Date: Tue, 19 Feb 2008 23:05:07 -0800 From: christopher. Subject: breaking through part 47 Breaking Through Usual disclaimers apply (This is a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental). No implications are made about the celebrities mentioned. This is intended for adults, so if you're not allowed to read this, don't do it. Author's Note: Head on over to the Gyllenhaal Chronicles site for the latest on this story and the other Jake stories on Nifty. It's a great place and I'm very grateful for all the people I've met there. Sign up at http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew. A special thanks goes to both Stephen and Avy for everything that they've done for me. A special thanks goes to everyone who's written to me from the very beginning and to those just starting. I know that the story's taken a lot of twists and turns, good and bad, but thank you so so much for sticking with me through it all. As always, e-mail can be sent to christopherrluu@gmail.com or on MSN messenger with that same e-mail address. AOL Instant Messenger: babyofthe1980s. I'm on both all the time, don't be afraid to drop me a quick message. Part LVII Chris pulled his collar up, trying to juggle his umbrella in one hand against the rain, still not used to the chill, loving everything about the cold though: scarves, sweaters, and gloves. It rarely got this cold, even more rarely rained like this, and though the rest of the city seemed flustered and frustrated, Chris couldn't get enough. Los Angeles was a sprawling, disjointed city, but Malibu was less like that. It was really only a few blocks, the beach on one side, gray and stormy today, the waves angry, the sand littered with stray bits of driftwood, and mountains on the other side, golden grasses and sparse trees in the summer, green grasses bending with spring breezes. In the rain, everything seemed a little gray, a lot sullen. But even walking to the supermarket or the coffee shop, Chris would find himself pretending that he was in some sort of stylized French film, like he was running through the rain to get to Jake, who'd be waiting for him with some sort of warm drink and warmer smile. The music would swell and he'd fall into Jake's arms, smiles on both of their faces even though the weather was dreary. That was how it played out in his head. In reality, Jake was on the phone at home, talking to not only Celeste and Mom, but to his lawyer. Chris stayed on the sidelines, letting Jake open up when he wanted, kissing him when he needed it. He could tell that Jake was putting up a front, staying strong for the both of them. "Chris, how are things?" the store clerk asked, a smile on her face. "Good," he said, "what's new today?" "Trout...some zucchini came in this morning. Nothing that special." "I think I can take some of that," Chris said, "enough for four." "Having a party?" "I wouldn't call it a party," Chris said, "what goes with zucchini?" "Yellow squash, tomatoes, stuff like that." "I'll get some of that, too," Chris said, "I'll figure it out when I get back home." "The rain's really starting to come down hard," she said. Chris looked out the windows, watching the rain come down in curtains, nodding. He reached for his phone. Walking through sprinkles might have been reminiscent of cinema, but walking through torrential downpours wasn't really his idea of a silver screen moment. "You need help with the groceries?" "I need a ride home," Chris said, "come get me." He could hear Jake sigh, "Yeah, I'll be right there." "It'll be good for you to get out of the house," Chris said, "even if it's just for ten minutes." "Okay," Jake said simply. "Any news?" "Too much news. Just need you home. I need to decompress." "Okay," Chris said back, "I'll decompress you." He heard Jake snicker and they both hung up. Five minutes later, Chris was waiting on the curb with groceries in hand, raw material for whatever Jake would be tossing together. He'd already told Jonas and Topher to come over, felt that they needed to know. Jake needed to see that he had a support system. Chris needed them to push any thoughts of James out of his head. "Hey you." "It's freezing," Jake said, turning up the heat, "Boo won't go out, you know how he is when it rains." "How are you?" "I'll survive." "That's not good enough," Chris said, "you have to chill out." He ran his fingers through Jake's hair, leaning across the center console to kiss his cheek. "I can't 'chill out.'" Chris' fingers traced Jake's hairline, right behind his ear, "Yes you can. How about tonight I take care of dinner? I got everything. And maybe after we can just relax?" "Sounds good," Jake said, "but relaxing is harder than it sounds." "I'll make sure you relax," Chris whispered, lips on Jake's ear, "you're too tense." Jake just sighed, looking over at Chris for a second, his eyes earnest and genuine, "Okay. No more of this tonight." *** Chris watched the muscles of Jake's chest and back flex and move as he climbed out of Topher's hot tub, the swirling bubbles coming back together where there was a wake in his movement, "Anyone else need anything?" "I'll go with you, another round for everyone," Topher said, leaving Chris in the warm water with Jonas and James. "I'll go too," Chris said, but Jonas pulled him back. "They can handle it," he said, "come one, just sit down." Reluctantly, Chris sat across from him, James on his left, "We don't bite," James said, voice low and slow, his eyes shut as he leaned back against the side of the tub. Chris rubbed his neck, had to admit to himself that the dream he had was definitely not out of his reach. Just sitting across from Jonas, seeing his lean, hairy chest, James right there beside him, it was like his dream had somehow materialized. Jonas he'd seen plenty of times, it wasn't hard to see how his dream was accurate on that front, but James was strangely accurate, too. His chest was a little less fuzzy than Jonas', his shoulders broader. The realness of it made him slightly uneasy, but he had to admit it wasn't something he wouldn't mind doing more often. "So were you guys in anything together back at school? Productions?" "Macbeth," James said, his eyes still closed. He took a deep breath and Chris watched his collarbones rise and fall, "and something else, right?" His eyes opened and Chris glanced at Jonas, who caught his eyes, a smile on his face. "Great Expectations," Jonas added. "I love Dickens," Chris said, "who did you play?" "Pip," James said, "Jonas was Drummle, conniving ass." "'It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade,'" Chris recited, his throat a little dry, his eyes still darting from Jonas to James. He wasn't relaxing at all, if anything, the situation was only making him tenser. It was the prelude to his dream, this would happen, just like this: he'd recite his Dickens, Jonas and James would creep across the swirling foam and Chris would fall victim to their British charm while they went upstairs, leaving Jake and Topher to eat scones and drink tea in the kitchen. Chris shook himself, wondering if he'd had too much to drink or just had too much stimulation, visual and mental. "Impressive," James said, his forehead furrowing, "do another." "From what?" Chris asked, "I've got a lot." James sat up straight, almost challenging him, Jonas' foot brushed his under the water, but Chris ignored it, looking at James intently, "Something I'll know." Chris smirked, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." "That's cheap flattery," James said, laughing, "and it's working. I could kiss you for that clever turn." "No