Date: Sat, 15 Apr 2006 11:41:17 -0700 From: christopher. Subject: Breaking Through part 13 This is fiction. I don't know Jake Gyllenhaal and my little story doesn't imply anything about his sexuality, but I'd do just about anything to have Jake all to myself. Feedback is greatly appreciated and any writer will tell you that they live for it; I'll answer every single one. No author's comment this time, read the one from part 12. Feedback? Send it! christopherrluu@gmail.com. Part XIII Jake ran his fingers through his hair, trying his best to get the coarse strands to stay down. He could feel the salt on his fingers; it must have been all over his hair. He wished he had spent more time at the beach shower, but he couldn't do anything about it now. Pulling up his shorts, he listened as the steady slap-slap of his sandals on the concrete mixed with the hum of idling cars. The sun was bright and severe, he was glad he had his shades on. "How were the waves?" Topher asked. "I've seen better," Jake said, "but since I don't know what I'm doing out there, I wouldn't know any better." Topher smiled, pushing the breadbasket towards Jake, "How is he?" "He sent me a message. He's seventeen hours ahead, so we can't really talk. He's fine," Jake said, a confused look on his face as he spread butter on his bread. "He's excited?" "Yeah. I am too. He got the Mishima Yukio award. It's a big deal," Jake said, amazed he could remember and pronounce the name of the award, "I mean, we think it's a big deal. The letter was in Japanese. We had to call his publicist just to figure out which award it was." Chuckling, Topher leaned back in his chair, "Mishima what?" Jake just shrugged. "When is he coming back?" "Chris spends a week in Japan and I'm stuck here with publicity and negotiating for the Daldry movie. Did they call you back?" Jake said. "Yeah, they did. It'd be awesome if we did a movie together." Jake nodded. It really would be good for both of them. The public still saw he and Topher as two actors that had an uneasy competition between them, so doing a movie together would quell those rumors. Nobody liked to read about boring friendships--they wanted drama and conflict. Jake wouldn't mind having a buddy on set, either. Ever since he'd won the Oscar, he'd been bombarded by scripts, and even though Topher didn't win, he'd been seeing some of the same ones. "It's a good project. Really good." Jake wondered how Chris was doing in Japan, he'd been practicing some phrases for a week, struggling with it and wondering how he'd get around. Jake had gotten him a few new journals for the trip, sure that Chris' people watching would need a place to go. He wanted to go, Chris begged him to go, but with the short notice, he couldn't move anything around. He tried to push it of his mind. He had work to think about. "How much do you miss him?" "You have no idea. It's weird to think he's halfway around the world. We can't even talk with the time difference and everything. We've always talked when we're apart." Topher nodded, sipping his water. He could really tell something was off with Jake. He was distracted and agitated. "It happened to fast, I feel like I didn't get a chance to say bye." "I'm sure he'll be okay. He misses you too. It's only been three days," Topher said. Jake picked at his salad, pushing the leaves around the plate. He didn't realize how weird it felt without Chris even just a phone call away. He really felt like part of him was gone. It had never been like that before with anyone else. Sure he missed people, but he'd never felt so preoccupied with it. Was Chris lost? Was he confused? Was he having fun or was he scared? Jake couldn't think about anything else. "Does he write for you?" Jake smiled, "All the time. Short ones, long ones. It's easier for him to write things down than to talk about them, I think." Jake remembered the stories about the green of Big Sur, the stories about the rain, and the stories about Chris' confusion and his fears. They were hard to read sometimes, heavy and deep. Chris wrote like other people breathed. It was almost automatic. He thought about it long and hard, but when he sat down to write, the words seemed to flow out of him onto his computer or into his journals. Jake would sit there, watching Chris' hand fly across the paper, each letter of his narrow penmanship perfectly formed, his eyes intense and expression serious. Even when he was writing something little, something short just for Jake, he took it seriously. "Did you read the story he wrote for the New Yorker? It came out a while ago." "The one about the people who only see each other in the streetlights, right?" Topher asked, "I thought it was great." "He wrote it after a trip to New York. It wasn't the best trip...something sort of happened. But he took that and then that story came out. It's weird. Something that's so intense comes out of these feelings he has. I can't tell if he's out of control or has more control than anyone I know." "So he's just over there to get the award?" "He has some other stuff too," Jake said, "a signing. He was practicing his name in Japanese." "You got yourself a good one," Topher said, watching as Jake pulled a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his hoodie. "I don't deserve him," Jake said, fumbling with his lighter, "and he hates it when I do this." "Then he's got some sense," Topher said, grimacing, "you guys like this restaurant because it's that organic healthy stuff, but you're smoking." "I don't do it all the time. Just when I'm stressed." Jake hated