Date: Wed, 8 Mar 2006 20:09:15 -0800
From: christopher. <christopherrluu@gmail.com>
Subject: breaking through part 5

This is fiction.  I don't know Jake Gyllenhaal and my little story doesn't
imply anything about him or his sexuality, but I'd do just about anything
to have him all to myself.  Feedback is greatly appreciated and any writer
will tell you that they live for it; I'll answer every single one.
Questions, comments, loved it or hated it?  Shoot me a message at
christopherrluu@gmail.com.

Jake didn't win the Oscar, in case you didn't know, but in that loss, I
decided to write my own Oscar ceremony to appear in a later chapter, with a
few surprises between.  Thanks to everyone for the feedback, for those
readers who need that push to write to their favorite authors: do it!
Writers will never complain about too much e-mail.  There are some other
great Jake stories on Nifty, go read those and e-mail those writers, too.
On with the story:

Part V

     "I don't feel like my work mixes with yours," Eric said, his shoulders
slumped.

     "You were just telling me how much you liked my work and how we like
the same movies and books," Chris said, a look of disbelief painting his
face.

     "You're compromising my vision," Eric said.  It sounded bad in his
head and even less convincing when he heard it from his own mouth.

     "I haven't even seen your final revision.  I don't tell you anything
except 'I love it.'  You're the one that wants to keep doing it over and
over," Chris said, "what is this really about?"

     "I just don't want to do it anymore," Eric said, his posture suddenly
strong, "find someone else."

     Chris watched as he stepped out of the office, the glass walls of the
entire floor making it seem like he'd only stepped away, not out into the
hall and towards the elevator.  Chris sat down, confused and more than
anything, disappointed.  Eric had already cancelled three meetings, leaving
Chris to panic at first, and then realize that he'd need a new graphic
designer.  Another week and a half of filming and Jake would be back home,
and here he was, essentially stranded in New York with book meetings and
flaky artists.  He sighed, confused.  He hoped the Museum of Modern Art was
open.  He needed some inspiration.

     He pulled his hood over his head, not wanting any human contact while
walking through the Parsons halls.  He needed to think, to figure out what
he was going to do about his cover.  Eric was obviously passionate about
the book and the assignment.  Chris wondered why anyone would hold such a
grudge after one cancelled get-together, especially since Chris had been
subjected to unanswered phone calls and three cancelled meetings.  He
figured that the two-mile walk would let him clear his mind and maybe give
him a chance to see Jake on the way back to the hotel.  It was warmer than
it had been, giving Chris a chance to see New Yorkers at their best, taking
advantage of the five-degree temperature change to pull out their
short-sleeved shirts and sunglasses.  As he walked past the Empire State
Building and the expensive shops of Fifth Avenue, he realized that if he
couldn't get Eric de la Coeur to do his cover, he'd never be satisfied.
His 'literally un-literal' idea was still all Chris could picture on his
book.  He was even more frustrated than before, realizing that his walk had
the exact opposite intention.

     Standing in front of the huge Mark Rothko paintings, Chris tried his
best to see the other designs on a bookstore shelf.  None of them
resonated, none of them stuck with him.  He actually had trouble
remembering what most of them looked like.  He tried to immerse himself in
the blues and yellows, the reds and greens like Rothko said his paintings
should be seen, should be experienced.  He tried to imagine falling into
the deep blue and coming out the other side with something to convince him
that he was going to have to settle, but nothing came out of it.  He was
just blocking the painting from a group of Japanese tourists being led by
an almost too- excited docent.  Moving out of the way, he walked towards
the Warhol collection, hoping that maybe there was a panel of graphic
artists hoping to find a book cover to do.

     Instead, he saw Eric, standing in the doorway glaring right at him.
Chris froze, not knowing what to do.  Of all the museums in all of New
York, Eric was standing here, daggers shooting from his eyes.  It was too
late for Chris to turn around or just pretend he didn't see Eric.  When
Eric walked towards him, part of him was relieved, knowing he didn't start
the confrontation, but then again, the other part of him realized that
there would be a confrontation.

     "Surprise, surprise," Eric said, his voice flat, "I didn't notice you
following me, but I guess I should be flattered."

     "I didn't follow you," Chris said.  Eric's smug look rubbed him the
wrong way; there was nothing he hated more than arrogance, "I want you to
do the cover, and I don't know what happened to make you hate me, but I'm
sure it's not something so serious that we can't even work together."

     "No, it really is," Eric said, "I can't work with someone who doesn't
know what they want."

     "I said I wanted you to do the cover, didn't I?  What more do you want
from me?"

     "I want you to tell me why you cancelled the other night," Eric said,
his eyes narrowing.  Chris didn't know what to say, he just wanted to have
the cover with the eye on it and to see Warhol's Marilyn Monroe again.  He
didn't want to be having an argument while a docent was explaining Rothko
in Japanese.

     "I went out with a friend.  I told you why," Chris said.

     "Who?"

     "My friend."  Eric didn't seem to be satisfied, he was still tense,
but Chris saw it melt away, saw him calm down when Chris grabbed his
forearm, "What do you want me to say?"

     "I don't know, but you haven't said it yet."

     "We're done, then," Chris said.

     Chris walked away, turning around to see Eric still standing here,
minuscule in comparison to the huge Rothko paintings.  He was standing
there, just like Chris had been, hoping to find an answer in the murals.
Walking back, Chris gave him a kiss on the cheek, "Don't throw this away.
It's a good opportunity for you."

***

     "Well, you really know how to get what you want," Jake said, laughing.

     "It just happened, I don't know why I did it.  Museums are supposed to
be boring."

     Jake chuckled, "Did he say that he'd do it?"

     "He didn't say anything.  I walked away."  Jake pointed at a
croissant, "How does that one look?"

     "I want the chocolate one," Chris said shaking his hand at the barista
and pointing at the croissant drizzled with chocolate, "I'm going to have
to call him later.  Two of those, a regular coffee and an extra foamy
latte."

