Date: Tue, 31 Jul 2007 00:03:50 -0700 From: christopher. Subject: breaking through part 38 Usual disclaimers apply, this is all fiction. No implications are made about the celebrities mentioned. This is intended for adults, so if you're not allowed to read this, don't do it. Author's Note: head on over to the Gyllenhaal Chronicles site for the latest on this story and the other Jake stories on Nifty. It's a great place and I'm really grateful for all the people I've met there. Sign up at http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew. A special thanks goes to everyone who's written to me from the very beginning and to those just starting. I know that the story's taken a lot of twists and turns, good and bad, but thank you so so much for sticking with me through it all. As always, e-mail can be sent to christopherrluu@gmail.com or on MSN messenger with that same e-mail address. I'm on all the time, don't be afraid to drop me a quick message. Part XXXVIII "Hi," Chris said, buttoning up his shirt, stopping midway when he saw who was at the door. He leaned against the doorframe, pushing the door open with his bare foot. "This package is for a...um, Christopher Lewis, it says." "That's me," Chris said, "who is it from? We've been getting a lot of packages lately." "I'll have to see some ID, sir," Jake said, expression still serious. He balanced the box on one arm and dug around in his pockets, eyes glancing around the porch, "nice house you've got." Chris reached in his own pockets and pulled his wallet out, sliding his new ID right out to show him. Jake's blue eyes glanced from the card to Chris face, his forehead suddenly furrowing, "Sorry, name doesn't match." "I just got married," Chris said, trying to stay serious, "my husband is going to be back pretty soon, actually. I'm expecting him any minute now." Jake grinned, loved that Chris was really playing along, "Well, this package is COD, cash on delivery, and it's really heavy. Mind if I put it down while I get the form out?" "I don't have any money," Chris said, feigning surprise, "does that mean you have to carry that back to your truck?" "I can't leave it here if you don't pay," Jake said, rolling his eyes, "you know, this happens all the time. We have a warehouse full of shit for people like you. Deadbeats, that's what you are." Chris was pretty sure that's not how it worked, but he kept playing. "Well, let me see what I can do. I might have some cash around somewhere," Chris said, "have a seat." "Thanks," Jake said as he glanced around, "you don't have any furniture though." "Sit on that air mattress," Chris said, "I'll get you something to drink or something...something. Anything." "No, thanks," Jake said, "I've really got to get going. So either you can pay or you can't." "Hold on," Chris said, "it's probably something for the house. Jake...I mean my husband, he'll be really pissed if we don't get it today. Maybe we can work something out." Chris offered Jake his hand and pulled towards the inflatable mattress, "It might be the only furniture we have, but it does its job." "You hear about this in the break room," Jake said, his hands running down Chris' sides, "but I never got to experience something like this firsthand." Chris' fingers ran over Jake's chest, the rough brown fabric coarse and stiff under his touch. Jake groaned when Chris' lips met his neck and their bodies pressed together, "Seems like you have, though." Jakes voice was soft, his hands reaching up under Chris' t-shirt to glide up his back. Chris only nodded, letting Jake pull his t-shirt up over his head. He undid the buttons of Jake's shirt, breath catching a little as Jake's chest came into view, his mouth immediately sucking and nipping at Jake's collarbone, fingers seduced by the soft hair on Jake's chest over hard muscle. Jake groaned, deep in his throat, as Chris' fingertips circled his nipple and he dropped to his knees. "That's where you belong," Jake growled. He slowly undid his belt and his rough brown shorts dropped to the floor. Chris waited, his breaths speeding up as Jake reached for the waistband of his boxer-briefs. Nuzzling his nose into Jake's abs, Chris' hand wrapped around his cock, tongue dipping into Jake's bellybutton, "Right there," Jake groaned as Chris' thumb raked over the head of his cock. Chris glanced up to see Jake's eyes flutter shut, his chest still framed by the brown uniform. One long lick up Jake's cock and Chris heard a groan fill the empty house as he took Jake into his mouth. He felt Jake's fingers tangle in his hair as he pushed in past Chris' lips, the head of his cock opening Chris' throat. Grunting, he held steady and gripped Chris' hair tight before pulling out. One glance down to meet Chris' eyes and he shoved back in, the slick warmth surrounding his cock. Jake thrust slow and deep, watching his cock stretch Chris' lips open. Chris' hand ran up Jake's leg before gently pulling on his balls, another loud grunt filling the room. Jake stopped his thrusting and let Chris pull off, stroking Jake quickly as he flicked his tongue across the slit, taking long wet licks up the length. Opening his throat again, Chris took Jake's cock in deep, his own groan sending a shake up Jake's spine. "Fuck, Chris," he groaned, pulling Chris' head back, "I can't...let me...fuck, I have to get in you." Pulling off, face flushed, Chris fell back onto the mattress, "Come on," he said, voice shaky as he tried to catch