that he had to do it, but after movie after movie called for a nicotine-addicted misunderstood outsider, he couldn't kick the easy haze that it gave him when things got to be too much. Chris was in Japan, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "Don't tell him." *** Jake flipped on the light to the office, the messiest room in the house because Chris never went inside. Chris' studio was always neat, but Jake's office was covered in faxes, CDs out of their boxes, and half-read scripts. His plants were yellowing with neglect and there were empty coffee mugs on his desk. Sitting down on his chair, he did his best to toss some papers into the garbage and straighten up, wondering how did he get any work done with everything like that. He had a stack of notebooks that Chris wrote for him. He read them all the time; once in a while Chris even read them out loud to him. Jake grabbed one, feeling the smooth black cover. Chris' favorite notebooks were black with an elastic band to keep them shut, simple and understated, full of possibility. He opened it up, flipping the pages until he found a shorter piece. Settling into his chair, he put his feet up on the desk, wondering what sort of stories Chris would be writing about Japan. "Tell me you're not in here moping," Maggie said, leaning against the doorframe. Startles, Jake almost fell out of the chair, "When did you get a key to the house?" "When do you lock the door?" Jake shut the notebook he was reading, setting it back on top of the others, "What are you doing here? Just hanging out?" "I was in LA, thought I'd pay you and Chris a visit. Where is he?" "He won some Japanese writing award. They flew him out." "Wow," Maggie said, impressed, "so you planned on sitting there all night?" "Did you eat yet?" "Fix me something. Chris always talks about your cooking, I want to see you in action." Smiling, Jake got up, "What are you in the mood for?" Half an hour later, Maggie watched as Jake's practiced hands stirred the pasta pot. He grabbed two plates from the cupboard and set them down on the counter. It was a well-practiced routine, his hands were confident and sure, every movement honed and studied; it was obvious he cooked all the time. Chris usually sat right where Maggie was, watching intently or writing in one of his notebooks. "Does he ever not like what you make for him?" "No, he'll eat anything," Jake said, "and I've messed up a lot of food." Maggie smiled, she loved Chris and she loved Jake, but she loved them more when they were together. Apart, they always seemed sort of spacey. "Fuck!" Jake yelled, dropping his knife onto the counter, his finger flying to his mouth. Maggie rushed over to survey the damage. It was just a cut, but it was deep. She pushed Jake's finger under the tap, grabbing a paper towel to wrap around it while she waited for the bleeding to subside, "My head just isn't on straight, I guess," Jake said, scratching his head with his other hand. Maggie shook her head, "You're hopeless. Does it hurt?" "I'll survive," Jake said, pulling his hand from Maggie's. He rummaged around in a drawer for a bandage while Maggie took over the stirring. "Everything's okay, right?" Maggie asked, spooning out the pasta for both of them. "Yeah, everything's great." "Then why are you worried about him so much?" "It's not like that. I'm worried about him, not what he'll do," Jake said, shaking his hand, "He's not going to do anything." "Can you imagine all the material he's getting right now? He'll come back and lock himself up in that studio of his." "That's what I'm afraid of. He gets too into what he does. It's like he drowns himself in his work." Jake remembered the nights he lay staring at the ceiling, just wondering when Chris would come stumbling into the room, shaking with fatigue and hunger. He wouldn't listen, he'd just write and write, eyes bloodshot from nothing but coffee, fingers stiff and cramped but still typing away. Maggie nodded, twirling her pasta around the tines of her fork. "You have to make sure he eats and stuff, but you're not going to be able to stop him from writing. He had a breakdown last time." She watched Jake's eyes, intense and thoughtful as he ate, she didn't know what was going on behind them, but she could tell that he was trying to figure something out. "What's up next, did you get the Daldry gig?" "Second audition went good," Jake said, grateful for a change of topic. Nobody knew Chris like he did, so he always took advice about him with a grain of salt, "I think they're just working out the last of the details." "And Chris?" "I don't know," Jake said, "he's got a lot going on. I don't think he even knows where he's going next." "You are a piece of work, Jake. You've got everything going for you and you can't see it. You're everything to him," Maggie said, her arms crossed, "you're not usually like this." "I just miss him," Jake said, shrugging, "it's just that right now, when I'm not working, I thought we'd be able to be together." "You are together." "Fuck Maggie, I don't know what's going on. I'm a mess." "What does he do when you're away?" "He writes. I guess that's how he deals. He writes and I brood." *** Jake watched as Chris' fingers lazily grazed the book spines, his eyes not focusing on any single one in particular. He pulled a book out, glancing at the cover before sliding it back into the shelf, his steps slow and deliberate. Jake reached for Chris' hand, feeling it clutch at his own when they connected. Smiling, Jake wrapped his arms around Chris, inhaling the clean shampoo smell of