw Chris'
narrow penmanship on the pages, almost stumbling out of the flimsy
space-age chair.

     "We're done for today, we've got to look a few things over," Fincher
said, stomping off the soundstage.

     "Shit," Jake said, throwing his head back.  His eyes clenched shut;
hoping against everything that Fincher would cool off and everything would
be back to normal tomorrow.  He rushed off the soundstage, throwing off his
jacket and tossing it in a bin to get washed, his phone too far away in the
pocket of his real jacket, his only connection to Chris and whatever he did
to throw Fincher into a rage.

     "Working?" Jake asked as soon as he heard a voice on the other end,
the phone barely registering his quick fingers on its keypad.

     "Nope, I'm all yours.  What's going on?"  Chris said, throwing his
legs up onto the coffee table and shutting his computer with his bare foot.

     "Fincher found something.  A script.  It looked like it had your
handwriting on it.  Did you do something to one when you came up last?"

     Chris leaned back into the soft cushions of the sofa, "Corrected a few
typos."

     "Seriously?  Is that all?"

     "I might have said something else.  Nothing big though, did he seem
mad?"

     "Not mad, just thrown," Jake said, rushing his heartbeat finally
slowing, "it seemed like whatever it was, it just hit him hard."

     "I don't remember what I wrote," Chris said, digging through memories
to try to find something.  It had been such an intense visit and they were
all starting to blend into each other he wasn't even sure which time it was
when he did that.

     "I hope it's not a big deal," Jake said, the fatigue evident in his
voice.  They'd almost finished the scene, they were in the last stretch of
the movie and now this had to happen.

     "You're too far into the project for him to do anything major," Chris
said, settling Jake's racing mind, "just keep up your good work like you
said and we'll be home."

     "You're coming up this weekend, right?"

     "Have I let you down yet?"

---

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