his breath. "You're too much," Jake panted, falling onto Chris' body. Their lips crashed together and Chris' fingers slipped under the shirt to grip Jake's shoulders, Jake's fingers reaching down between Chris' legs. "Always ready for me, aren't you?" Jake asked, smearing lube across his fingers. He tossed the tube over his shoulder and Chris arched back onto his shoulders, leg hooking around Jake's waist almost instinctively. "Come on," Chris said again, "don't slow down." Jake grinned and nipped at Chris' neck, teeth grazing skin as he slid two fingers right in. He felt Chris tense, his breath catching, but as Jake crooked his finger and slid them in and out, the familiar groans and whimpers filled the empty house. "Right there," Jake whispered, his voice muffled by Chris' neck, "I know right where you like it." "Don't stop," Chris groaned, pulling at Jake's stiff shirt. He arched a little higher and Jake slid in one more finger, the familiar burn spreading through his body as Jake stretched him open. His cock was so hard that it almost hurt, clear drops of pre-cum falling onto his stomach, smearing between their bodies as Jake's tongue slid into Chris' mouth. Muffling his grunts, Jake spread Chris' legs a little wider, his thumb sliding along Chris' perineum, stopping to tease his balls for just a few seconds to make Chris writhe under him. "How much can you take?" Jake asked softly, his forehead pressed to Chris'. His pinky stroked up and down Chris' crack and he could feel Chris shiver, his eyes shut tight and his mouth open just a little, breaths heavy and labored. Chris gripped the collar of Jake's uniform tight and let out a long breath, nodding quickly. He threw his head back when he felt it slide in, Jake's fingers clustered together inside him, thumb running long strokes on his perineum, his cock harder than he could ever remember. Jake's free hand slid down and started stroking him, distracting from the burn and the stretch. He slid his fingers in and out, slowly turning them around and watching every movement play out on Chris' face, every minute move of his hands sending ripples through Chris' body. He stroked faster and Chris was breathing hard, mind reeling as his knuckles whitened, jaw tight as a slick sheen of sweat broke out on his skin. Jake barely heard his name on Chris' lips before he felt the cum shoot out between them and Chris' chute squeeze his fingers tight. Eyes wide, Jake watched it all, a groan falling from his own mouth just watching it play out. "Shit," Chris groaned, wiping the sweat from his brow; his eyes locked with Jake's and he tried to slow his breathing down. "Are you just going to watch or are you going to finish the job?" he asked, breathless. "Spread them wide," Jake groaned, sweat soaking the fabric of his shirt. Chris scooted up a tiny bit as Jake slid down, lining his hard cock up against Chris' hole. "So fucking hot," Jake grunted as he slid in, his balls resting against Chris' ass in one smooth motion. He threw his head back, hair dark and sweaty as he let out a silent groan, his fingers digging into Chris' legs. Tight and warm, slick and hot, he couldn't hold anything back as he slammed in and out, Chris' groans and whimpers only encouraging him to go faster and deeper. Hard and quick, their bodies moved together, Chris gripped Jake's arms as the room seemed to shrink, the air getting heavy and thick. "Get it off," Chris said, practically yelling as he pulled at Jake's shirt. Jake groaned and struggled to get it off, planting his cock deep in Chris' chute. It was heavy with sweat and landed with a wet smack against the hardwood floor, but neither of them noticed, Chris' hands immediately sliding across Jake's slick skin, coming to grip his shoulders for just a second while Jake rammed in and out. His scratchy jaw rasped against Chris' neck as he nipped at Chris' skin and Chris was sure he'd have marks all over him from the rough sex, but all he wanted was to cum again, his cock even harder than it was before, pre-cum flowing freely, punctuated by spurts with every single one of Jake's thrusts. "Turn over," Jake grunted, pulling out abruptly. He grabbed Chris' hips and slammed back in, craving the clutching tightness again. Skin slapped skin and Chris could feel himself rushing towards another orgasm, but he steadied himself, squeezing his hole tight as Jake shoved in and out. Jake leaned down to grip Chris' shoulder and pulled him in hard with every push of his hips. Jake grunted and pushed in all the way, "So fucking good," he said, "so fucking good." Falling onto his elbows, Chris struggled to turn over when Jake grabbed him again, pulling their lips together as he pulled Chris down onto him. It was fast and dirty, he knew it, not letting either of their bodies fall into a pattern, not letting them settle into any sort of lull. He wanted to drown in the sensation. Chris slid up and down effortlessly, finally feeling the sensation overtake him. He froze and Jake held him tight, "Shit," he groaned, feeling Chris' hole get even tighter. His neck was tense and he tried to fight the need to cum, but like Chris had lost his battle, Jake felt his body betray his head and he let out a long groan as he shot, cum shooting deep into Chris' body. "Jesus," Chris groaned, feeling the warmth in his hole, "God, Jake." He knew he was mumbling, rambling almost, but his head was spinning and his whole body tingled as he leaned down to kiss Jake