you can't," Jonas said, leaning in, "but I'll tell you, he's got a mouth on him." "Do another. Wordsworth," James said, arms crossed. "That's enough," Chris said, "I always stop while I'm ahead." "Not ahead by much," James said, scooting over to sit next to him. He leaned in close and Chris felt his breath jump, James' hand on his hip, his mouth almost touching Chris' ear, "I must indeed...and therefore I came hither..." his breath was slow and soft, Chris' eyes slowly shutting, "...good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man." "James, that's enough," Jonas insisted. "Romeo and Juliet," Chris said, he could feel his cock throb between his legs, hard, trapped in his board shorts, "talk about easy." *** Inside, Jake watched Topher rifle through the fridge, towels wrapped around both of their waists, "What do you think of that James character?" Jake asked, leaning against the counter, fiddling with a bottle opener. "He needs to get off my boyfriend for one thing," Topher said, pulling four bottles of beer out. "Get Chris a water," Jake said, "he'd driving home." Topher nodded, sticking one back in, "James is a fantastic actor. Apart from the two of them going to school together, Jo didn't tell me anything." "He's not really Chris' type," Jake said, glancing at the hot tub. "He's not? Brown hair, cocky as all hell..." Topher started. "He's not Chris' type," Jake said again, almost like he was forcing himself to believe it, "he gets really...into people. New people, when he's writing his books. I think that's what's going on." Topher's eyes stared out at the hot tub with Jake's, "He's got blue eyes. Hair on his chest, good build, seems like Chris' type to me." "I'm taller." "I don't want to jump at anything, but I think they're just friends." "They've met three times. Chris sees his Starbuck's girl more often." "Chris wouldn't do that to you." "I know," Jake said, "but there's something I don't like about him." "He's a nice guy. You're a nice guy." "Goddamn, this whole thing is so fucked up. Why the hell am I thinking this?" Jake asked, "why am I even thinking about this?" "I don't know why," Topher said, "Chris is so in love with you. He would never do anything to even make you think that he'd be interested in anyone else." "What the hell does James have that bothers me so much?" "He bothers me, too. That's not good." Jake and Topher looked out at the tub, the three men out there laughing. Both Topher and Jake narrowed their eyes when they shuffled positions, and Topher saw Jake's fists clench when James leaned close to whisper something in Chris' ear. "Chris isn't falling for his bullshit, I don't care how fucking smooth he is." "He's got charm to spare." They both looked, still perturbed by the strange allure that James had. It was something in his eyes, something in the way he swaggered. Everything came together in a way that oozed charisma, gliding along the line between humility and cockiness, completely comfortable in the space he occupied. Jake had it, but didn't flaunt it. Topher was, more and more, getting to that point, but neither of them could come close to James. "He's not a bad guy," Jake admitted, "I wish he was, it would be easier to hate him." "You don't hate him." "That's what makes it hard." *** Jake and Topher came out, balancing the beers and water on the edge of the hot tub before tossing their towels onto a chaise. Chris, Jonas, and James rearranged themselves, Jake pulling Chris close to him as soon as he got in, Chris smiling, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Dinner was great," Jake whispered, "I forgot to say earlier." Chris climbed up to straddle Jake's lap, his back to the other guys, Jake's hands guiding him as their lips came together, Jake's hand on Chris' waist, possessively sliding up to his back. Chris gripped Jake's shoulders, opening his mouth as Jake's tongue slipped inside, his hard cock grinding against Jake's body, Jake's hand sliding to his ass. Topher cleared his throat and Chris turned around to look, his eyes already heavy-lidded, lips kiss-swollen. "Got a little carried away," Chris said, not a bit apologetic. "Keep going," James said. Jonas punched his arm and he apologized, rubbing the spot as he eyed Jonas. "I think I'm done," Jake said to Chris, "ready to rinse off and head home?" "Tired?" Chris asked, pushing Jake's hair off his forehead. "I'm wrinkling up," Jake said, heading out of the water. Chris followed a few steps behind, grabbing Jake's hand as he reached behind him, throwing a towel around Chris' shoulders to pull him close, "It's been a while since I've seen you in those shorts." "Blame the weather," Chris said, kissing the tip of Jake's nose, "but it's going to get warmer, you'll get sick of me in these shorts." "I doubt it," Jake said toweling off Chris' back, "thanks for letting us relax, Grace." "Thanks for dinner," Topher said back, "I'll call you tomorrow, Chris." "You're doing to do something with him?" Jake asked. Chris just shrugged, "Armstrong and I are filming the grave digging scene tomorrow. I think I have some other things on the call sheet, but nothing in the morning." "Tomorrow night." Jake nodded, "I'd like it if you were there." Chris wrapped the towel tighter around himself. Jake rarely, if ever, asked Chris to go to work with him. It was an emotional scene, but past experience told him that Jake didn't like him to see that sort of thing. It scared Chris, to see Jake transformed into someone else, physically and mentally, but even more than that, it was scary to see Jake so detached from reality. That was what he did, not Jake. He reached out and ran his hands over Jake's chest, "Whatever you need, I'll be there." "Get out of here!" Jonas yelled from the hot tub, "and pull those shorts up, Christopher. I can see half your ass." *** "Calm down," Chris said, grabbing Jake's hand. He could feel the blood rushing through Jake's body, his skin warm and muscles tense. "This happens all the time." Jake just grunted, ignoring Chris' words, "It shouldn't. We're really not that interesting. I don't know why the hell they follow us." "It's their job," Chris said, "that's what you used to say to me." "I have to get to work and their work gets in the way of that," Jake said, shaking his head. Chris sipped his coffee, waiting at the door for Jake to fish through his pockets for the keys, "It's fucking cold." "They had to schedule this scene for tonight?" Chris asked as he watched Jake jab at the buttons of the heater, "it's going to get you guys sick." "We'll just get it done fast," Jake said, finally taking a long sip of his coffee. "Do you need to go over your lines again?" Chris asked, already reaching for the script, rolled up and stuffed into the compartment on the door. "I don't need to," Jake said, "and I can't. I'm not in the right place to do that." "Right," Chris said. They were driving down the freeway now, the sun already dipping below the horizon to paint the sky pink and orange, fading to blue and purple already. They'd spend the morning lazing around, Chris never getting that call from Topher. The afternoon went by with nothing more than cleaning out leftovers and straightening the house. Jake was right, they were boring. "We're shooting tomorrow morning, I think that we'll be done around lunch though, do you think we could stop by your office? You have anything to do there?" Chris shook his head, "I can call Celeste tomorrow, she can call the people." Jake nodded, "Yeah, I think that'd be best." "Are we almost there?" Chris asked as Jake began to weave the car through