     "Well after a talk like that, he can't really say no.  I wonder what
got into him in the first place."

     "Me too," Chris said, carrying the pastries out to a table, "the
professor at Parsons must have said something.  That's all I can think of."

     "He'll do it.  He'd be stupid not to."

     Chris looked up at Jake, his hair messy and tousled because they
hairdressers on set would fix it no matter how he did it.  It was early,
but both of them wanted to get out before the housekeepers got to the room.
The mess in there was too embarrassing.  Even in the early morning light,
Chris noticed how blue Jake's eyes were and how the dark brown and the
light blue worked together so that Chris could stare at him for hours and
still want to keep studying the contrast.  He'd tried writing about it
before, he had at least six or seven attempts, but it always ended up
sounding like an obsessed fan letter.

     Calm and collected as always, Jake didn't seem to mind getting up at
the crack of dawn for coffee or waiting outside Houghton Mifflin on his day
off for Chris to get lunch.  Smiling, Chris slid his hand into Jake's.
They were the only two people in this particular Starbuck's so Chris didn't
think twice about lifting Jake's hand up with his, pressing their fingers
together, looking at how the early morning light filtered through their
tangled hands.  Jake watched intently, eerily quiet, the way he always did.
He never interrupted Chris when he explored like this, he could see Chris'
eyes taking everything in, the dictionary pages in his head turning to find
the right way to describe it.  Chris' hand felt warm against Jake's, whose
hands always seemed to be cold.

     "When we get home, all the movie crap and book crap, I just want to go
to our spot on the beach, where it's warm," Chris said.  Jake smiled.
Chris didn't seem to need anything but his beach and his sun.  They'd gone
to a premier together, a play just the other night, and crisscrossed the
country to be with each other on Chris' book tour.  Pulling their hands
together, Jake kissed Chris' thumb lightly.  Jake didn't need sun and he
didn't need the beach.  He had everything he needed right in front of him.

     "You won't have to wait much longer.  We're almost done," Jake could
see that New York was taking its toll on Chris, he was getting through it,
but he knew Chris felt out of place.  The thing was, he wasn't.  He fit
right in at Parsons, held his own at Houghton Mifflin, and mastered cabs
and numbered streets in no time at all.  Confidence was one thing about
Chris' attitude that came and went, but when it came, it really shined
through.  That's when Jake loved him most, even though he hadn't ever told
Chris that.  Jake remembered the first time he heard Chris tell him 'I love
you,' right after he pulled out a copy of the Daily Variety back home.  He
replayed that moment over and over during the shoot; drawing on how happy
it made him and how it seemed to just knock him off his feet.  Those three
words held so much meaning and no matter how many times he heard Chris tell
him, it hit him exactly the same way.

     "Let's get going.  I have to be on set in an hour and traffic's going
to be a bitch," Jake said, pulling Chris up with him.

***

     Jake opened the door of the hotel and found it peculiarly quiet.
Usually he could hear Chris typing or at the very least the scratch of his
pen as he wrote.  There wasn't a note on the little table that sat in the
entryway, so he knew Chris was in the room somewhere.  Walking around, he
noticed that the maids had actually sent the laundry out, probably fed up
with everything in piles all over the suite.  In the living room, Jake saw
Chris sitting on the floor, laptop open atop the coffee table.  He wasn't
typing and Jake's eyes grew wide as he took in the scene: the entire coffee
table was covered with yellow post-it notes, something written on every
single one.  They covered every inch of the table and some of the floor.
There were even some on the couch next to Chris.

     "I filled up my journal," Chris said, looking up at Jake from the
floor, "and I had to write my ideas down somewhere before I forgot."

     Jake picked one of the notes up off the floor and read it aloud,
"Solitude."  He grabbed another, "Bleak."  He looked at Chris, who was
staring at the monitor.  "Sounds like heavy stuff," Jake said before
sitting down next to Chris.

     "Just something I'm playing with.  What would it be like if somebody
never got to go home again?  They're not trapped or anything, it's just
sort of impossible for them to feel like they're where they belong."

     "And they're alone?"

     "They feel alone."

     "I can't think of anything harder.  Everyone wants to belong
somewhere, right?"

     "That's why this is so weird to write.  It's relatable and scary at
the same time," Chris said, scooting closer to Jake, "stay here though, you
don't want to see the bedroom."

     "Why?"

     "That's where this all started."

     "There's more?"

     "I have to go in there and stick them all together again," Chris said,
getting up, "it shouldn't take that long."

     Jake started picking up the ones on the coffee table, every word
stronger than the last.  Alienation was a scary thing, especially when it
was associated with words like "lonely" and "abandoned."  A handful of
post-it notes later, Jake peeked into the bedroom.  Chris had pulled most
of the notes off the wall, but a few stragglers were still there.
"Loveless" hung askew above the writing desk and "banished" was on the
floor near Chris' feet.  Jake picked it up, adding it to his stack and
handing them all to Chris.

     "I don't know what I'm going to do with these," Chris said, "but I
can't throw them away."

     "Don't throw them away," Jake said, helping Chris align the little
yellow papers into a tight stack.

     "How was shooting today?" Chris asked, "You look really tired."

     "Scenes were long today," Jake said, pulling Chris into a hug, "but
it's coming along."  Chris gave Jake a quick kiss, "We'll be home in no
time, I promise."

     "It's not a big deal," Chris said.

     "No, it is.  I know you don't really like it here, I don't want to
make you stay or anything."

     "If I didn't like it here, I'd have gone home already.  I just want to
be where you are.  It's worse to be away from you than to be with you
somewhere I don't like."

     Jake pulled Chris closer, "I don't know if I could have made this
movie without you."

     "You've made movies before me, and you'll make movies even if I'm not
around."

     "But you are around, and it helps.  You don't know how much it helps."

     "You would have figured a way to occupy yourself without me," Chris
said as Jake pulled their bodies together.

     Nuzzling his way into the crook of Chris' neck, he slid his hand under
Chris' shirt to his heart, feeling the steady beat, "This is what I need,"
Jake said, "all I need."