one more time. He smoothed Jake's hair back and watched his chest rise and fall, Jake slowly blinking as his eyes came back into focus. "I'm afraid that doesn't cover shipping costs, sir," Jake said, breath dry, "we might have to try that again." Chris rolled his eyes and settled into Jake's body, "Shut up. Game's over." Jake wrapped his arms around Chris' body and held him tight. Rocking him slowly, Jake pulled Chris into the crook of his neck and their legs went into the familiar tangled knot. Chris ran lazy patterns across his chest and Jake grabbed his hand, fingers gripping Chris', "Love you." "I know," Chris whispered as his eyes shut slowly, "and I won't forget. Ever." *** "So cliche, Mr. Lewis," Jonas said, putting his magazine down on the table as he shook his head slowly, a wide grin on his face. "Hyphen Gyllenhaal," Chris corrected him, smiling, "what's so cliche about it? I didn't realize I could be cliche in one of those rags." "You're walking with your phone against your ear," Jonas said, accent lifting the corners of Chris' mouth, "with your groceries. Wearing sunglasses. Aloof. Chic. It's almost like you were ready for them." "What's so bad about that?" Chris asked, taking a long sip of his coffee. He never read those magazines, but there it was on their little table and Jonas couldn't help himself. He'd been in it more and more since they'd been in LA, much to Celeste's chagrin. Chris, on the other hand, hated that people were starting to forget he wrote books. He didn't want to be famous, but more than that, he didn't want to be famous just for being famous. He needed people to know he did things other than hang out with Jake Gyllenhaal. "You've got a baguette and flowers," Jonas said, a single eyebrow raised, "it's like a postcard." "'Wish you were here getting photographed while you're out getting groceries?'" Chris asked, "I'll send you one of those postcards when you head home." "Smartass," Jonas said, leaning back, "tell me." "Tell you what?" Chris asked, sitting up straight. "How is it knowing he's always, without fail, going to be there...and that no matter what, you've got someone that loves you?" He was leaning in, voice soft and eyes earnest. Chris's mouth slipped into a goofy grin, his face blushing as he ran his fingertips over the rim of his mug, "It feels really good," Chris said, "unbelievable." "I never thought I'd say it, never in my life," Jonas said, "you're the only two blokes I know that make me want to settle down. Seems like a good life, what you've got." Sighing, Chris didn't respond, just let the words work their way into his brain. It was good, there was no doubt. "Let's get going," Chris said, "I'd invite you over, but the air mattress isn't big enough to entertain company." "Is that all you've got in there?" Jonas asked, straightening himself up, "you've been in there for a week." "Well, we've got a vase for those flowers I bought," Chris said, "and as soon as we get some furniture, you're more than welcome to see them and the house." "I'm looking forward to it." "Do me a favor," Chris said, slipping his sunglasses on. "Anything." "Stop reading that trash. I've got a story coming out in the New Yorker next week. Read it. It ha subastance." "Is that how you earn your readership, Christopher? Personal adverts?" "Just educating the unwashed masses," Chris said, throwing his arm around Jonas' shoulder, "I got paid already, it doesn't matter if nobody reads it." "Not so fast," Jonas said, grabbing Chris' shoulder, "you remember this: you've got something we all want. Don't forget that what you've got is something good." Chris froze, eyes focused on Jonas' soft features and his serious expression. His hands slid into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slumping, "I won't. Not now and not ever." "Good," Jonas said, finally smiling again, "now let's get you home." *** "We've got to get this done," Chris said, leaning against the wall, "we have company coming." "We finished the most important part," Topher said, motioning out to the deck. It was the only room of the house that was done, if it could even be called a room, with a barbeque, lounge chairs, and an actual outdoor dining table. Chris had a feeling Topher was more impressed by the cooler full of beers than the actual furniture, but he was glad he and Jake had some extra hands helping them. "Does that mean we need a break?" Chris asked, head snapping to the side as he heard Jake and Jonas struggle to carry in a heavy wooden dining room table. "We should have gotten that cheap shit," Jake said, voice strained, "it would have been lighter." "It looks great," Chris said, admiring the clean lines of the table. It didn't look heavy at all, but he guessed that it was solidly built, hoped it was, at least. "We'll go get the chairs," he said, nudging Topher, "come on." "I know I always say this," Topher said, "but you can hire people for this." Jake pulled his shirt off, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow before he tossed it to the floor, muscles firm and cut under his skin, the bright sunlight shining through the windows casting a gold glow on him and Jonas as they surveyed the table, "We can do things ourselves," Chris said, eyes focused on Jake's chest and arms, "it's off," Chris said, "move it to the right." Topher swore he heard a choked groan come from Chris' throat as Jake's muscles moved again, everything in stark relief as he and Jonas moved