his hair. Chris loved little bookstores; their shelves crammed tight, their aisles narrow and secluded. He turned around to face Jake, his hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. "I want to hear more about your trip," Jake whispered, softly kissing Chris' lips. "You'd love it there," Chris said, "I want to go back and take my time going through it all, there's just too much." Jake pressed their foreheads together, "Too busy collecting awards to have any fun, right?" Chris smiled, kissing him one more time, "It all went by really fast." Jake pulled away as Maggie came around the corner, a book in each hand. "This one or this one?" she asked Chris, holding them out. Chris pointed at the one on the left as Jake shrugged. Maggie nodded, "What are you looking for?" "Just looking," Chris said, "I've got too many at home anyway." "There's no such thing as too many," Maggie said. Jake pulled out a copy of Kerouac's On the Road. "I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up," he said, "I had just gotten over a serious illness..." "I'd be more impressed if I didn't know you had to memorize that for a part," Chris said, smiling, "but it was good." Jake slipped the book back onto the shelf and grabbed Chris' hand again. "What time do you have to get going, Maggie?" "I should get going," Maggie said, "but I don't want to. Just let me pay for this and we can get going." "We can walk back home," Jake said, "you don't have to backtrack." Maggie gave each of them a hug, "Be good, you two." Chris glanced at the books one more time, sighing at the sight of so many things to read, so many ideas to discover, so many characters to meet. Jake pulled him away, the bright sun shining when they got outside. Chris watched as Jake smiled, the smell of the surf and the sun always brought a smile to his face. There was just something about where they were and the two of them together that always seemed to make him smile. The minute he saw Chris again, his heart swelled and he felt like everything was back to normal, everything was how he liked it. They walked toward the house, Chris breathing a sigh of relief to just be somewhere he knew. He could read the street signs, he knew where everything was, knew that he was a part of his surroundings, not someone interfering. "Is it okay if I do something by myself?" Chris asked, looking towards the ocean. Jake gave him a confused look. "It's no big deal, I'll be home really quick." "Yeah, yeah," Jake said, hand resting on Chris' shoulder, "do whatever you have to do." "I'll be right home," Chris said, his hand running down Jake's jaw. Jake turned towards the house, glancing backwards to see Chris heading to the beach cliffs. He stopped, watching Chris's quick strides. Jake turned to follow him, staying a good distance behind. Chris had only been home for a few hours and he was already looking for time alone. Jake was a little surprised, but there wasn't a reason to doubt anything. His feet betrayed him though, stealthily following Chris down the trail. He watched as Chris' tired body walked down the trail, relaxed even though he was probably exhausted from the flight. Jake saw Chris walk right off the trail, right up to the edge of the cliff. Jake stayed behind, the trees and brush disguising him. He watched as Chris sat down, knees pulled up to his chest. "Mom and Dad," he heard, the wind carrying Chris' words. Jake was surprised already, but he sat still, listening intently, "Japan was just crazy. I don't know how to even explain it, but the stuff I wrote while I was there, I think it's really good." Other than finding out they had died, Jake didn't know anything else about Chris' parents. "I want to tell you guys that I'm okay. It's was hard but now that I have Jake with me, I feel like everything's how it should be. He's everything." Jake felt like he should creep backwards, trying his best to be quiet and get out of there, but he couldn't. He was frozen. He didn't know why he felt so guilty for eavesdropping, but he had to get out of there. "I don't know what I'd do without him. He pushes me to do what I do and he's supportive and he's just right there when I need it." Jake finally mustered up enough willpower to slink back down the trail, not looking back even once. He practically ran as soon as he was sure he was out of earshot, throwing the front door of the house open and slamming it shut behind him, sliding until he was down on the floor, back against the door, breaths coming short and shallow. He'd just intruded on something sacred. He'd lied to Chris. *** "Do you want it in the house or in the studio?" Jake asked, holding up Chris' new trophy. It was heavy, a bronze rock carved with some Japanese characters. Chris told him it translated as "blazing a new trail." "It doesn't matter to me," Chris said, throwing his dirty clothes from his open suitcase into the washing machine, "just put it anywhere." Jake set it down on the coffee table, wondering if Chris had noticed him earlier on the beach. He looked up at the bookshelf, their two Oscars shining down at him, they were dusty but still magnificent, he didn't look at them often, but they seemed to be staring down at him, asking him why he hadn't run, why he couldn't leave well enough alone. "What did you do while I was gone? Just work." "Yeah, just work," Jake said, fidgeting on the couch. He heard the washing machine shut and Chris' suitcase snap shut, "did you get whatever you needed to do done?" Chris walking into the living room, his shirt off and his dark jeans low on his hips. He