     Chris kissed the top of Jake's head; if that's all he needed, he could
have it.

***

     "My studio is just a cab ride away," Eric said.  He looked much
happier and was being much more cooperative than he had been.  Chris didn't
know if Eric's sudden mood swings were just part of who he was or if he was
instigating the behavior.  He wasn't going to question it, he just wanted
his cover done.  "We can be back here before the awards ceremony."

     "We have to be quick though, traffic's been awful today."

     "We won't be long, I just have to change and get you the files on a
CD."

     Chris hailed a cab and before long, the two of them were speeding down
Fifth Avenue.  After two weeks of New York, he was still not used to the
crazy traffic and masses of people everywhere.  He also noticed that Eric's
right leg was shaking nervously.  Looking up at him, Chris saw that he
seemed nervous all over, not just his right leg.  When he put his hand on
Eric's leg to stop if from shaking, Eric's body seemed to jump at the
touch, "Whoa buddy, we'll make it back in time.  You said so yourself."
Chris' words didn't seem to calm Eric down at all.  It only made him even
more anxious.

     "No, I'm just nervous about the ceremony.  I'm not guaranteed the job,
right?  You could just be stringing me along," Eric said.

     "I'm not into crushing dreams.  I put my vote in for you," Chris said,
"but even though they said I'll get what I want, that's not what Parsons
figured."

     Eric's body seemed to tense after Chris said that, even though he'd
meant it to be supportive.  "This is me," Eric said, handing the cab driver
money as they got out.  Chris looked up at the brownstone as Eric unlocked
his mailbox.  There was nothing in there, but Chris figured it was out of
habit more than anything else.  "Third floor loft," Eric said, "but I get
the roof to myself most of the time."

     Chris walked up the stoop and followed Eric as he went up the three
flights of stairs, "I have to warn you, it's pretty messy.  And I'd offer
you a drink but there's nothing but dirty cups and tap water."

     "No, it's fine.  You said that we'd just be in and out."

     "But you're still a guest.  It's a mess.  I'm usually at school more
than I'm here."

     "Stop apologizing.  Nobody's house is as messy as they make it sound."

     When Eric opened the door, Chris realized that Eric had indeed been
exaggerating.  If this is what Eric considered 'a mess,' Chris was glad
Eric hadn't gone to the suite.  The only things out of place were a few
magazines and a jacket.  Chris walked inside, watching as Eric ran around
lighting candles.  "I'll get changed really quick, just let me burn the
files onto a CD."

     "Yeah, I'll just chill over here," Chris said.  It was a studio loft,
so no matter where Eric went, Chris would be able to see him get changed.

     "I'll be fast," Eric said, pulling off his sweater.  Chris noticed
that Eric's stomach was covered in the same fuzzy hair that Jake's was,
only it was lighter, or maybe Eric was just more tanned than Jake was.
Eric's body was toned, he'd been coaching soccer for a couple of years now,
and it showed.  His stomach was flat and his arms were slim, but Chris
could tell earlier when he touched Eric's leg that they were the most
developed part of his body.  Opening his closet, Eric pulled out a light
blue shirt and a black jacket.  The art school's idea of ceremony was
definitely different than anywhere else's.  No suits, no ties, just looking
different than everyday was good enough.  "Why don't you take your jacket
off, it'll get wrinkled."

     "Do you need me to blow out these candles?"

     "Why, you don't like them?" Eric said, his fingers freezing in the
middle of buttoning his shirt.

     "I just though we'd be leaving soon," Chris said, "you don't want to
burn your house down."

     "Oh...yeah, thanks," Eric said.  Eric sat down next to Chris, pulling
his shoes off and slipping on a pair of loafers.  Eric was sitting
unusually close to him, but he was already on the edge of the sofa, so he
couldn't move.  "We have plenty of time," Eric said, his voice lowering.

     "Then you don't need to be rushing as much as you are," Chris said.

     "You look really good," Eric said, "you always look so put together."

     "Thanks," Chris said.  He finally felt like Eric was calming down.  No
more nervous twitching, no more tension in his body, his voice relaxed.
Chris wanted to tell Eric how neat his studio was, but before Chris even
realized it was happening, Eric was on top of him, his tongue driving into
his mouth and his hands reaching for the hem of Chris' shirt.  Chris
struggled to push Eric off of him, the surprise mixed with Eric's long
frame worked together to keep Chris under him.  "What are you doing?" Chris
said when he had managed to pull away.

     "You kissed me the other day," Eric said, his voice tinged with
surprise and confusion, "I though it was what you wanted."

     "Get off of me," Chris said, his voice harsh.  His body was rigid and
his lips burned, his thoughts turned immediately to Jake.  Eric pulled
away, sitting down on the couch watching Chris stand up, his eyes fiery.
"I didn't mean anything by it.  It was a friendly kiss.  Nothing."

     Chris could almost see Eric's heart breaking to pieces.  His eyes
looked glassy and his brows were furrowed.  "You kissed me and then you
came up and you've been calling me," Eric said, "it didn't mean anything?"

     "You were angry.  I wanted to calm you down," Chris said, buttoning up
his jacket, "I'll see you at the ceremony."

     Eric didn't even try to stop Chris, and when he heard the door slam,
he realized that he'd made a huge mistake.

***

     "Congratulations," Chris said, handing Eric a trophy, "I couldn't be
happier for the opportunity to be featuring your design on my book.  Best
of luck to you in the future."

     The entire auditorium clapped for Eric and he did his best to put on
an excited face.  Chris walked offstage and behind the curtain, letting out
a long sigh.  Speaking engagements were one thing, he didn't mind them so
much because he had his work to stand behind, but here, he was talking in
front of people who were there to see the winner, not him.

     "I'm done," Chris said into his phone.  Jake's days were getting
shorter and shorter, so they'd been lucky to have more time to spend
together.  Chris hadn't told him about what happened, figuring that it was
going to be over just as soon as he finalized the cover design.  No need to
involve Jake.  "I'll be back in a few minutes."