the table. "That's just great," Topher said, rolling his eyes as he pushed up the sleeve on his t-shirt, "if you're into that...you know...hot guy thing. Come on." "Yeah," Chris said, letting Topher pull him out the front door, reluctant to tear his eyes off of Jake. "Six?" Topher asked, "there are only two of you." Chris pulled one out of the truck, feeling the heft of it. He could only imagine how heavy the table was, "Just get them inside," Chris said, "we've got more stuff to get." Setting the chair down, Chris slid it under the table, Jake's sweaty arms wrapping around him from behind, "Looks great, doesn't it?" "It's starting to look like someone lives here," Chris said, leaning back against Jake's body, "I don't know why we didn't start with the bedroom." "Who needs a bedroom if we've got this?" Jake asked, pushing Chris down so that he was flat on the table, arms out above his head, ass at the edge of the table, a grin on his face, "Right?" "Think it'll hold?" Chris asked, turning over and pulling Jake down, their lips coming together as Chris' fingers tangled in his hair, his eyes shutting as Jake let his weight settle on Chris, his scratchy stubble rubbing against Chris' skin. "We have time to find out, don't we?" Jake asked, pressing his body harder against Chris', "as soon as we get these jokers out of here." Chris moaned softly, his legs wrapping around Jake's waist, "Do we just join in?" Chris heard, Jonas' distinct Irish accent cutting the silence, "I get the mouth." Topher smacked Jonas' arm, blushing as he shook his head, "Guys, there's another room of stuff to bring in, isn't there?" "My desk goes in the room facing the beach," Chris said, eyes still locked on Jake's as he kissed him, legs falling limp, "it's really heavy. Danish. All the way from Denmark. Don't ding it, guys." "And the armchair goes in the other room," Jake said, "it's pretty heavy, too." "Then get your asses out there," Topher said, "there's no more beer in the fridge." "I'll get beer, you guys lift. How about that?" Chris asked, his eyes to the ceiling, Jake's lips on his neck. "Fat chance," Jonas said, eyes glued on Jake's tongue, his own sliding out to moisten his lips, "that shit looked big...and heavy." His voice trailed when he heard Chris let out a soft whimper, his fingers balling into fists. Chris pushed Jake off, grinning as he caught his breath, face flushed. "Keep going, you two...don't stop," Jonas encouraged, Topher rolling his eyes as he pulled Jonas along and headed back to the front of the house. "Do they do that often?" Jonas asked, eyes squinting in the bright sun, "I wanted to watch." "They do it," Topher said, "you'll get used to it." Jonas hoisted a chair off the truck and set it down, "They're so hot, those two. Fit and fuckin' all over each other all the time. It's like they're trying to drive us crazy." "They're just excited about getting this place. They're not always this bad." "I wish they were," Jonas said, glancing over his shoulder, "how long have you known them? Seems like there's more than just a little history." Topher sat down on a chair, sighing, "If our lives were a story, I'd be in around chapter two. But it's just that I thought maybe Chris and I would be something. It never would have worked." "Chapter three," Chris said, practically skipping down to them, "chapter one never counts. It's just there to get your attention." "Still quite a statement to make," Jonas said. "Maybe it would have worked," Chris said, smiling, "another time, another place." "Don't get my hopes up," Topher said, rolling his eyes, "let's just get this done." Chris leaned in, kissing his cheek softly, "Thanks for this. For everything. You mean more to me than you'll ever know, Topher." "But I'll never be Jake," Topher said, "right?" "I don't need two Jakes. I need you to be you," Chris said, gripping his shoulder, "who else would help me move in? Who else would pick me up from coffee shops when Jake's pissing me off? Who would..." "We all need friends," Topher said, interrupting, "and I'm glad we've got each other." "Let's get this done," Jonas said, "the sooner the better. I didn't sign up for this much manual labor." *** Jake panicked, his heart racing as he felt the first shakes, heard a few things fall to the floor, a few things shattering as he braced himself against the wall. His legs gave way, ground shaking even harder now as he fell to his knees, arms instinctively covering the back of his neck as he heard everything moving around, things banging together and falling over. "Chris!" he yelled, "Chris, are you okay?" The earthquake seemed to last forever, but Jake was sure it wasn't more than a few seconds. The lights flickered and went out, the only thing illuminating the room was the orangey gold sunlight from the setting sun. Jake scrambled to his feet, legs still shaky, and ran through the house, the dogs barking loudly both of them scampering to him. The house was a mess, but Jake jumped over the junk, his heart beating faster than he could ever remember, his whole body shaking as his eyes darted around. "Chris?" he yelled again, but the same silence was his only response. He ran outside and saw the studio, half of it gone, the rest of it teetering on the side of the bluff, "Christopher!" Jake ran over, thrown to the ground as an aftershock ripped through the ground, Chris suddenly bursting from the door of the studio, landing with a thud on the grass. Jake's body was