smaller streets. Nobody would ever associate these tree-lined streets with Los Angeles, but there they were, in the heart of the city and it looked like it could be any town's suburban sprawl. A few minutes later and they were parking their car in front of a tiny cemetery, it's little bronze arch read "Pierce Brothers Memorial Park," the hairs on the back of Chris' neck standing up, either from the chill or the general atmosphere. He didn't spend much time in cemeteries, especially not after dusk. He followed Jake to a makeup trailer, waved and shook a few hands before sitting the chair next to Jake's. "Did Jonas have the same call time as you?" Chris asked, unsure what to do with his hands, drumming on the chair's arms with his fingers. "Speak of the devil and he will come, he will," Jonas said, tossing his coat onto an empty chair, "you distracting your man tonight are you? I tell you know Christopher, we will not stand for any malarkey on set." "Except all the malarkey he pulls," Jake said, smiling. "No need to be smug," Jonas said, "especially since you'll be shoveling dirt and mud all night." "You had to write this part in the movie, right?" Jake asked, looking at Chris in the mirror, "couldn't have done it while the character is eating a sandwich or something?" Chris only chuckled a little, running his hands over Jake's, "I'll warm you up tonight." The makeup people went on trimming beards, Jake and Jonas looking naturally stubbled, their eyes a little drawn, hair untouched because they'd be getting doused with water anyway, "Jake, they need you on set for some light tests," a PA said, his head popping in for just a second, "Jonas in fifteen." "Do you want me to go with you?" Chris asked, already getting up. "Stay here," Jake said, "this is nothing. I'll need you when we're getting soaking wet and my arms will feel like falling off." Chris gave him a little kiss and he stepped outside, rubbing his arms as the cold hit it, his thin t-shirt doing nothing to stave the chill. "Chris would you help me with this?" Jonas asked. Turning around, Chris saw him fiddling with his bangs in the mirror, "This is getting a bit long, could you just snip it a bit?" "Can't you ask someone to do it? There are trained professionals here." "I did just ask someone, come on, just I'll hold it and you take this bit off," he said as he slid the scissors to Chris, "I'd do it myself but this mirror is so low." Chris carefully cut at the ends of Jonas' bangs, taking off the tiniest bit, Jonas insisting he take a little more off. Nodding, Chris did as he was told, finishing up and sliding Jonas' hair across his forehead in that graceful sweep he always had it in. It looked good and Chris took a second to admire his handiwork, "You smell nice." "It's...oh, thanks," Chris said. "I asked Topher to do it for me this morning, but the guy wouldn't touch it. Scared he'd mar me or something, I suspect." "It's not every day someone asks you to trim their bangs." "Fringe, we call it." "Right," Chris said. Jonas pulled his black sweater off, kicked his shoes off and pulled his pants down, pulling them back up to inspect a stack of clothes labeled with his name. He didn't button them, leaving them hanging from his hips, Chris watching him, eyes focused on the muscles of his chest and his back, lean from God knew what, since he'd never mentioned exercise and never went running with he and Topher. "Was Jake wearing blue pants or brown ones, do you remember?" "Blue," Chris said quickly. "Right," Jonas said, shucking his pants off, leaving him in just his gray boxer-briefs, low on his hips. Chris had never entertained ideas of being attracted to Jonas, and obviously Jonas had stopped his flirting, but the more developed their friendship became, Chris noticed, the more comfortable Jonas was about everything, not only was he talking more about his own past and his relationship with Topher, but he seemed to be completely at ease undressing in front of Chris. "Where did that scar come from?" He'd noticed it before, but since Jonas was being so forthright, he'd take advantage of it. "This one?" Jonas asked, pointing at his side, "from your mate James. Rugby. His cleat dug right into me, it did. Sixth form, we were just a scrappy duo." The mention of James made Chris cringe a little, but Jake came back into the trailer and gave him another quick kiss, disregarding Jonas' state of undress, plopping himself right back into the chair he'd been in earlier. "It's freezing out there," Jake said, "and something's wrong with the light reflector, this is not going to be smooth. They probably want you out there--with pants on." Jonas quickly pulled his clothes on, the same blue pants and white t-shirt that Jake was wearing, before bolting out the door. "So things are already screwing up. In a graveyard, at that." "Normal stuff," Jake said, "we'll be shooting in a few minutes." Jake moved against Chris' touch, his eyes shutting as he felt Chris' fingers trace his jaw and go into his hair, "I know this is hard for you," Chris said softly, "juggling all this. We're going to get through it." "We always do," Jake said. "Why is it that you involve yourself so deeply with the working class, Christopher?" Jonas asked as he came back into the trailer, shivering, "when it's so glaringly obvious that you know nothing of it?" Before he could answer, the same PA stuck his head back in and beckoned the two actors back into the cold. Chris grabbed Jonas' coat, having left his own in their car, and pulled it over his shoulders. It smelled faintly of Jonas and for a split second, Chris hated that smell was the most powerful trigger of memory. "Shit, you've got to be kidding me," Chris said, his eyes focused on the water raining from what looked like a pinwheel attached to a truck. Dark and wet, the cemetery looked foreboding, and as Jake and Jonas hefted shovels over their shoulders, Chris felt a chill go down his spine. It was almost too real. "Tell me you know your lines, Armstrong." "Tell me you won't fuck this up, Gyllenhaal." It didn't take much for them to see the misery that would be coming, the discomfort and the cold in addition to the added distraction of the water and the wind. Chris swallowed, tensing when he stopped just short of the water's edge, "This is...wow." "Let's get some test shots, run through a few times," they heard, the voice booming through a megaphone, "Jake and Jonas, time to get wet." Pulling the coat tight around him, Chris pulled the collar up, a stiff wind already forming. It made the fake rain fall at an even more severe angle, Jake and Jonas were immediately soaked, their wet t-shirts clinging to their skin, their pants sagging with the weight of the water. He watched as Jake and Jonas pushed their hair off of their foreheads, shivering as they tried to adjust to the water, the drops pelting their skin over and over. Jake would look over at him between takes, almost like he was drawing some sort of energy or positive distraction. Chris watched as they dug and recited their lines, tossing shovelfuls of dirt over their shoulders, the water coursing down their bodies. Over and over, they dug and tossed words at each other. Chris could barely hear, but he watched it all play on a tiny monitor, Jake's expressive eyes wide and sparking, Jonas' deep-set eyes dark and serious. Everything came together, the cold, the rain, the smell of wet earth, and the sound of shovels in soil. It took his breath away. One take turned into three, four into seven and after five or six more takes, they both trotted over to Chris, shivering as they