     "I'm sorry," Chris heard over his shoulder.  It was Eric, who Chris
had managed to avoid the entire ceremony.  Eric was holding his trophy, his
eyes focused on it, not Chris.  "I know that we have to talk about things
soon, but the press wants some photos of us together."

     "I'm actually on my way out," Chris said.  He looked out at the
quickly dispersing audience and the group of photographers that had
gathered right in front of the stage.  Reluctantly, Chris walked out,
smiling when Eric threw an arm across his shoulders.  Flashbulbs went off
and Chris just let them think that he and Eric got along, that they
couldn't wait to be working together, that Eric hadn't pushed himself on
him just an hour before.  It was hard, but if he'd learned anything from
Jake, it was that the press wanted smiles.

***

     "Stay here, I'll get it," Chris said, untangling himself from Jake's
limbs.  He picked up the old gray Columbia t-shirt that Jake had been
wearing last night off the floor of the suite and threw it on, his eyes
still half-closed.  He heard Jake shuffle the sheets around, trying his
best to find a comfortable position without Chris in the bed with him.
Stumbling through their suite, Chris arrived at the door just as whoever it
was knocked again.  "Eric?" Chris said when he opened the door.  He was
suddenly wide-awake.

     "Good morning," he said, his voice a whisper.

     "What are you doing here?" Chris said, leaning against the doorframe.
Eric hadn't made a move to enter the suite, but it may have been because of
the slight awkwardness of seeing someone in his pajamas at seven a.m.

     "I wanted to apologize," Eric said, handing Chris an envelope, "words
are better written down, right?"

     "It's fucking dawn," Chris said, "on Sunday, and I'm in my underwear."

     Eric looked down at his feet.  "I just didn't know if you'd be in your
room all day, I had to make sure I saw you."

     "Eric, I got the CD, I have the files, and everything is fine.  You
get credit for it and I get my cover.  It's win-win.  No making out
necessary," Chris said, eager to get back into the warmth of the bed.
Defeated, Eric took a step backwards.  "How did you know I was in this
room?" Chris asked, a light bulb flashing in his head.

     "I asked the front desk," Eric said, "that's what they're there for."

     "Listen, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.  I didn't mean
to," Chris said.

     "And I didn't mean to just...attack you like that.  I thought it was
what you wanted, touching me and stuff in the cab."

     "You were just so nervous," Chris said, slowly swinging the door
between his palms.  Freezing, another light bulb flashed, "This suite isn't
under my name."

     "Yeah it is," Eric said, his voice shaky.

     "No, it's not.  I'm sure," Chris said.  Vivian joked that staying at
the Astoria couldn't be made into a tax write-off the first day he had
arrived and he said that the reservations weren't under his name anyway, so
it didn't matter.  Things weren't adding up.

     "Whose shirt is that?  You went to Stanford, not Columbia," Eric's
voice was suddenly tinged with anger, "is he in there?"

     "What are you talking about?"

     "I know, Chris," Eric said, "I saw you two the night you stood me up."

     "When did I...," Chris said, Eric's body was fuming with anger and
jealousy.  Chris had never seen someone so irate so early in the morning.
"Jesus, Eric.  Go home."

     "What does he have that I don't?  Is it because he's famous?  I can
give you what he gives you."

     "Eric," Chris said, his voice suddenly stern, "I'm happy.  I'm not
giving anything up.  I'll have Vivian call you about the cover.  We're done
here."  Chris shut the door, listening for footsteps.  He didn't hear any,
but figured that Eric wouldn't be as stubborn as to stick around.  Slowly
walking back into the bedroom, Chris looked back at the door.  No more
knocking.  Shutting the bedroom door behind him, he saw Jake, swathed in
sheets.  He crawled back into bed, doing his best to get Jake's arms back
around him and laying his head on Jake's chest.

     "Who was it?" Jake asked, his eyes still closed.  Chris ran a hand
down Jake's stubbly jaw, saying nothing.  Jake sighed, pulling Chris
tighter against his body, "Crazy people so early in the morning," he
whispered.

     Chris placed a gentle kiss below Jake's earlobe and let him drift back
to sleep, stroking the delicate hairs on Jake's chest.  He could feel
Jake's heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of Jake's breaths and knew this
is where he belonged.  No matter where he was, right next to Jake would
feel like home.

***

     Whenever Chris stressed out, he wrote, but since he wasn't sure what
was going on with his writing right now, between work, he didn't.  He
figured out that when his writing didn't have a direction, it was bad.  It
wasn't what he was known for, what he thought was his distinct style; his
long complicated sentences were cropped and short.  His writing got full of
stunted dialogue and weird attempts to be esoteric.  So instead of writing,
he was sitting in a museum, staring at a huge canvas of yellow and brown.
He was fidgeting, looking at his watch every five seconds, checking his
phone to see if Jake had finished shooting for the day.

     "You've been here a lot lately," Chris heard as a girl say down next
to him, "I was just walking in here the other day when I saw you kiss
someone on the cheek."

     "You come her a lot too, then," Chris said.

     "I come here because I have to, I volunteer.  I'm studying art history
at Columbia."

     "Then you could tell me all about these?" Chris asked, pointing at the
paintings.  He'd been to the museum dozens of times, but he just sat there
in the Rothko exhibition, falling into the huge seas of color.

     "I just memorize what's on the brochure," she said, chuckling softly,
"I'm more into the Renaissance painters--Boticelli, Raphael, Bellini.
Caravaggio is my favorite though."

     "I never did pay attention in my art classes," Chris said,
embarrassed.

     "You were more into your creative writing ones?" she asked, "I was
waiting for an introduction, but I guess you shouldn't expect things if you
don't want to be disappointed."

     Chris blushed, he'd only been recognized a few times, and usually, it
was back at home or in San Francisco.  In New York, he was just another
person.  Smiling, Chris offered his hand, "Christopher Lewis, writer at
large."

     "Lauren Thorngren, volunteer," her hand felt soft in Chris', small and
thin, "I'm reading your book right now.  You don't look anything like that
picture they put on the inside."