awash with relief as he tried to crawl over to him, but Chris seemed so far away, the ground still trembling and Chris stumbling to his feet. "Jake?" he yelled, falling to the ground again, "are you okay?" "Are you?" Jake yelled, breaths heavy, "come on, let's get out of here." "Jake," Chris yelled, finally managing to get to his feet. He took a step and fell down one more time, slipping backwards as he struggled to find some footing. A tremor ripped through the ground one more time as Chris slipped back even further, his fingertips digging into the grass as Jake struggled to get to him, "I can't." Jake could hear the dogs barking, the overall chaos almost overwhelming, Chris slipping further and further away, closer and closer to the edge of the cliff and the ocean below. Hundreds of times they'd just sat and stared out at the crashing waves, but here it was, the one thing they both loved so much about to swallow them up. Jake willed himself up to his feet, steadying himself as best he could as he leapt for Chris, landing chest to the grass, his hand tangling in Chris', "I've got you," Jake said, feeling Chris' hand clamp around his. Both of them were filled with relief, the simple contact almost blocking out the madness around the both of them. "Come on, Chris. We've got to get out of here." "Jesus, Jake," Chris said, pulling himself closer to Jake, flinching as another tremor shook the ground under them. Jake stumbled and Chris' hand broke free from his, Chris yelling as he slid away, limbs flailing as he struggled for Jake again, for anything to keep him steady. Jake's eyes grew wide as another huge chunk of the bluff splashed in to the ocean behind Chris, his jaw clenching as he gathered his strength, lunging forward to grab Chris again, their fingers grazing slightly as Chris slipped back further, his yells deafened by the rumbling of the angry earth and the splashing of the waves. "Jake, I can't," he yelled, "I can't do it." "Chris," Jake screamed back, "don't stop, come on, get up here." He reached out as far as he could, but it wasn't fast or far enough. Chris was gone. Jake's eyes jolted open, the only thing keeping him from bolting straight out of bed was Chris' weight on his chest, a soft groan slipping from his throat at Jake's sudden movement. Looking down, Jake saw that he was still asleep, arms wrapped around Jake's chest. Sighing, Jake did his best to slip from Chris' embrace without disturbing him, sliding the blanket right back over his body as he looked at Chris' peaceful expression. He ran his hands over his face as he stepped over Atticus' sleeping body, walking through the quiet house, bumping into furniture he still wasn't used to having. "Shit," he said under his breath, rubbing his shin. He slid the back door open and was grateful for the cool ocean breeze against his face. He'd been having the dream off and on since they'd left Santa Barbara, but now it was even more intense, and this was the first time he'd lost his hold. It was so real and vivid that it shook him all the way to his core. He sat down on the worn wooden furniture, a quiet creak breaking through the sound of crashing waves. His heart was still beating too fast, his mind still racing. There weren't many things that stayed constant, the earthquake proved that even home wasn't something permanent, but the one thing he thought he could count on was Chris. He sighed one more time, leaning back into the lounge chair, the wooden slats digging into his bare back. They'd need cushions. "There you are," Chris said from the back door, he looked like he was asleep still, eyes practically closed, arms loose as he leaned against the frame of the sliding glass door, "don't move." "I..." Jake couldn't even finish his thought as Chris disappeared back into the house. His eyes stared out into the blackness of the water, moonlight glinting off of the waves. It was too perfect to be real. "Why are you out here?" Chris asked, a pillow and the throw from the couch in his arms. He slid the pillow, still warm from their bed, behind Jake's head and settled on the lounge chair, resting his head in the crook of Jake's neck, hand running up his chest to clutch at Jake's shoulder. He yawned and Jake could tell his eyes were already shutting, their bodies' curves and crevices settling together. Jake smoothed the blanket over the both of them, his hands running lazy patterns down Chris' back, "I have a secret," Chris whispered. Jake was silent, his heart finally slowing down and his body almost normal again. "I like it here," Chris said softly, "I really do." Frozen, Jake blinked quickly a few times as he held Chris a little closer, "I knew you would," he said, half believing himself. It was Chris' turn to be silent. The only sound Jake heard was his soft breathing. He ran his nose through Chris' messy hair one more time; the smell of shampoo and salty ocean air bringing him right back to the first time he did it in Santa Barbara. Things changed: the geography, the jobs, the friends, but there was one thing that never did. He'd always love Chris, everything about him, every single thing. *** "We woke up when the sun rose and it was early but I couldn't remember ever being happier," Chris said, smile dreamy as he looked out the window. Naomi looked over her computer at him; his mind was everywhere except on finishing up the end of the script. Shooting had already started, they were really getting close to