always threw whatever he was wearing right off his back and into the wash, Jake noticed. "I did," Chris said, smiling. He sat down on the couch next to Jake and stared at his bronze rock. "That has to be the ugliest trophy out there." "We've never really talked about your family," Jake said suddenly, "I mean you don't have to but I feel like we almost avoid it." Chris sat up straight, looking over at Jake and feeling unexpectedly exposed. Jake pulled their bodies together, steadying Chris, "You know all about my family. Maggie loves you." Nobody knew the story. It was the first thing that Chris could remember writing the way he wrote now. After it happened, everything sort of stopped, but when he found the clipping again, he couldn't control it. He remembered crying and typing, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, ignoring the fact that his hands shook so hard he could barely type. He had to get it down though, or nobody would remember. Newspaper clippings yellowed and crumbled, but if he wrote it down, then it'd last forever. "My grandparents told me they died in a car accident," Chris said, his voice soft, "but that's all they said." Jake looked down Chris' eyes; they seemed glazed, focused on nothing but that ugly rock on the table. "But I found out when I was eighteen that there was more. Right after my grandparents died and I had to go through their stuff, I found this newspaper article. It was all yellow and gross, but it said that they died during a bad storm, their car flew off the road into the water. You know how rocky it is out there. There was no way." Chris stopped, this was only the second time he'd told anyone; the first time it was someone other than himself. He took a deep breath, felt Jake's hand stroking his hand. "They didn't get to say goodbye, nobody did." Jake felt Chris reach to wipe away a tear, but his hand got their first, wiping the stray liquid from Chris cheek. "I wrote it but I've never looked at it again. It's too hard. I can't imagine what sort of crazy stuff came out." "I want to read it," Jake whispered, "I'll read it anytime. Anytime you're ready." He kissed the top of Chris' head, pulling them both down to lie on the couch, Chris' back against his chest. He felt better, the eavesdropping now an afterthought. Chris had been ready to tell, he just had to ask. "Let's get you to bed, you've got to be exhausted." "No, can we just stay like this for a little longer," Chris asked, staring at the trophy. He could feel Jake's steady breathing against his back, Jake's thumb stroking his own. It felt strange to get it out there, to actually tell someone the whole story, "what brought all this up?" Chris asked, sniffling and trying to compose himself. "I just had too much time to think while you were gone," Jake said, pulling Chris even tighter to his body. "I'm here for you though, you know that." *** The streets were always deserted during a storm, the rain pushing everyone inside their cozy houses to watch the water run down their windows. But Jake and Chris walked down the same route they always did, Jake carrying the umbrella in one hand, the other gripping Chris'. Chris loved everything about the rain: the smell, the way everything looked slick and wet, the regular rhythm of it tapping against the roof. He leaned in closer to Jake, feeling the scratchy wool of Jake's sweater against his cheek. A little water wasn't going to keep them cooped up in the house. The city really seemed to shut down, there weren't that many cars on the road and even some of the little boutiques that dotted the main boulevard decided to stay closed for the day. Chris watched the water splash up around his feet as they walked down towards the coffee shop, the usually calm ocean angry and churning under the gray sky. "When I was in Japan, I really missed this," Chris said, "missed us." He felt Jake tighten his grip, their hands clutching each other. "Everything I saw I wanted you to see too." Jake pulled them together under the umbrella, his hand reaching behind and resting on Chris' back. Chris leaned up and kissed him, arms wrapping around Jake's neck. "Tell me you love me," Jake whispered, his lips still grazing Chris'. Chris' eyes were shut, but they fluttered open to meet the deep blue of Jake's eyes. He'd compared them to the water before, but they were nothing like the gray of the waves today. They were still blue and bright despite the weather, Jake's lips always curled up in a slight smile. "You're everything to me, Jake." Chris whispered, his hand running over the stubble on Jake's jaw, "you know that." Jake leaned down for another kiss, the hems of both their pants soaking up water as they stood there, the rain falling around them. It didn't feel like they were outside, with the umbrella to shield them from the rain and the heavy drops falling all around them, Chris felt like they alone, the entire world oblivious to the two of them. The rain fell harder, a steady beat on the umbrella above them. Chris pulled away and watched it over Jake's shoulder, the water coming down harder as they stood there. Jake grabbed Chris' hand again, feeling he warmth of it in his own hand, resuming their steady pace to the coffee shop. Opening the door a few minutes later, Chris wiped away the drops on his coat, shaking out his pant legs as Jake shut the umbrella. "I'll grab the coffee," Chris said, "do you want anything else?" Jake shook his head and went straight for their corner table. He didn't know where they'd be going next, he could almost feel how anxious Chris was