     "It's really old.  I think for my next book I'm going to put a cartoon
on the back, maybe a picture of the back of my head," Chris joked, "but I
need to get a new photo, that's for sure."

     "I love it," Lauren said, "I'm reading it instead of my school
assignments most nights."

     "That's the main goal of writing you know, becoming an interruption to
schoolwork."

     "The museum is having a huge party tonight for the Rothko exhibition.
Since you've been here so often, I'm sure the museum would love it if you
spoke or if you even just came."

     "Will you be there?" Chris asked.

     "I will," Lauren said, "so I won't be doing my reading assignments
anyway."

     "Then I'll be here," Chris said.

     "My professors will be so excited to know that I got you at the
event!" Lauren said, "Maybe I'll get hired as an intern.  I'll put you on
the list.  You can bring a plus one."

     "Thanks for this, I've just been hanging around my hotel room at
night, reading and avoiding actual work."  Chris looked up at the huge blue
painting behind Lauren, relieved that there was something to take his mind
off of work and Eric.  "Are you going to get in trouble for not working?"

     "I'll tell them I was reciting the brochure to you," Lauren said,
"they won't care when I tell them you'll be coming tonight."

     "I hope that you're not the only one excited to see me tonight," Chris
said, "either way, I'll see you tonight and I'll probably see you later
this week.  I'll be here.  Sitting right here."

     Lauren smiled, giving Chris a hug before she bounded away.  Chris
smiled, he came for inspiration, to find an order to the chaos in his
post-its and in his head, his heart, and that's exactly what he got.  The
museum was amazing, bittersweet.  After he had met Eric there, he thought
he'd never come back, but every time he got into a cab, he'd accidentally
say MOMA.  It was his favorite part of New York, and now he'd be a part of
it.

***

     "Maggie was telling me about the event.  She said something about
'upper crust of New York society,'" Jake said.

     "So bow ties, not no ties," Chris said, digging through his suitcase,
"I can't find either."

     "It's not going to matter," Jake said, wrapping his arms around Chris'
chest, "they're not going to kick you out."  Smiling, Chris turned around
and kissed Jake, their foreheads touching when they broke apart.

     "You have to take things seriously sometimes," Chris said, "but this
probably isn't one of those times."  Jake kissed him again, Chris giggling
when Jake tried to nip at his ear.  "What are you doing?"

     "It's that one spot you're always going for.  It drives me crazy."

     "Hold on, try one more time," Chris said.  Jake moved close, his eyes
closed and lips poised.  "It just tickles me," Chris said, laughing.  Jake
tried again, and Chris burst into another fit of giggles.  "Let me show
you."  Chris's hands rested on Jake's broad shoulders and put a soft kiss
on Jake's skin, letting his teeth nibble softly on the delicate skin right
under Jake's earlobe.

     Jake almost purred, craning his neck to give Chris easier access.
Chris pushed Jake onto the bed, straddling his hips as his tongue worked on
the spot.  Groaning, Jake pulled up Chris' shirt and ran his hands to Chris
back.  "That's how you do it," Chris whispered, feeling Jake's hard cock
against his thigh.  Grinning, Chris pulled his shirt over his head, his
lips finding their place on Jake's neck again.  Panting, Jake's hands
reached for Chris' jeans and pulled the button loose.

     "This part I know pretty well," Jake said.  His voice was coarse and
breathy at the same time.  Chris took his pants off, his fingers urgent and
clumsy.  Jake worked on his own pants, pulling them and his underwear down
in one sweep.  Chris' hands moved down Jake's shoulders to his chest, goose
bumps forming under his touch.  Jake's body shivered as Chris' hand reached
for his cock, already hard and dripping pre-cum.  Chris felt Jake's hands
tracing lazy circles on his back and shoulder.  Chris' could feel Jake's
pulse as he jacked his cock, slowly getting faster and faster as Chris
worked his fist up and down.

     Jake pulled their bodies together, rolling so that he was on top.  "I
could do this all day," Jake whispered between kisses.  He shuddered when
Chris' fist pumped his cock faster.  Moaning, Jake arched his back, his
chest flexing.  His body tensing, Jake stopped Chris' hand with his own.
Chris looked at him, surprised, his own breaths were already shallow.  He
was expecting Jake to cum, expecting hot ropes of cum on his chest, but
Jake stopped.  His eyes were closed and his jaw hung slack, but he wasn't
cumming.  Chris watched as Jake's body tensed a few times before it relaxed
again, his expression softening and his breathing slowing down.

     "What are you doing?" Chris asked, confused.  Jake's deep set eyes
were determined, his face tense.

     "Shhh," Jake said.  Chris's fingers traced Jake's jaw, his other hand
still inside Jake's fist.  Chris waited for something to happen, anything.
When Jake seemed ready again, he nodded and looked into Chris' eyes, "Keep
going for me."

     Chris' hand went back to its rhythm, knowing exactly how Jake liked
it.  He kept his mouth on Jake's neck as one hand cradled Jake's neck, and
the other working Jake's shaft, alternating between long full strokes and
short jerks at the head of his cock.  Jake was panting again in a few
minutes, his brow sweaty.  Chris looked down at Jake's cock, it was swollen
and dripping pre- cum all over his fist.  He saw his own cock, hard and
leaking without any contact of its own.  Chris pulled Jake's mouth down to
his, feeling his body stiffen again.  Jake didn't stop him this time, his
kisses getting deeper and more urgent, and Chris felt his cock swell,
searing hot cum splattering across his chest.  Groaning, Jake shot more cum
than Chris could remember him ever shooting before.  It landed in long
streaks across his chest, a few stray ribbons on his neck.  "Jesus, Jake,"
Chris whispered, silenced when Jake kissed him again.  Jake's body landed
on top of Chris', cum slipping between their chests.  Jake was flushed, his
entire body slick with sweat.  Chris felt his labored breaths as he ran his
fingers through Jake's hair.