toweled themselves off, gratefully taking the coffee he offered them, their jaws chattering, Chris gently dabbing at Jake's face with a towel before kissing him softly, "It looks good," he said quietly, "better than good." Jake wiped some of the dirt from his arms and hands. "Yeah? Like it looked in your head?" "Better," Chris assured him, "way better." "It's been two hours," Jonas added, "what the fuck is he looking for?" "Just how he is," he said, Jake's tone tried to calm him, "just keep going. Something'll click." Chris looked at the two of them, trying so hard to get his vision realized and he suddenly felt overcome with gratitude and apology. He kissed Jake's forehead and turned to Jonas, pushing his hair aside and doing the same. It seemed to make him light up, a newfound drive inside him, "What's that they say about genius and insanity, Chris?" Shrugging, he threw his hand around Jonas' shoulders, "You're doing such a good job, Jo." Jonas smiled weakly, still shivering, "Your work, I'm just out there freezing and saying the words you wrote." Jake pulled Chris back into a hug, his nose nuzzling at the nape of Chris' neck, the last vestiges of chill dissolving from his body. This is why he needed him there, Chris thought, not because the work would be draining, but because he wanted Chris to see his work realized. Even if the higher-ups told him he was growing irrelevant and stale, seeing his work would make him realize that he did matter. It moved people, and that was why he did it. "Back in, let's get this done," the megaphone boomed again. Groaning, Jake hugged Chris tight one more time. "One more kiss." Chris obliged and pressed their lips together, doing his best to warm Jake up before he'd have to go freeze his ass off again. "We'll do you good, Christopher," Jonas said. The determination in his tone and the resolve in his stride seemed to guarantee it and Chris took his place behind the grainy little monitor again, ready to watch another round of takes. *** "I'm not going to read it," Chris said. "I did," Celeste said as Jake sighed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, frustration marking his features, "and it's straightforward, rising above a broken heart sort of thing. The thing is, it makes Jake look like an asshole. He's angry, selfish, and stubborn. And from what I know, that's not like you at all." "Well who hasn't read something like that?" Jake asked sarcastically, "sorry." It had only been fifteen minutes, twenty at most, and Jake was already anxious to hear any news--good or bad. Celeste sighed, "We basically can't do anything except..." "Shit," Jake groaned, "it's not that I care about him writing it. I care that he's getting publicity and notoriety for writing shit like this. He's basically just kissing and telling." "That's exactly what it is," Celeste assured them, "to tell you the truth, this is not the strongest thing he could have put out. It screams of bargain bin trash." "Everything goes to the bargain bin," Chris said, rolling his eyes, "I've seen my stuff in there." "Only the hardcover," Celeste said vehemently, "we make sure of that." "He's not even...I don't know," Jake said, shaking his head, "just tell me what you think is going to happen." "He doesn't have much publicity behind this, no TV, just a few radio shows. There's not much buzz and that's the bottom line. His publishing company isn't very confident, that's what happened." That did make Jake feel a little better and he let his body relax a little. Chris put his hand on top of Jake's, "But what's happening?" Chris asked. "We can't predict that," Celeste said, "some fluke could happen and he could be the next big thing. We can't tell." She pulled her hair into a bun, stabbing it with a pencil. "But, I can say with a lot of certainty that this will just blow over." "It doesn't sound like there's much we can do," Jake said, straightening himself, "thanks though." "I didn't say there was nothing," Celeste said, "if you want, we can stop it from getting put to market. A permanent injunction is pretty extreme, but it can happen." "That's giving him more credit than he deserves," Chris said, "I don't know much about him, but it sounds to me like he's all talk. And nobody's going to know who and what this is about. He's trying to get to you, Jake, that's all it is." "It's working," Jake admitted, "he's got me." "Don't say that," Chris said, turning to him, "be the bigger guy." He wanted to, really wanted to, but he couldn't imagine just letting this go. That's not how he was; he wasn't going to let Kurt hold this power over him, over the two of them. "I want to be, but I'm not going to send him flowers or fruit, Chris. I have to talk to him. I'll just tell him what we said here, that this isn't the way to get into the industry and that he's setting himself up for less than what he wants." It sounded civil and fine, but Chris knew that as soon as Jake saw Kurt, emotions would rage and that the articulate, well-intentioned monologue that he just heard would only be an afterthought. "If that's what you want, Jake. There's nothing else we can do." "We did our best," Celeste said, "but Random House is really looking to get at Chris, and if that's through you, they don't care." "People need to care more," Jake said, "that's the problem." *** Chris huffed as he dug through his office. The common areas of the house seemed to stay orderly, but his office was either a complete mess or completely neat. It wasn't a slow process, either, Wes had noted. One day it would be neat and tidy and the next, it would look like a disaster. Chris was always looking for scraps of paper; to write ideas down onto them or to read what he'd written already. He'd stopped carrying his journal, not the best idea, and it was moments like this he regretted it most. Receipts, faxes, bank statements, subscription cards from his magazines, everything had to be examined before being thrown away. He wrote things on the most ridiculous papers. It was amazing Jake put up with it, amazing that he got anything done when he sat down to sort through everything. "Hello," Chris said, not even looking at his phone before answering. "Christopher, I feel quite foolish about what happened the other night." "What?" "It must have been the heat, I'm unaccustomed to the climate." "Who's this?" "James. Tumnus. James Tumnus." "Stop," Chris said, smiling, "you'll confuse me." "I should come round in hairy trousers then, offer you salvation in the form of a divine speaking lion?" "I've seen other movies, your other work," Chris said, holding the phone between ears and shoulder, hands still shuffling around, "it's hard to forget the first time." "Indeed it is," James said. "Well, I accept your apology," Chris said, hesitating just a little. "I didn't apologize." There was another pause. "Is that piano music in the background?" Chris asked, "are you in...wait, where are you?" "Debussy," he said, "it's been a while, I'm a bit stiff, but the piano could use a tune." "That's...oh," Chris said, sitting on his desk, "I didn't know you played." "I'm one surprise after another." "I'm sure you are. Listen, I'm...I've got my hands full looking for this thing for Jake." "It's admirable--the love you have. I see it and I can hardly believe it." "Yeah," Chris said, "so did you need something?" "Conversation," James said, "something to stave the solitude." Chris felt his stomach drop, "Sorry, things are just so crazy here. I can't find this phone number and I'm just making a mess and we're both sort of...frazzled." "I see." There was silence. "You should