finishing, but with Chris even more in love with her son than he already was, she was sure today wouldn't be the day they finally put the script to bed. Naomi shut her laptop and Chris snapped back on task, "Are we done?" "Did we get started? I must have missed it," she said, smiling, "let's just talk for a bit." Chris slowly shut off his laptop, "Sorry. I didn't think I could be happy this far from home." "Home is here," Naomi said, "it's where your family is. And we're glad you're here with us." *** "Jake, it's so good to hear from you." "Dr. Bailey, I know this isn't how it usually..." "How was the honeymoon? And Chris, is he doing well?" "Good, good. This is actually more about me than..." "I see you two in the magazines all the time now, moved into the city?" "Yeah, just a few weeks now," Jake said, sighing, "doctor, this is sort of important." "Hold on, Jake," he said. Jake heard something in the background, muffled voices. "Doctor, are you busy? I can call back." "No, no, never too busy for you and Christopher. Go ahead, Jake." "Where are you? It's loud." "Pebble Beach," Dr. Bailey said, Jake hear the smile in his voice. "Sorry, sorry. It's actually not that important," Jake said, "no big deal. I don't want to interrupt your golfing. I'll call back if something comes up." His words were rushed and jumbled as he leaned against the wall, peeking into the kitchen to see Chris flipping through a magazine, free hand idly stirring his coffee. "No, no," Dr. Bailey said, voice suddenly tinged with concern, "I'll call you right back." "Hey," Jake said, watching as Chris slowly turned his head, a lazy smile on his face, "I'm going down to the beach for a little. Throw the ball around with the boys to get them running around." "Sure," Chris said, "let me get a hoodie or something." "Stay here," Jake said, already sliding his phone into his pocket, "finish your magazine. You can't read with them jumping all over you like they always do." "Sure?" Chris asked, leaning back in their new kitchen chairs, "I can read it later." "No, you get that done and I'll...take care of this," Jake said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket, "See you soon." Chris watched as the dogs followed Jake out onto the sand, both of their tails wagging as they leapt across the cool sand, their bodies sleek and quick as Jake threw an orange tennis ball further and further away. Turning back to his magazine, he wondered how many people were out there reading his story. Celeste hadn't called and he didn't know whether to take it as a good or bad sign. "Can you hear me?" Jake asked, the wind muffling his phone, "because it's been happening more now. He's either falling into the water or he's getting hit by a bus when we're out riding or he's OD'ing on something," he sighed, "but then I wake up and he's right there. He's sleeping and I'm freaking out." "Any changes in anything else? You're still eating, still working...sex life is normal?" "Everything's fine. I just can't sleep through the night," Jake said, tossing the ball with as much energy as he could muster with one arm holding his phone up, "we moved in and he seems happier than I thought he'd be. He's working and I'm working and we're eating and everything's normal." "I'm not concerned with the 'we,'" Dr. Bailey said, "though I'm happy to hear all that. I'm more concerned with 'you.'" "Me?" Jake asked, frozen. The ocean air was whipping around him and his eyes fixed on the gray surf, "I'm fine." "You're fine," Dr. Bailey said, "except for the nightmares. That's not fine." "What do I do?" Jake asked, turning to the house. He couldn't see Chris, but knew that the answer was up there, not inside him. "If it keeps happening, call me again. I have a feeling things are going to settle down. You've been going through some big changes. Let things happen. You don't have to be a hero, Jake. You've done enough." Jake didn't say anything, "Thanks, doc," he said, "I'll call you back either way." "It'll take time," Jake heard, the dogs finally tiring, their trots lazier and their eyes losing their bright eagerness, "don't be afraid to talk to him about it though, that's important. Let him in." The words rang in Jake's ears and he nodded slowly. Chris let him in, it was only fair that he do the same thing. His phone went silent and he grabbed the ball from Atticus' mouth, Boo eyeing it intently, "Guys up for a walk?" Jake asked, half-expecting a answer, "I've got some thinking to do." *** "No more for you," Jake said, pulling a beer out of Jonas' hand, "good thing you've got clothes here, buddy. You're not leaving tonight." Jonas let out a string of slurs, Jake only understanding every other word at best, but a "congratulations" was in there for sure, and then after that, a "can I watch," almost made Jake blush if he hadn't gotten used to Jonas' joking all the time. "How about we get some water in you?" Jake said, hefting Jonas onto one of the newly padded worn wooden lounges on the back deck. Jonas gave him a crooked salute and sat back, his eyes rolling back into his head. Most of the guests had already gone home, but there weren't that many to begin with. Chris and Jake had both wanted the housewarming party to be low-key and for once, a Hollywood party was just a few people, a few drinks--for a few people, a few too many--and best of all, the housewarming party meant that their house was now a home, complete with potted plants and pictures on the walls. They