     "We have to get going," Chris whispered.

     "Shit," Jake said, "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

     Chris kissed him; fingers trailing down the back of Jake's neck,
nodding in agreement.

     Jake rolled off of Chris, finally catching his breath, "What a mess."

***

     "What a mess," Chris said, stepping out of the cab.

     "Can't we just go up to someone and say that you're on a list or
something?"

     "Is that a red carpet?" Chris said, pointing.  "What is this?"

     "In LA we have movie premieres.  They have art premieres here?"

     "Seriously, where do we go," suddenly, Chris saw Lauren run up to the
two of them, her gauzy white dress flowing behind her.  "Thank God, Lauren.
Where are we supposed to be?"

     "Red carpet, you know the drill.  Is this your plus one?"

     Jake held his hand out, "Jake Gyllenhaal.  Chris said you saved his
life or something like that.  He was drowing in Rothko?  You look great,"
Lauren smiled, blushing slightly.  Her dark brown hair fell into her face
and she slipped it gracefully behind one ear.

     "Everyone's excited to hear you speak tonight," Lauren said, "they
didn't even mind having to re-print all of the programs."

     Chris smiled, "Where's your plus one?"

     "I didn't get one, volunteer and all," Lauren said.

     "Looks like you're with us," Jake said, holding out his hand.

     "Not on the carpet," Lauren said, blushing, "I don't know if I could.
I'll meet you guys inside though.  I have to tell them that you're here."

     As suddenly as she appeared, Lauren disappeared into the crowd.  Jake
grabbed Chris' hand and looked right into his eyes.  "Do you see that
sign?"

     Chris froze.  It was huge, spanning the entire entryway of the museum.
"Fuck."  His eyes scanned the lights projected onto the side of the museum,
"Rothko: Color and Life.  Keynote speaker: Christopher Lewis."

     "Keynote speaker?  We've got to get out of here," Chris said, the
panic in his voice evident.

     Jake held him steady, his eyes still aimed right into Chris', "You
talk about Rothko all the time.  You've seen the exhibit three times this
week alone.  You're not going to go up there and sound stupid," Jake said.

     "But I don't know what to say.  I just like it."

     "Your passion's going to show through, that's what matters," Jake
said.  He had pulled Chris to the red carpet without him even noticing,
"Breathe," he whispered in to Chris' ear.  It made Chris shiver, bringing
him back into the bedroom, back into Jake's arms.  One last long breath and
he had his smile ready; he waved at the photographers like a seasoned pro
and walked down the red carpet with an uncharacteristic confidence, Jake
just one step behind him.  Bombarded with questions from every angle, Chris
didn't know who to talk to at all.  He glanced behind him at Jake, who was
practically ignored; photographers were taking pictures of him but none of
the reporters even wanted to talk to him.

     Chris stopped to let Jake catch up, "I still have no idea what I'm
going to say."

     Jake smiled for a camera, "Don't worry about it," he whispered, "They
wouldn't have made you a speaker if someone didn't believe in you."  Jake
pushed Chris forward; both of them walking briskly past the photographers,
reporters, and other guests to the museum's main entrance.  Chris didn't
recognize anyone, and Jake's furrowed brows told Chris that he didn't know
anyone either.  "I think we're the youngest people here."

     "I just talked to someone fro Vogue, this is outrageous," Chris said.

     Jake grabbed a program and skimmed it, "They apologized for not
printing your speech."

     "It's because I don't have one," Chris said, grabbing two flutes of
champagne as they drifted by on a tray.  He handed one to Jake and downed
his in a few gulps.  He took a program of his own, quickly running his eyes
down the text, "I don't even have an opening act."

     "You have half an hour," Jake said, "can you write something that
quick?"

     "I write stories, not speeches."

     Everyone at the party stood looking up at the paintings, their necks
strained backwards to see the canvases.  Chris concentrated on just
breathing, too nervous to do anything else.  Chris walked around, thinking
about anything he could say to impress the crowd, but couldn't think of
anything.  Another flute of champagne and another deep breath, but still
nothing.  Jake found him again, "Anything?" he whispered in his ear.

     "I'm going to go to the bathroom and never come out," Chris said,
heading straight for the restroom.

     "Hey hey whoa," Jake said, following Chris into the stark white
bathroom, "get back out here, you can't just hide."  Jake grabbed Chris'
shoulders, his blue eyes stern, "I'm not going to let you give up.  You're
going to go out there and make me proud, forget about those pretentious art
assholes, just be yourself.  Tell a story."

     Chris couldn't look Jake in the eyes; he was too scared, too nervous,
"I don't want to let you down."

     "You're not going to.  You could go up there and throw up all over
those paintings and I'd still clap."  Jake pulled Chris into his arms,
feeling his body actually shake and shiver.

     "I'm going to be okay," Chris said, his voice soft, "just stand
somewhere in the middle of the room, I don't know if I can handle you being
up front."  Jake let out a sigh, his own palms sweaty.  He felt Chris' body
settle, both of them relaxing.  Relaxed but both still completely out of
their element.  Jake felt like he everyone was wondering why he was there,
treating him like some actor pretending to be sophisticated and cultured,
Chris knew that most of those people in the room didn't even know who he
was.

    Chris pulled away from Jake, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before
splashing his own face with cold water.  Jake gave him a firm squeeze on
his shoulder and they were ready.  Just as they left the bathroom, the
lights dimmed and a spotlight hit the podium.  "Good luck," Jake said,
whispering in Chris' ear, "I love you."

     And there they were, the three words that made his entire body relax,
his head clear, and his heart stop.  As he walked towards the stage, he
took one last look backwards and saw Jake's warm smile, the creases by his
eyes highlighting his blue eyes.  One last long breath and he stepped up on
the white stage, his black clothes looking even darker and more crisp
against the stark white setting of the museum.  The entire crowd looked up
at him as Lauren announced him over the loudspeaker.
     "Keynote speaker Christopher Lewis has published both poetry and prose
in such respectable periodicals as the New Yorker and Zyzzyva.
Independence Day, his novel of self-discovery and familial obligation, has
reached number three on the New York Times and Los Angeles Times
bestsellers lists and his second novel is expected in the coming months.  A
lover of modern art, Christopher's passion for writing parallels that of
his passion for the often enigmatic work of Mark Rothko.  Please join me
and the Museum of Modern Art in welcoming this emerging voice in American
fiction, Christopher Lewis."