come over," Chris said, not sure if he really was reluctant. He had already accepted that there was some sort of spark between he and James. There was definitely some sort of intrigue; it was nothing like what he had with Jake, but it was something. James spoke differently and carried himself differently, it was just so easy to be engrossed in every layer. "Great, I hear your house is fantastic, right on the water." "Yeah," Chris said, voice trailing, "you know how to get here?" "I'll get a pen." A few minutes turned into half and hour and Chris had a smile on his face as he was bounding down the stairs, "Jake," he yelled, "I found it." Jake was on the kitchen, phone to one ear. Chris didn't have to ask to know it was Naomi on the other end. He slipped Jake the note across the counter, Kurt's phone number on the other side. He'd re-written it on a yellow note. Stepping backwards, he kept his eyes on Jake's and only got a weak smile back. Atticus ran down the stairs and barked at the front door before it even rang and Chris slipped out there, the door opening to reveal James with his hands behind his back, "Well, it's not what I expected." "It's a house, James," Chris said, "for two." "Jonas said he spent the night here all the time." "For four," Chris corrected himself. "Who's this?" James asked as he squatted down, Atticus sniffing his hand for a second before accepting a pat on the head, a scratch behind his floppy ear. "I bet he looks tougher than he is." "Depends," Chris said, "Jake is inside. The other dog's probably asleep." "So do I get to see the inside?" Chris led him inside, "You look nice," he added. James was wearing jeans and a sweater, his eyebrow rising at the comment, "Are you serious?" "I..." "You look nice," James mimicked, "is that a new t-shirt? Experimenting with v-necks?" He smiled, eyes sparking, charm dripping from every word. "Okay, okay," Chris said, "enough." "I've read all your books," James said, "fell in love with every one. Stories, novels, the whole lot." Chris blushed, he couldn't help it. "Do you want something to drink?" James shook his head, "I read things where the stories are neat and perfect, no ends left dangling, no detail left untouched. Dickens. McEwan. But you're so different. It must be an American thing, leaving so much." "You're saying that I'm lazy?" "Imaginative," James said, "suggestive. Leading. It's engrossing." They were out on the back deck, James' eyes focused on the shore, Chris' on his face. "I just do what I do. I like to leave things hanging. It's more real." "Stop, I don't want to talk about my stuff. I don't know, it's weird." "Then you should talk about Jake. I saw your rings, saw the picture on our way out here." "It was the wedding that almost wasn't," Chris said, turning to watch the waves, "but it finally did and I couldn't be happier." "Looks like it," James said, "looks spectacular." Chris had never heard it described that way and he liked it, couldn't help but beam at what seemed like an impossible feat. He'd managed to find someone to love, someone who loved him back. They'd gone through so many things, managed to get a place to call their own, beat all the odds and still couldn't keep their hands off each other, still learned more and more about each other every day. He never ever took it for granted, woke up grateful every morning to have Jake next to him, made sure Jake knew how much he loved him. "Spectacular," Chris said to nobody in particular. He just wanted to hear how different it sounded coming from his mouth. It was Hollywood, fake American; not bad, not good, just not as real. "Hey, James," Jake said from the back door, "Chris, you want to stay in for dinner? I think I can swing us a table at that Italian place." James watched as Chris' eyes locked on Jake, how his tongue darted out a little as he watched Jake scratch his stomach, the tiniest glimpse of skin enough to send Chris' mind in all the wrong directions. "Anything's fine," Chris said, "how did your mom handle the news?" "You know how she is, always calm under pressure." Chris nodded, "Whatever you want is fine." "I have a hard time believing you two have any trouble getting into restaurants," James said. "Well, they're not going to put a table in for us or make a parking space in valet just for two guys who look like famous people." James nodded, "Fair dos." There was another silence. "We should call the guys, might as well make it a party, right?" Chris asked. "A party," Jake said, "we usually have those at home." "We don't have any food," Chris said, "but we do have plenty of wine." "I hear you cook," James said to Jake. "I know my way around the kitchen," Jake said. "Get outside yourself," James said, poking Chris in the arm. "What?" Chris asked, confused, "I'm, it's weird. And I'm hungry." Both statements were true. "I'll call the guys," he said as he slipped back inside, Jake's hand lingering on his shoulder. *** Chris shut his laptop, smiling at Topher, "Hey." "You shouldn't be working," Topher said, forehead furrowing, "you've got company." "I wasn't working and you guys don't count." "You can't lie to me. You and your words, you were writing up here." "I am about the words," Chris said, smiling, "lines and pages and chapters of words. I just have to figure out where to put them all." Topher leaned up against Chris' bookshelf. Three of the walls were bookshelves. It seemed overbearing, confining, but all the books, stacked haphazardly, arranged in some bizarre way only Chris could figure out, seemed more welcoming than anything else. And there was Chris, right in the middle of it all, "Words and more words. Throw in some numbers and figures." Chris gave him a little laugh, "Maybe a diagram or two." Scanning the room took a few seconds, but Topher looked more intently as Chris shut his computer, straightened a few things on his desk. He told Jake a long time ago that he'd always keep an eye on Chris, and he was sure that he fell second only to Jake when it came to knowing Chris. There was a tiny shift, something barely perceptible, but there was definitely something different. "How is the book going?" "Better than anything I've done for a while." Topher nodded, "I can't wait. The word 'ambitious' got thrown around after someone got a preview." "That's just clever marketing," Chris said, "they can say whatever they want." "James is here," Topher said, changing the subject abruptly. Chris only nodded, doing his best to keep straightening some of the stuff he'd started to clean up earlier, "It's been a while since we've talked, just the two of us." "You've been busy," Chris said, "you've got a boyfriend." "We used to talk all the time," Topher said. "You used to be single, now you've got someone else to talk to," Chris said, standing up and straightening himself, his desk a lost cause. "That doesn't mean I don't want to talk to you." "I just...you were getting to know him and I wanted to give you space." "But you talk to Jo." "He calls me. He, you know, worked with Jake and stuff, he was around. You and me, we've got our own thing. We don't have to talk all the time." "I miss you. I remember when we'd go running together, we'd go shopping, stuff like that." "We still do that," Chris said, "just not as much. I'm working and you've got your own thing going." "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I met you first, Chris, I really do. Would it be me, living in a house with you, having Jake and his boyfriend over? Would it be me and you, would it have worked?" "Why are you saying that?" Topher just threw his hands up, "You're a