to get writing again and he knew that filming would have to start soon. He could barely stand that week apart, he didn't know how they'd do another three months of filming away from Chris, away from home, away from lazy afternoon walks to get coffee. And Chris would be writing away in his studio, intense and focused, so it was inevitable that they'd be apart again. Sighing, Jake wondered what had clicked in him to make him so clingy. He'd found something he didn't want to lose, ever, but that wasn't something that was possible. Staring out at the water, he wondered how anyone dealt with these feelings, what did other people do when they were apart. It had to happen every day, but it seemed to just hit him harder than it would anyone else. "What are you thinking about?" Chris asked, setting down two cups. He pulled out his chair and grabbed Jake's hand, looking out the window to see if there was something out there catching Jake's attention. "Nothing," Jake said, his smile returning, "it's rough out there." "There's no good coffee in Japan," Chris said after taking his first sip, "this is amazing." Jake watched Chris look out at the ocean, he looked happy and content with nothing more than his coffee and a dry place to sit. "It looks the same from the other side," Chris said, "I wrote something about me trying to look across the ocean to see you. Like maybe if I squinted a certain way or if I just got high enough, I could look across the entire thing and see you looking back at me." Every single time that Chris wrote for him, he felt flattered. Jake always read them as soon as he got them, once through just to read it, fast and quick to get the emotion behind it and then again, slower and more meticulous to get every detail. Jake found something new every time he read a story but with Chris' writing, he'd be able to read it again and again without ever getting every detail. It was layered and rich, just like he liked to make his characters. Layer after layer of dissection and he still found new things in Chris' writing just like Chris would find in his movies. He knew Chris would watch Donnie Darko whenever he felt alone, Jake saw him pack it with his things when he went away. Chris talked his stories out a lot, especially with Jake, but whenever he heard a story and then read it, it always surprised him how Chris boiled down even his most complex stories when he explained them out loud. On paper, they were complicated and intricate. So a story about looking across the ocean could suddenly be transformed into a poetic look at distance and separation. Jake was excited already. "I was a wreck without you," Jake said, "Maggie noticed it, even Topher said something." "No, come on," Chris said, confused, "you said you were doing good." "I didn't want to throw you off," Jake said, "but I mean I practically chopped my finger off and I couldn't concentrate. Without you I just feel...I don't know...lost." Chris looked into Jake's eyes, sincere and honest. He didn't know how or why it happened, but he leaned over and kissed Jake, the rain and the empty coffee shop melting away as their lips met and Jake's fingers tangled in his hair. Chris didn't know what to say, but he hoped this was what Jake was looking for, what Jake had wanted to find. "This rain isn't going to let up anytime soon," Jake whispered. Chris saw his body relax, his expression soften as they pulled apart, "We should get going." Quickly chugging the rest of his coffee, Chris followed Jake outside, their quick steps getting them back home in no time at all. Chris wiped the water off of Jake's shoulder when they got to the porch, Jake pulling their bodies together again. Chris felt Jake's hands press into him, their cheeks rubbing together as Jake just breathed and held him. The rain was still falling and Chris could feel Jake's heartbeat. "It's alright, Jake," Chris whispered. Jake didn't react and Chris stood still, letting Jake's hands run through his hair and down his back, lips grazing his own and trailing down to his neck. He was exploring, reacquainting, and quietly mapping everything out again in his mind. His hands remembered every depression and every curve, every angle perfectly. It was the same as it always was but there was something different. It wasn't the scared and shy Chris that he'd met and discovered. Chris was capable now, capable of anything and everything he set his mind to. That's what was different, that's why he was freaking out, and that's what he was looking for. Even though everything was different, everything was still the same. Chris felt Jake open the door behind him and shuffle inside. Pulling off his coat, he felt Jake at his lips again, hands running under his shirt now, fingers undoing buttons. Jake threw off his own coat, pulling his sweater over his head and Chris felt warm skin against his hands, tight muscle under his fingers as he slid his hands up to Jake's shoulders. Jake's kisses were deep and long, he could barely catch his breath between them as Jake pulled him towards the bedroom. Chris was breathing heavily by the time they had gotten inside, Jake quickly pulling off his shoes and jeans, both wet and heavy with rainwater. Chris' hands seemed to be moving automatically, his motions mirroring Jake's as his eyes stayed fixed on the muscles under Jake's smooth skin, each one moving with perfect grace and precision. Before his pants hit the ground, he felt Jake on him again, his movements desperate and anxious as he pushed Chris down onto the bed, lips and tongue on his collar. "I need you