had food in the fridge and dog hair all over their new couch. It really was home. "Jonas," Jake said, tossing him a bottle of water, smiling slightly at the grunt Jonas made when it hit him in the chest. "Chris..." Jonas started, voice suddenly a little clearer, "he doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke...what does that boy do for fun, Jake? You've got him on a tight leash, you do." "He's not on a leash," Jake said, looking closely at Jonas in the moonlight, "he used to drink and he used to smoke. He just doesn't anymore. I've got nothing to do with it." "Used to," he said, "interesting." "Let's get you inside. Everyone's gone, Jonas." "You've got great friends. Really friendly," he slurred again, stumbling a little as he got to his feet. Jake rolled his eyes and ran his hands over his face, reluctantly throwing Jonas' arm over his shoulders. "Jonas, you've got to learn how much you can take. This is starting to happen too often," he said, grunting as he steadied the two of them. He was alone here, Chris dropping Topher, who wasn't as drunk, but still too drunk to drive, at his house a few minutes away. He rolled his eyes one more time, wishing Chris was here to help, if only for the moral support. "Jake, you're fucking hot, you know?" Jonas said, bursting into a weak fit of laughter. "Alright, leprechaun, enough of that," Jake said straining at the first few steps towards the house. "No, you are. Chris is just as...," he paused, "he's...yeah. You two are smoking hot." "I'm throwing you in bed and if you're lucky, both of us will forget this conversation," Jake said, stumbling a little as they got into the house. Jonas slipped from his grip a little and Jake grabbed him reflexively, Jonas' lips leaning up and crashing into his. Jake panicked, his body frozen for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn't even remember what kissing someone that wasn't Chris was like. But Jonas' tongue was snaking into his mouth and his hands were clumsily sliding over Jake's shoulders. Blinking quickly, Jake dropped Jonas with a thud, both of their eyes wide, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jake asked, exasperated, his body shaking. "What?" Jonas asked, "you're a damn good kisser. Fucking great." "God damn, Jonas. You can't just go kissing me. Chris and me...we're your friends," Jake said, "never letting you drink at our place again. Jesus." "Just a kiss," Jonas said, "no harm in that." "Not to someone that's married," Jake said, throwing his arms up, "Jesus fucking Christ, Jonas. I don't even know." "I..." he started, slumping down onto the floor, his body splayed out as his eyes glossed over. "Go to bed," Jake interrupted, slamming the sliding glass door shut. He stormed through the house, grabbing his phone as he leaned against the bedroom wall, the sheets on their bed pristine, Chris' handiwork evident Jake threw himself onto it, the subtle scent of lavender wafting up into the air. "I'm almost home," Chris said, voice a little tired, "you can go to bed first, I'll be right there." "I'll wait," Jake said, definitely tired, "I have to see you." "I've only been gone fifteen minutes," Chris said, a chuckle lifting his voice, "Topher's in the shower. Said he'd pick up his things tomorrow." "What things?" Jake asked, feeling strange that he was engaging in a normal conversation after what had just happened. "A platter or pitcher or something and his jacket," Chris said, "you know how much he loves that beat up leather jacket." "Yeah," Jake said, voice trailing. "Is Jonas still there?" Chris asked, "or did you get him a cab?" "He's here," Jake said, "listen, we have to talk when you get back." "I'm back," Chris said as Jake heard the front door open, "what's Jonas doing sleeping on the floor?" Jake opened the door and came out to the living room to survey the scene. Jonas was sprawled out on the floor, Boo cuddled up next to him as they both slept, oblivious to the world. "He kissed me." "And the force of it made him pass out?" Chris asked, still confused. "He just sort of did it. I didn't ask for it or anything." "Shouldn't we get him into bed?" "Chris, you're not listening." "He was drunk," Chris said, "who hasn't he kissed?" He nudged Jonas softly with his foot, but Jonas just lay there. Chris leaned down to pick him up, but his weight was too much for him alone, "Come on." "Chris, he kissed me," Jake said, grabbing Chris' shoulders. "He's kissed me too," Chris said, "you were there." "It was a joke," Jake said, stumbling through his memory to make sure that it really was. He vaguely recalled the situation, but he gave Chris the benefit of the doubt. He, after all, was more than likely lucid and clear at the moment, "This was different." "He's always joking," Chris said, hefting Jonas up between he and Jake, "you know that." Jake let out a huff, his jaw tight, "Let's just get him into bed. I can't believe you're making such a big deal out of this." "I can't believe you're not," Jake said. They got Jonas into bed wordlessly, Chris wondering whether or not it was appropriate to pull Jonas' pants off, especially with Jake in such a mood. "Just do it," Jake said, voice low as he rolled his eyes. Shoes and jeans fell to the floor and Chris shut the door behind him, Jake already making his way to the bedroom. Chris followed the trail of clothes, kicking Jake's t-shirt against the wall, picking his hoodie up and tossing it into the corner of