bigger person than me if you don't think about things like that, Chris. When things get hard, when you and Jake are yelling at each other, what do you think about?" "I think about how to get him to stop yelling, I don't think about 'what if.' I don't think that I could ever love anyone like I love Jake, like I love you. There are so many kinds of love." "Stop being so diplomatic, Chris, don't say you love me if you don't. I can...I have handled it." Chris stepped over, grabbing Topher's hands, "I love that you are kind," his voice was slow and steady, sincere above anything else, "incredibly kind. I love that you, above everything, want everyone around you to be genuinely happy, even if it means that you're not." He leaned in close, his eyes closing, "But more than anything, I love you because I wouldn't have Jake without you. You brought him back to me, I know it broke your heart, but you did it because you have the biggest heart of anyone I know." "I would never have given up on you, Chris." "I know, I know that. Even when I did, when I wanted to just forget everything, you were there, reminding me that I had something to go back to." He never thought about it, left the past where it was, but he could feel himself almost stumbling over the memories. Topher grabbed him, steadying both of them. "Shit, what did I do?" Chris shook his head, "Nothing," he said, collecting himself, "just don't...anymore. It was tough back then, it's tough now." "Alright," Topher said, "sorry." "What do you think those guys are talking about down there?" Topher smiled, shrugging, "Cricket? Rugby? Soccer...I mean football?" "Jake only cares about basketball," Chris said, running his fingers through his hair, "and the Red Socks." "Right," Topher said, "they're probably punching each other and shit." Chris and Topher went downstairs, Jonas and James already at the table, wine glasses half- full. Walking over to Jake, Chris noticed he'd changed into a gray tank top, his shoulders pronounced, muscles in his arms taut as he moved around. Chris kissed him quickly, "What are we having?" "Sit down and I'll take care of it," Jake assured him. "I want to help," Chris said, running his fingers down Jake's arm, kissing his neck softly. "That's not helping," Jake said, laughing softly. Chris pulled away and looked over at the dining room table. Growing up, he'd never thought of himself as social--he was the loner. But here and now, the boys were over at his house, his and Jake's house. They had the dinners, they had the beach, they had the deck and their house was the place everyone came together. He never thought it would be that way, never thought he'd have friends like this, but as he stood there, the whole house full of noise and laughter, food and people that he genuinely cared about, he felt like it was a good fit. "What are you thinking?" Jake asked, kissing his neck. "That you're a hypocrite, for one thing," Chris said, turning on his heels, his hands grazing Jake's chest, "now who's distracting who?" "It's okay to like someone," Jake whispered, "as long as you love me." "What's that supposed to mean?" Chris asked, cocking his head to one side. "I see the way you look at him, the way you can't keep away. I know, I've been there. Researching characters and getting into their heads, I know what that's like." Chris was a little relieved, his hand running over Jake's jaw. He shook his head, "It's not like that at all. He's just so different...but at the same time, it's like I've known him for a long time." "Hey, don't get like that, I just know that you want this book to be good." "I want all my work to be good," Chris said, wrapping his arms around Jake's waist. "It is, but sometimes you get comfortable and lose perspective. I'm not saying it's happening to you, but it happens." "Not to me, not when I've got you to inspire colorful adjectives and unexpected turns of phrase." "What's that? New York Times," he poked Chris playfully, "San Francisco Chronicle? What? Who?" Chris laughed and pulled away, but Jake grabbed him, the sizzle of fajitas forgotten in their exchange, the kitchen fading from their minds as Jake pressed their bodies together and they kissed, simply and slowly, there was no reason to rush anything. *** Stumbling, Chris almost walked into a wall when he saw Jake come through the front door. "Was there something we're going to that I forgot about?" Chris asked, eyes taking in Jake's neatly combed hair, crisp white shirt, black bow tie, tuxedo fitting him perfectly. "Came from the set," Jake said, smiling. Chris' half-stunned expression, paired with his obvious stare said everything he couldn't. "I guess you like it?" "I..." his words dissolved and he just nodded. Jake shook his head and pulled Chris to him, their lips crashing together as their bodies moved, Chris' thin t-shirt and Jake's tuxedo rubbing together, their bodies already warming, Chris' breath catching as his hands ran over smooth fabric, Jake's mouth on his, tongue sliding across his lips, his body sandwiching Chris against the wall of the foyer. "I knew you'd like it," Jake whispered, voice breathy and low. His lips found Chris' neck and dipped to his collarbone. Chris groaned as Jake pulled at his t-shirt, hooking it up over his head, his lips on Chris' neck again with only the slightest interruption, "Did you work out today?" Jake asked, nipping at his skin, hands gripping Chris' hips. He didn't need an answer, the light hints of sweat he tasted, the way Chris' body was warm and hard, blood pumping through his muscles, it was obvious he'd gone for a jog or done something else. Jake pressed their bodies together, holding Chris' wrists over his head, watching his eyes flutter, breathing shallow and light when he pulled away, Chris' eyes smoldering, his expression desperate as they both just breathed, their eyes half-lidded as they pressed their foreheads together, kissing again. Chris' hands slipped free to pull Jake's bowtie off, tossing it over Jake's shoulder, his fingers fumbled with the studs on Jake's shirt and he groaned when his fingers touched hot skin, coarse hair under his fingertips as he heard the studs scatter across the floor, heavy metal clacks ringing in the foyer. Gasping, Jake pressed Chris hard against the wall. Their lips came together again for a split second before Jake moved to Chris' jaw, kissing a trail down his neck, nipping at his collarbone before falling to his knees. Chris hissed through his teeth, Jake's hand wrapping around his cock. His shorts fell to the floor and Jake flicked his tongue across the tip of Chris' cock, smiling as he watched Chris shudder, saw his eyes shut and his jaw tighten, his breaths quickening. Jake heard something that sounded like his own name fall from Chris' mouth, but it dissolved as Jake licked at his balls, his hand stroking Chris with slow, loose strokes, his free hand keeping Chris' ass against the wall, keeping his hips from thrusting. Jake nipped lower, tongue lapping at Chris' perineum, eliciting groans and grunts from above, but he slowly and meticulously came back up to Chris' shaft, long strokes with his tongue followed by a swirl around the head made Chris' knees almost buckle. He grabbed Jake's head, his fingers curling in brown hair, his pulse racing. Jake took more into his mouth, his tongue lapping at the thick vein on Chris' cock, finally relenting, letting Chris thrust softly into his mouth, his motions slow and even. Chris was always that way, savoring every second he got to be in Jake's mouth, his jaw slack and his eyes shut tight, turned skyward as he slowly