bad, Chris, I love you so much" he heard Jake pant, their eyes locking again. Chris hands came up to frame Jake's face, scratchy hair under his fingers as he closed his eyes and nodded, his mind too muddy to string together any words. Jake leaned down to kiss him and he felt a hand slide down his side, pulling down his boxer briefs and throwing them to the floor. Shuddering, Chris felt Jake's own cock, hard and hot, press against his own. He jerked when he felt Jake's finger at his hole, clutching onto Jake's neck as he felt it inside him. Jakes eyes seemed to burn into Chris, he had to close his eyes and concentrate on the pressure and the stretch inside him. He felt Chris' lips on his own and he was thankful for the distraction, grateful when he felt Jake's tongue slide over his own. He tangled his fingers in Jake's thick hair, wincing when he felt another finger inch its way inside. His own cock was so hard it hurt, he could feel the warm pre-cum dripping onto his own stomach, and Jake's fingers working inside him right where it drove him crazy. Every minuscule movement and minor twist of his fingers sent waves of sensation through Chris, everywhere from his head down to the tips of his toes. He felt his back arch, his entire body just reveling in the feelings washing over him. He heard himself murmuring Jake's name again and again, his body tingling as Jake's fingers inched in and out of him. Chris' jaw ached from gritting his teeth; he could feel the sweat fall from his temples and Jake nibbling at his earlobe. Chris was almost delirious; he didn't what was going to happen next, what Jake was trying to do to him. He just rode it out, feeling his cock swell as Jake's fingers working inside of him. His fingers clutched at Jake's shoulders as he felt himself tense, his throat dry as he tried to get as much air into his lungs as he could, shuddering when Jake's fingertips pressed into him again and again. "Let it go, just let it," Jake whispered. Chris shuddered at the sound of it, at how close Jake's lips were to his ear. He groaned, his head thrown from side to side, and it just shot through him, his hole clenching at Jake's fingers as he felt the searing heat fly onto his chest. Chris heard his voice again, raspy and low, "Jake, Jake, Jake," again and again and again; it just flew out as he came, his entire body shaking and shuddering. Jake pulled their lips together again, feeling Chris' body calm down again, his fingers still lodged deep inside. Jake scooted up onto the bed, pulling Chris' leg up onto his shoulder as his lips nibbled at Chris' neck. His cock was rigid and aching, Chris' eyes shut tight, fingers locked behind Jake's neck. Jake saw him relax, a deep breath escaping his lips right before a sharp intake of breath as Jake pushed his cock into Chris, steadily pressing every inch deep into Chris' tight hole. The cords on Chris' neck stood out as Jake bottomed out, his entire length sheathed. Chris breathing was erratic as Jake started thrusting, every inch of his thick cock feeling the tight squeeze of Chris' ass. Jake leaned forward, pushing deep and hard, his strokes firm and long. His eyes were shut, feeling Chris' warm body underneath his own, writhing and twisting with every movement he made. Jake sped up his movements, seeing Chris tense again under him. His body drove him in and out, his mind exploding with sensation and feeling. He felt Chris' lips at his neck, pants and groans escaping both their lips Jake thrust forward and pulled out. Chris' hands ran down his chest, desperately looking for anything to hold on to. His hard cock rubbed against Jake's stomach, his face tight and tense. Jake could hear Chris almost whimpering underneath him, his whole body tight and rigid. Jake was lost in the sensation, slick skin sliding on his own, Chris kissing his neck, hands on his shoulders, and the hot tightness surrounding his cock. He panted and thrust harder, feeling Chris' shiver. Sinking in again and again, Jake threw his head back, his entire body awash with the sensations in his dick. Chris didn't know how he did it, but Jake managed to muster up the last of his strength, his thrusts getting even harder and faster, Chris groaning as he bit his lower lip. He felt Jake lean down, their chests pressing together as they kissed and Jake's thrusts became erratic. Chris felt Jake shudder and heard him groan, his body frozen in a stiff thrust, his cock buried deep inside as it shot stream after stream of cum. Chris shivered too, his cock shooting between their chests. His groans were muffled and weak, his entire body too strained for much else. They were both panting hard, the room suddenly too hot and too small, the air heavy. Jake kissed Chris as he felt them both relax; Chris eyes finally opening, lazy and heavy-lidded. He felt Jake's scratchy stubble against his cheek as they slowly settled into each other again, Jake pulling their bodies tight against each other and nuzzling into Chris hair. Sighing, Chris closed his eyes, resting his arm on top of Jake's. *** "What are you doing out here?" Jake asked, throwing a jacket across Chris' shoulders. The rain had soaked through his t-shirt and his hair was matted to his head. Chris was sitting on the steps of back porch, his face turned towards the sky, the gentle drops of rain still falling. "Thinking," Chris said. He looked out at the water, still dark and churning. He felt Jake's fingers pushing his hair back and off his forehead. "Come back inside, come on," Jake said, motioning towards the house. "I'll be right in