     Suddenly, the spotlight got even brighter and the audience's applause
filled Chris' ears.  He could spot Jake out there, right in the middle of
the audience, smiling from ear to ear.  It was now or never, do or die.

     "Thank you to Lauren for such a flattering introduction.  I want to
first say that Rothko is an artist that inspires not only me, but also
conversation.  Twice already, in this very room, I've had life changing
occurrences, including this very speech.  But the balance, the depth, and
more than anything, the color of Rothko's work is what sets him apart.
Tonight, I'm going to talk about something that hits close to home:
inspiration."  Chris looked out at the crowd, surprised to see that a few
heads turned when he said that word, something that always seemed to garner
interest.  "Rothko inspires me with association.  When I see No. 10,
sometimes I see the white first, other times the yellow, but either way, it
always reminds me of summertime.  When I see my favorite painting, the
Blue, Green, and Yellow of Untitled, I always think of blue eyes, one pair
in particular, but the bluest eyes I've ever seen and everything that goes
with them: warmth, love, security, and passion.  If just one color can
bring those emotions..."

     Jake looked around the room, everyone seemed genuinely interested in
what Chris was saying, and even more surprising, Chris looked really
comfortable, his speech was casual and relaxed, more conversational and
approachable than Jake knew these people were used to.  Jake noticed Lauren
scooting over to stand next to him, "He's doing great," Lauren whispered,
"just what the trustees wanted, young and fresh."  Jake nodded, unable to
tear his eyes away from Chris' quiet self-assurance.

     "...and when I see other people looking at these huge swatches of
color, immersing themselves in color and dimension, I can almost see the
wheels turning in their heads.  So thanks to the generous donations of the
Mark Rothko foundation and Mrs. Paul Mellon, we can all set the wheels in
our heads in motion.  Thank you."

     Jake mouthed an "excuse me," to Lauren before finding his way to the
stairs down from the stage.  Chris walked down and pulled Jake into a hug,
"Oh God, Jake.  I was going to pass out I was so nervous."

     "You looked so great up there, all smart and calm," Jake said, his
expressive eyes wide and sparkling.  "It couldn't have been any better."

     "You're going to give me a big head," Chris said.  The museum-goers
continued milling around the paintings, probably forgetting all about
Chris' keynote speech in a haze of champagne.  "Rothko looks better after a
few drinks anyway," Chris thought.

     Chris and Jake walked around the room one more time, Chris accepting a
few congratulatory handshakes and Jake sipping on his second flute of
champagne.  The speech behind him, Chris could actually start to enjoy
himself, pointing out the subtle gradations of color to Jake in Untitled
Blue Green and Yellow.  Jake observed intently, loving how passionate Chris
got about a big blue canvas with a yellow stripe.

     "Let's get going," Jake said, putting hand on Chris' shoulder.  Chris
nodded and they headed towards the door, feeling the cold night air rush
against their skin.  The cold night air blew across Chris' face, a
refreshing change to the stuffiness of the museum.  He put his head on
Jake's shoulder as they waited for a cab.  The moon was bright and full and
Chris thought that it couldn't be more perfect.  A speech below his belt, a
strong shoulder for him to lean on, and more than anything, a newfound
confidence in himself that he owed to Jake's stubborn desire to make him
better.

     "I love you," Chris whispered just loud enough for Jake to hear.
Smiling, Jake gave a soft kiss to the top of Chris' head and everything
just felt right.

     Leaning against the side of the museum, Eric watched as Chris and Jake
seemed oblivious to the rest of the world, just standing there as the cabs
rolled away and their breaths made small clouds of vapor as they waited.
He never felt more alone, more alienated than when he saw the strength
underneath what Chris and Jake had.  It was unbreakable, and when they slid
into a cab together, Eric stared at the spot where they stood, resigning to
the fact that everything he wanted had just sped away.

***

     Jake watched the sweat roll down Chris' temple; his eyes shut tight,
his entire body tense.  Hooking his finger just slightly, he noticed Chris'
entire body jump, a sharp intake of breath as he adjusted to the new
sensation.  Jake's cock was dripping pre-cum just watching how responsive
Chris' body was, how everything he did pushed a groan or a pant from Chris'
mouth.

     "Keep doing that, whatever it was, just..." Chris panted, completely
forgetting what he had wanted to say when Jake slipped a second finger into
him, hitting the same spot with more force.  Their cheeks were pressed
together, Chris straddling Jake's chest as he put all his energy into
remaining upright and not collapsing onto Jake's torso.  Jake lavished
kisses across Chris' collar, feeling the tight muscles all over Chris'
body, the shivers that swept over him every time Jake scissored his fingers
or hooked them onto Chris' prostate.  Determined, Jake licked at the
depression at the base of Chris' neck as he began to slowly slide his
fingers in and out of Chris' hole, feeling the muscle tighten and relax
with every movement.  Groaning, Chris fisted his own cock, feeling it pulse
with every change of Jake's fingers.  He'd already been holding back,
trying with everything he had to just hold on, but he needed to shoot.  His
entire body begged for release.  He felt his blood race through his
temples, his ears, his hands shook, and his neck wouldn't stay straight

     Jake brushed Chris' hand away, bringing his own hand to softly pull at
Chris' balls, playing with the sensitive skin behind them.  Chris bit down
hard on his lip, but it wasn't enough to distract him from the sensations
of Jake's hands.  His cock swelled, first one, then two thick ropes of cum
splattering across Jake's chest.  Jake's face tightened, his fingers still
deep inside Chris' ass, feeling the muscles constrict with every spurt of
cum.  Chris' breathing was ragged, his hands pressing Jake's head into his
neck.