thrust in and pulled out, Jake's warm tongue and hot mouth combining, a warm ripple sliding up Chris' back, spreading out to the end of his fingers and his toes. He felt tingles all over, warmth coming in waves as Jake took him deeper, his fingers tracing the ridge behind Chris' balls, circling the tight muscle of his hole. Chris spread his legs apart and Jake couldn't help but smile. No matter how much attention Jake lavished on his cock, Chris would always take pleasure elsewhere first. He grunted as Jake's finger slid into him, a tube of lube rolling out from beneath their bodies as Chris stiffened, his cock dripping pearls of pre-cum into Jake's mouth. "Jake," Chris said, his voice gravelly and dry, "I need to feel you." Jake retraced his kisses, down Chris' shaft and up his stomach, Chris gasping the whole time, their lips coming together as Jake slid a finger into Chris' hole. He wasn't slowing down, wasn't waiting for anything but the fervid sounds that only came when he pushed into Chris, fingers scissoring and twisting, jabbing hard against Chris prostate. Jake felt Chris tensing, his muscles flexing, his body yielding and pliable against Jake's fingers, sweat slicking his skin as Jake's chest pressed against it, fabric of his clothes bunching in his joints. Chris' body quaked as Jake's muscles flexed against him, holding both their bodies steady as he slid his fingers in and out, his mind blank as he shot, shooting up between their chests, a loud, choked grunt muffled by Jake's mouth, a satisfied smile on his lips as they parted, Chris' eyes cloudy as he leaned back against the wall, a sated flush on his skin. Jake kissed the tip of his nose, fingers lazily rubbing through cum on Chris' stomach. Chris fingers were more energetic, pulling at Jake's belt, the leather stiff and hard, nimbly undoing Jake's pants as they kissed again. The soft fabric fell silently to the floor, pooling around Jake's ankles as they both gasped, Jake's hard cock pressing into Chris' stomach, smearing cum and sweat, a new energy coursing through the both of them. "Christ, Jake," Chris groaned, his fingers stroking Jake's cock, "I can barely breathe." "Turn around," Jake said, voice sure and strong, he grabbed Chris' waist and pressed their bodies together, his hand grabbing Chris', raising it above their heads, pressing his arm against the wall as his lips nipped at the back of Chris' neck. His knee slid between Chris' legs and they spread, motions well practiced. Chris pressed his forehead against the smooth wall of their entryway, his eyes fluttering shut as he heard Jake's tuxedo shuffle with his movements, the blunt head of his cock pressing at his hole. Jake paused and Chris felt a hand on his hip, the other moving to his shoulder and before could brace himself, Jake's cock was in him, every inch slammed into his clutching chute. Chris tried to breathe, tried to register anything, but his body seemed to be focusing its attentions on pushing back into Jake's thrusts, his arms flexing against the wall to keep him from getting smashed, his grunts choked and dry. Jake's lips were on his ear, his breaths heavy and wet, every shove and push sent shocks up and down Chris' spine, the burn and the stretch coupling, Jake's thick cock fucking his hole with long, powerful thrusts. Jake's groans seemed to run into each other, his hands struggling to grip Chris' skin as he pounded harder, faster. Chris' hole was tight and hot, squeezing every inch of his cock, clutching at every pull, his body practically slamming back with every one of Jake's withdrawals. Chris whimpered, knew as soon as he heard it that it would only make Jake go quicker and stronger; he heard Jake's jacket fall to the ground and felt bare arms wrapping around his chest. Grunting, Chris' cock pressed painfully against the wall. He reached down to stroke himself, but Jake pressed him hard against the wall, his chest hair matted with sweat, muscles tense as he drove in again and again, lost in the tight velvety heat of Chris' ass. "Come on," Chris grunted, his body edging closer and closer to orgasm. Jake responded with a hard thrust, his cock buried to the hilt as he sandwiched Chris even harder against the wall. "I'm close," Jake whispered, his hand running up Chris side, sliding back down to grip his ass. Chris could feel him resisting the urge to just let go, to barrel towards orgasm, "You feel so fucking good." "Jake," Chris groaned, his voice trailing as Jake started a slow rock, "oh fuck." His mind went cloudy as the head of Jake's cock raked over his prostate. Jake grinned, his hand gripping Chris' hair to pull him back for a kiss, tongue thrusting into his mouth, their mouths hungry. Chris pushed Jake off of him, gasping as his cock slid out. He ran his fingers through his hair once, his eyes scanning Jake's body, his hair messy, face flushed, his chest heaving and sweaty, his heart pumping, every muscle standing out. Chris focused on his dick, thick and hard, wet and slick. He stepped into Jake and their lips came together, pants tossed to the side, both of them finally naked, Jake turned them around, felt the warm wall on his back as he pressed their chests together. Chris pushed him down and Jake grinned as Chris straddled his hips, hands braced on his shoulders as he slid down Jake's cock, both groaning in unison. Their foreheads pressed together and their eyes locked, Jake gripping Chris' hips as he rose up and down, his motions slow and languid. Jake's mouth was back on Chris' everything slower now that the initial surge of emotion had passed. Jake's hands wandered the contours of Chris' back, Chris' mouth nipped at Jake's ear, their groans got low and steady, every rise and every fall inching them closer and closer to the brink of orgasm. Chris' cock rubbed Jake's stomach, hard still, leaving shiny-slick trails of pre- cum in the hair that dusted Jake's abs, Jake reached for Chris' dick and stroked it his grip tight and movements fast. Chris moved faster too, picking up the movement in his hips, both of them getting louder, the desperation becoming more and more evident with every passing second. Where they had been under some semblance of self-control as they hit the floor, Jake's body seemed to be giving into instinct as he gripped Chris tight in his hand, stroking him fast and hard, their heaving bodies moving together. Mouths crashing together, Chris felt another orgasm building, his body jerky, Jake's hand doing all the right things with his dick and his balls, fingers tracing the ridge of Chris' head, balls tight in his sac as he bit his lip and shot, muffling the groan in Jake's shoulder as thick spurts of cum shot between them, Chris frozen on Jake's cock, his ass clutching tight, squeezing with every single spurt, bearing down on every inch. Jake held him steady and pumped up, his thrusts sending a few more dribbles of cum from Chris' dick. It was heavenly tight, and just seeing Chris awash in his orgasm, the way his whole body seemed consumed by the sensations; Jake thrust a few more times to get to that same place, groaning loud into the air as he shot, ropes of cum spooling out into Chris' hole. Chris kissed Jake's jaw their eyes coming together as Jake came down from his high. "I missed you," Chris said, pushing Jake's hair back with his fingers, "I should miss you more often." Chuckling weakly, Jake leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply. Chris' lips were still tracing his neck. Jake's eyes opened halfway when he felt and saw that Chris was getting hard again, that instead of growing tender