there," Chris said, motionless, "I just have a lot on my mind." "Come inside and you can tell me about it," Jake said, "you have to get out of the rain." Chris didn't move though, still sitting there, rain falling down all over him. "I need to feel this for a little," Chris said, his head turned upward again. He sighed and Jake could see a cloud of condensation form in the air. Chris wasn't moving and neither was Jake. He stood there, watching as Chris seemed to soak it all in, "I have an idea for a book," he said. "That story you wrote for me about the ocean, I loved it," Jake said, sitting down next to Chris. He pulled Chris' body to his, it was colder than he'd ever felt it before, "You're freezing." "It's actually almost done," Chris said, "I wrote a lot of it while I was in Japan. I just don't know what to do with it." Jake pulled Chris up onto his feet, "You're not going to find the answer out here," he said, "let's get you inside." Chris let Jake pull him inside, suddenly realizing how cold it was. His teeth were chattering and his entire body shook, but Jake was right--he didn't get an answer for anything. Jake pulled him into the bathroom and turned on the shower, hot water pouring from the faucet and steam filling the room. Chris felt the water pour over him and then Jake's arms wrap around him, rocking him slowly as the chills seemed to melt from his body. "What were you thinking out there?" "The rain and stuff," Chris said, running his hands over his face, "I just didn't realize how much stuff I've got going at once." "Think in bed with me next time, it's warmer," Jake said, hands running up and down Chris' arms. Chris turned around and rested his head on Jake's shoulder, the water spilling down his own back, "I don't have a publisher. It's ridiculous. I don't have a publisher? I have ideas, I have a new book practically done, and I don't have anyone to send it to." "Shh, come on," Jake whispered. Chris could barely hear him over the sound of the water around them, "they're begging to hear more from you." Jake felt Chris relax, his body warm again. Chris ran his hands down Jake's chest, sighing. Whether it was true or not, it felt good to hear it. Jake leaned down for a kiss, Chris forgetting about books and rain as soon as the familiar feeling brushed against his lips, Jake's facial hair soft from the shower. The steam swirled around both of them, Chris' mind incapable of anything but how it seemed that right when he needed it, Jake was there for him, rain or shine. *** "I was thinking it could be like two books in one. You read one story and then you flip it over and there's another one. They do it with magazines," Chris said, watching Jake grind pepper into a pot. Chris could smell bread burning in the oven but he didn't say anything. "Sounds cool," Jake said, "do you have a title yet?" "Sort of, I don't know if it gets one or two. Maybe a slash in the middle?" "Can you grab the bread? It might be done," Jake said. Chris put on an oven mitt pulled it out of the oven as the overwhelming smell of garlic permeated the entire kitchen. Chris set the tray down on the stove and returned to his chair, journal open in his hand. Chris saw Jake pour wine into the pot, a bright blue flame igniting over the clams he was stirring. Theatrics aside, Jake was a good cook. "The stories compliment one another. Maybe I shouldn't try to get too crazy with it this time." Jake took a sip of wine right out of the bottle and handed it to Chris. He set it down without drinking any. "It's cooler to have an upside down book," Jake said, "but don't ask me, I'd read it either way." "Why is that your opinion means more to me than anyone else's," Chris said, "and you don't have an opinion?" Jake leaned over the counter, kissing him softly on the lips. "Hungry yet?" Jake was surprised that this was happening again so fast. Writers wrote and published like bankers worked at the bank and lawyers practiced, but Chris seemed to be amazingly prolific, writing nonstop, constantly sending things in to get published in the New Yorker and McSweeney's as well as getting his own books out there. Fans liked it, but Jake doubted they knew what sort of emotional and physical marathon writing was for Chris. He made it look easy, but Jake knew how hard it was, how taxing the entire process ended up being. The same thing could be said about his movies, though. He loved it but it was hard work. "What are you working on now if you've got a book in the pipes?" Jake asked, motioning towards the journal on the counter. "Nothing special or something really special, I don't know which one it is yet." "Can I take a look maybe?" Chris twirled his linguini around his fork, shaking his head, "I'll read it to you." He got out of his chair and picked the little black book up off of the counter, flipping the pages around. "I wrote it between the shower and the garlic bread, so I'm not promising anything spectacular." "Come on, come on," Jake said, sitting back in his chair. "Ok, hold on," Chris said, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He was smiling and Jake couldn't help but smile too. Suddenly they both heard a knock at the front door, their heads snapping to the entryway. The only people who knew where they lived were Topher and Maggie, but both of them knew that the door wasn't ever locked. Chris set his journal down, "I'll go get it, I'm up." Chris opened the door, the low roar of the raindrops filling his ears as it swung open. The cold air rushed in against him, goose bumps popping up on his arms. "Whoa, what's