     Slowly, Jake leaned forward, Chris' cum slowly sliding down his chest.
They were both covered in sweat and cum, the air was hot around them and
their bodies slid against each other with a practiced ease.  Jake pushed
Chris onto his back, pulling a leg over his shoulder.  Chris' head was
thrown back in anticipation, his hands clutching at the hotel bedspread.
Jake held the base of his own cock and pressed the head against Chris' ass,
the loosened muscle still tight around his cock.  Chris groaned as Jake's
cock sunk into him, the slow stretch in his ass still not something he
could just familiarize himself with.  It was different every single time.
Jake held his position, just feeling Chris' muscles squeeze his thick
shaft.  He strained to stay still and not just pull out and slam back in,
losing control of his body to instinct and passion.

     Jake's thrusts weren't slow for long, his hips pressing hard and deep
into Chris, who reached up, one hand resting on Jake's shoulder.  "Chris,
God yeah," Jake panted, "Fuck this is good."  Jake pulled out and slammed
back in, punctuating every word.  Their lips collided, Jake's tongue
running over Chris', needed everything that Chris could give, needing as
much of his body touching Chris' as possible.  His groans turned
nonsensical as he thrust faster and faster, feeling Chris' hard cock rub
against his stomach.  Chris' leg, wrapped around his waist, pulled him in,
harder and deeper with every motion.  He saw Chris' chest, taught with
strain, and Chris' arms, every muscle tight and tense.  His head flailed
from side to side as Jake's cock hit every spot he needed, every thrust
sweeping across his prostate and pushing pre-cum out of his already swollen
cock.

     Stopping abruptly, Jake left his cock buried in Chris, stopping to
concentrate on the kiss, his hands entangled with Chris'.  He wanted to
scream, Jake was pushing as close as he could get and then yanking him
away, driving him insane.  He tried to concentrate on Jake's tongue, the
kiss and sudden loss of stimulation left him breathless and delirious.
Chris squeezed his ass as tight as he could around Jake's cock, pulling a
long groan out from him, doing his best to get more from Jake's cock.  His
breathing was shallow and fast, he was determined to get more.  Pulling
backwards, he felt an inch of Jake's cock slip from his hole.  Wincing, he
slammed back down, desperate for anything.  Jake shuddered, relenting when
he felt Chris' frantic movements.  He pulled out, a long drawn-out groan
escaping Chris' lips.  Jake thrust, his motions resuming their vigor and
speed.  Chris' back arched, his eyes slamming shut and his fingers tangling
in Jake's hair.

     "I'm going to kill you..." Chris panted, "if you...fuck...don't go all
the way."  Jake pressed their mouths together, silencing anything coming
from Chris' mouth.  He didn't have a choice either way; his own body was
aching for release, his cock leaking pre-cum.  Jake felt Chris' fingers
tense, his entire body going rigid as his cock swelled and shot spurts of
cum between their bodies, joining the last load on their chests.  Jake felt
his body shudder, Chris's ass constricting on his cock, every thrust into
the squeezing tunnel bringing him closer and closer.  Jake felt Chris'
mouth on his neck, hitting him right where he liked it, and he lost it.

     "God, Chris, Jesus I'm going to fuck yeah," Groaning, straining, he
felt his cock expand and shoot into the tight confines of Chris' hole.  His
body froze, shudders running up his spine.  Chris was flushed and straining
to breathe, Jake collapsing on top of him.  Sticky and slick, Chris
couldn't even get a good grip on Jake's body to steady himself.  Drained
from this and everything that happened before, Chris struggled to stay
awake, feeling Jake roll over and pull their bodies together.  He grimaced
when Jake pulled out and pressed lay Chris' head on his chest.  Pulling
Chris' hand to his heart, he whispered, "That's for you.  All of it."

***

     Jake quietly ordered a few bagels and two extra-foamy lattes from room
service, Chris still sleeping soundly in the bedroom.  Hanging up the
phone, Jake opened the drapes, light filling the living room as he looked
down at the park, still shrouded in the morning mist.  He pulled on a dirty
t-shirt, too lazy to go back into the bedroom and get a clean one.  He felt
like something had changed, New York had worked its way into both of them,
brining them closer together in a way that couldn't have happened back in
Santa Barbara.  Alienating them together, they had nobody else to turn to.

     Chris' phone vibrated against the coffee table, a sharp buzz
resonating throughout the living room.  Jake snatched it up, "New Text
Message," blinking across the screen.  Jake went into Chris' inbox, which
was literally full of messages he hadn't read.  Jake had sent him two,
which were still there, but there were a few from Eric, the graphic
designer that had Chris going out of his mind.

     "What are you doing up so early?" Chris asked, lazily stepping into
the living room.  His eyes were still heavy-lidded, a yawn escaping his
mouth as he sat down next to Jake, letting his head rest on Jake's
shoulder.

     "Breakfast is coming," Jake said, his hands running through Chris'
hair, "are you going to be meeting with Eric again soon?"

     "I have to call him," Chris said, "Why?"

     "He's sending you messages.  What happened 'before the awards?'"

     Chris grabbed his phone-PDA thing from Jake, struggling with the
buttons to get to his messages.  "Which one are you talking about?"

     "It says, 'what happened before the awards was a mistake,'" Jake said.

     Chris hesitated.  "He sort of got the wrong impression after I kissed
his cheek. He thought I was into him so he sort of came onto me.  It was
really uncomfortable for the both of us."

     Jake nodded, "You're a heartbreaker, Lewis."  Chris smiled, still not
quite sure what the situation with Eric was.  They were going to have to
work together and part of Chris was actually looking forward to that.  Eric
was, after all, someone who got him. Someone who knew what it was like to
work for something that not everyone accepted.  Not everyone takes art and
writing seriously, and when they were together, they seemed to click.
Kisses and chemistry just seemed to make things more complicated.

     "Can you just get rid of all these messages?" Chris asked.  With the
push a button, Jake erased them--out of sight and out of mind.

---

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