and soft, his kisses were getting harder, regaining their desperation. "You're going to wear me out," Jake whispered, the words not convincing either of them. Chris pulled Jake close and scrambled to his feet, their lips barely separating in the shuffle. Ignoring the mess in the foyer, they rushed upstairs. *** "You made this?" Chris asked, "in our kitchen?" James nodded, "Jake let me in while you were in the loo." "I was in the shower," Chris said, "we have a casserole dish?" "It was in your pantry, you had been keeping little packets of ketchup in it." "I don't know why we save those," Chris said, "you feel sort of bad throwing them out." "I had to show you what real food is like, not shitty fish and chips at some fake pub by the lot." "And real people eat shepherd's pie for breakfast?" Chris asked, watching James beam with pride as he served up the food. The smells alone were already making Chris' mouth water. James seemed comfortable in their kitchen, somehow knowing where everything was. Either he'd been watching Jake closely the other day or their kitchen was completely intuitive. "Breakfast? It's nearly one." "I got up late today," Chris said, "are those green mashed potatoes?" "Mashed peas," James corrected, "I've been, here--Atticus, Boo Radley, and I--for hours, slaving at your ridiculously powerful stove. "Yeah, well that's all Jake. I don't use the stove." Chris ate a few bites, admittedly, it was delicious, hot and hearty, he could see why James was so proud of it. If it was the only thing he could make, it was the right thing. "Like it?" Nodding, Chris took another forkful, "Fantastic. You can come over and make it any time you want." "I wouldn't mind coming over more often, it's much nicer here than the confines of a hotel suite." "You haven't found a place yet?" Chris asked, even though the answer was obvious. "I can give you the number of the guy who found this place for me and Jake." "That's how everything words out here, isn't it? You have to know someone who knows someone. How's some outsider like me supposed to do anything?" "I don't know that many people," Chris said, "but the ones I know seem to be the right ones." "I wouldn't disagree." Chris watched James move, watched him talk, tried to remember the last time he'd been so enamored with just observing someone's mannerisms. James' eyes caught his and he looked back down at his food, "I saw you on that magazine." "It's not a real magazine," Chris assured him, "I just really wanted that coat from the shoot. It's just some stupid local society magazine." "I shot for that same issue," James said, "they put you on the cover though. You got me demoted to a picture and an interview." Chris wasn't sure if he'd said it with any sense of vitriol or not, he was too easygoing, too succinct in his delivery of every word. Chris wasn't kidding when he said he did it for a coat, they had done a simple shoot and with the promise of the coat, he gave them a profile, which turned into an interview, which turned into a feature piece about writing in Los Angeles. Celeste had been impressed, thought he'd managed to wrangle all that publicity himself, but as he and Jake joked about how he'd done it all for the coat and the coat alone. It was a boring interview and Chris was almost sure nobody read the magazine, let alone his piece. "It's just Angelino, I didn't think it was anything major." "It's publicity," James said, "and I suppose you have the home court advantage." Nodding, Chris kept eating, kept watching, kept taking mental notes. "I'm sure you have no problem getting your own publicity back home...or here." "Right," James said, smiling, "word on the street is that you've got a screenplay you haven't put to market yet." "How did you know?" Chris asked, eyebrow raising. "I have my spies," James said, "wrote it with a Gyllenhaal? Jake's...something?" "Mom," Chris explained, "she's written a few, so we worked on this one together. I don't think I told anyone about it. It's sort of just there, we're not shopping it around." "I want to read it," James said, "just a glance." "That's not really up to me. I...it's up to mom, really. I might have written a lot of it, but it was definitely a collaboration." "I'm just throwing it out there," James ceded, "keep me on your mind." Admittedly, these past few weeks left little else to Chris' mind and imagination, especially now with his stomach full of the shepherd's pie, his spirit lifted with the satiation. "I will," he said, "how about we get cleaned up? You're missing a Dutch oven. How do you stew things?" "We don't stew much," Chris admitted, "but if you teach me, I'll stew." "Then stew we will," James said, "stew we will." *** "You're in the paper," Wes said, unloading Chris' magazines onto the kitchen counter. "Yeah? What are Jake and I doing? Walking? Coffee?" "It's you and James McAvoy. You guys were buying kitchen stuff?" "Why?" Chris asked, scanning the paper, "'James McAvoy and reclusive Christopher Lewis shop for domestics in Los Angeles.' That's bad journalism, they really need to come up with snappier headlines." He kept reading aloud, "'Witnesses describe them as friendly as they perused Dutch ovens, leaving the store shoulder to shoulder with a new pot and several cookbooks.'" Chris put it down and shrugged, "Riveting." "What's Jake going to say?" Chris looked over at him, "All we did was buy some sheets, a new toaster. What can Jake say? You know him, he doesn't worry about stuff like that. He knows." "You guys are really close to each other," Wes said, examining the pictures closer, "and he's touching your hair and stuff." "He's just...physical," Chris said, "he's always touching people." "He's over a lot," Wes said. "He doesn't have that many friends out here. We seem to attract lonely people, me and Jake." "Seems like it. Lonely Englishmen." "The next section is ready to go. I emailed it to Celeste and Jake's mom, if you could just put their notes together for me, I think that's all I need." "I have a comment, if that's okay," Wes said with some trepidation. Chris nodded, "Yeah, go ahead." "It keeps changing, you say so yourself, and I just think that you need to get things more focused. Your idea was this and now it's that and who knows what it's going to be next week. Whenever I send a press release out for you, I have to change what the book is about and then our fact-checker just goes crazy." Nodding again, Chris let the words settle in his head, "I see that. I think I've just got to talk to my inspiration. He's giving me mixed signals." "Jake is on set until four," Wes said, "and he's got a phone interview after that." "Thanks," Chris said, forehead furrowing as he headed towards the stairs, he couldn't bring himself to tell Wes that this story in particular wasn't something that Jake brought out of him, could barely tell himself the fact that maybe it wasn't his blue-eyed American husband, but a certain blue-eyed Scotsman that had brought these new ideas to light. "What's the occasion?" Chris heard as he held his phone up to his ear. He couldn't help but smile. "Did you see your picture in People this week?" He heard James snicker, "Called my Mum straight away. Said you looked like a nice boy, she did." "Parents love me," Chris said. "For good reason. Jonas tells me that he and Jake are filming late today." "Every day." "How about we take some time and you show me where you spoiled California boys get Mexican food? We don't have much of that back in England." "No? Well, it just so happens I could go for a burrito right now." --- feedback? christopherrluu@gmail.com