wrong?" "Smells good in there," Topher said, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. Chris saw his bloodshot eyes, his messy hair, his clothes wet from the rain. "Am I interrupting something?" Chris shook his head, grabbing Topher's arm. "Get your ass in here. Jake made dinner." A soft smile came to Topher's face. "Hey buddy," Jake said, getting up before realizing that Topher might not be in the mood for hugs and hearty slaps. "You want a glass of wine?" "No, no. It's just been a trip. I thought I found someone but I think I fucked it up." Chris pushed a plate of the clam linguine onto the table and Topher sat down with the two of them, Chris shooting worried glances in Jake's direction. "I don't see you for two weeks and you're in and out of a relationship already?" Jake asked. "Not everyone's as adaptable as the two of you," Topher said, "I think that I may have been pushing too fast but then I realize it's him that's pushing me." Jake sat back in his chair, looking over at Chris. They were friends--really good friends--but Jake always felt like he had enough going on with himself. He didn't have any advice, he had enough to deal with. He wasn't sure he'd just averted a crisis with Chris, but he knew that their relationship was anything but perfect. "I don't know. I guess I'm just out of practice." Jake remembered, his head flashing back months ago, he actually knew exactly what was happening. He'd sort been pushing and pushed away, too. "This is really good. Jake, this is awesome." Snapping out of his daydream, he realized Topher was talking about the food, not the confusion. "The thing is, everyone's different. I just lucked out," Jake said, looking over at Chris, who was idly twirling his linguine and soaking up Topher's words. "Chris, I just want someone like you," Topher said, "and instead I end up losing sleep and wondering what I'm doing wrong." "You're not doing anything wrong," Jake said, "just ride it out." "How long have you guys been seeing each other?" Chris asked, finishing up his clams. Jake poured another round of wine for the three of them. "A few weeks," Topher said. Chris leaned back in his chair, wishing they were on the couch so he could lean on Jake. Wine made him sleepy, so he normally didn't ever drink it. "Is that couch available for tonight?" "It's there whenever you need it," Chris said. As soon as Topher heard that, he downed his wine in one gulp. "You two are amazing," Topher said, "look at you eating dinner in your house and stuff. That's all I want." *** "Thanks for letting me stay," Topher said, leaning against the wall of the hallway. Chris pulled out his favorite cashmere throw blanket and handed it to Topher. "Sorry the guestroom is a mess, we don't usually have people over." "It's okay," Topher said, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm just such a mess. You guys are great." Chris walked out to the living room again, Topher stumbling behind him. He'd had a little too much wine. Tossing a big pillow onto the sofa, he felt Topher behind him. He felt a chill go down his back when Topher leaned against him. Chris turned around, ducking under Topher's arms as he straightened up the couch cushions. He watched Topher pull his shirt off, long lean muscle under tan skin coming into view. He and Topher had similar builds, but Chris had never seen him like that before. Topher got up and wrapped his arms around Chris and he froze at the touch, "Topher, come on. I love you, I really do." Everything Jake said about competition and fighting for roles flashed through Chris' head, Topher meant a lot to him, they were friends and had worked together, Topher was Chris' first friend in the business. "But it's not like that." He pulled Topher's arms off of him, grateful to hear the water running in the bathroom telling him Jake was in there and not out here to see this. "We're more than just friends, Topher, but it's not like that." Chris could see the disappointment in his eyes as he slumped down onto the couch. He wasn't sure if it was just him or if it was just everything getting to Topher all at once, but it broke his heart. Chris leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead before turning off the lamp, leaving Topher in the darkness of the living room. "Hey," Chris said, resting his head on Jake's shoulder. His hand ran over Jake's stomach, smoothing the soft hairs under his fingers, "Everything's okay with him, right?" "Nobody's ever died from a broken heart," Jake said, pulling Chris into a hug. Jake kissed his neck, his scratchy beard tickling Chris' skin. A chill went up Chris' spine again, but this time he leaned into Jake, kissing his lips, the subtle mint taste of toothpaste lingering on his tongue. "I love you so much," Chris whispered, his hand running down Jake's chest. "I never get tired of hearing you say that," Jake said, his lips barely touching Chris'. Chris felt Jake's hands on his back, pressing their bodies together, "And I don't get tired of this either," he said, kissing Chris again. This is what he'd always wanted, just someone he could kiss whenever he wanted, someone who didn't care that he was in his underwear and his t-shirt had toothpaste on it. Jake closed his eyes and felt Chris' lips on his own, hands wrapped around his neck, glad he could run his hands down Chris' back anytime he wanted, could feel the warm skin against his own anytime. Chris' lips were on his neck and his eyes shut, his entire body tingling. Smiling, Jake couldn't ask for anything else. --- Feedback? christopherrluu@gmail.com