their bedroom. He saw Jake in the bathroom, short gray boxer-briefs tight around his ass. He smiled, licking his lips as he followed. "He's harmless," Chris said, wrapping his arms around Jake's waist, fingers sliding across warm skin. "Doesn't matter," Jake said, Chris pulling his own shirt off as Jake slipped out of his arms. "Come on," Chris said, "you can't be serious." "Let's just go to bed," Jake said, throwing the extra pillows to the floor, muscles flexing under his tan skin with every movement. Chris could feel the anger and confusion swirling around him. "No," Chris said, "you tell me what the big deal is. Did you want me to be mad and punch him or something? What did you expect?" "Not this," Jake said, shrugging, "I don't know what I thought would happen." "I trust you," Chris said, finally seeing Jake relax a little, "that's why I'm not mad. I'm not punching anyone." Jake crossed his arms over his chest. Chris grabbed his wrists and untangled them leaning forward to press their foreheads together, practically pleading with his eyes for Jake to just drop the entire thing. "Fine," Jake said, sitting down on the bed. He sighed, "Come here." Chris leaned in, kissing Jake softly. His eyes closed as he pulled Chris down on him. That was what he was used to and it brought a smile to his lips and a lift to his heart. "Same thing?" Chris asked, his fingers tangling in Jake's hair as they settled into the covers. Jake shook his head, "Nothing else like it." *** "One story for every picture or every spread?" Chris asked, biting his lower lip, "it's weird, right? Is it just me?" "They said spread. That's at least six pictures," Celeste said, flipping through the papers. Chris looked out the windows of the coffee shop, it was sunny and bright and the last thing he wanted to be doing was work. His idea of work was writing. These meetings about publicity and working out contracts were completely over his head. "They're sort of selling you as the Hollywood guy that's every guy. People relate to you. I don't know why, since you're a writer who lives in Malibu. I don't really see it." "For how long? One issue? Two?" "Six. At least. They're willing to extend it out. You write a story. They pay you. You wear the clothes. They pay you more. Not much, really...not much at all, but you're getting more for these stories than anything you've ever done before." "Are they looking for anything specific?" Chris asked, eyes focused over Celeste's shoulder. He drummed his fingertips against the small table, "Do I have to write about cool computers and trendy clothes?" "No," Celeste said quickly, "you have creative freedom. You have no rules. I made sure." "Let's do it," Chris said, "Jake's here...I think. Hold on." He grabbed his phone and his sunglasses and went outside, waving at Celeste to wait a minute. "Give me twenty minutes," Jake said, "maybe half an hour. Traffic's ridiculous." "I'm...you...okay," Chris said, sighing, "I just...when does shooting start getting more regular? It's been so on and off I don't know when you're...anything. Do you know yet?" "Next week," Jake said, "hold on. I'll be right there. Hold tight." "I love you," Chris said quickly. "Love you, too," Jake said, his voice finally calming, "I'll come get you. Don't worry." Chris walked back inside and chugged the rest of his coffee, "Okay. This whole thing sounds good, but what's the catch? Are they making me into the fashion 'don't?' I don't want to be a don't. Maggie won't let me live it down." "Not at all," Celeste said, "they said you'd be in cool stuff. You're the real guy next door. You'll probably be wearing jeans and sweaters and stuff. Normal stuff." "Alright. It's a go," Chris said, "me and GQ. Part two. Illustrated. Christopher Lewis takes on hip people that are better dressed than he is. With pictures." "You've had too much coffee," Celeste said, "I remember when you'd talk in complete sentences and make sense. Am I that boring?" "Go to the beach, Celeste. Take the rest of the day off. Look at it out there." Celeste turned around and couldn't help but smile, "You have ADD, I swear. Go. I'll make the calls." "I'm sure he's just around the corner. I should get him some coffee or something," Chris said, already getting up out of his chair, "did you want another one?" "I'm fine," Celeste said, already tidying up her papers, "one thing though, Chris. Now that you're in LA for good, you have to realize that you're going to be in the magazines more. I just need you to be ready for that." "There are a million people more famous than I am, Celeste. They don't care." "You're a package deal. When you're with Jake or Topher, they do care. Keep an eye out. I'm not telling you to change. Just realize that they're there." "They've always been there...and I've never cared." "Don't lie," Celeste said, "I've seen them break you down." "Okay," Chris said, "you won't see me in those rags. I'm GQ." A few seconds later, Jake was sipping his coffee, Chris' head in his lap as he flipped through the latest issue of GQ, trying his best to target his audience as the bright sunshine warmed their skin on the park bench. Chris tapped his feet against his flip-flops to a silent beat, Jake smiling as he watched Chris' eyes dart from page to page. "There's something to say about job security," Chris said, "I'm set for six issues." "Yeah," Jake agreed, "but don't...I don't want you writing stuff you're not proud of. You're better than that." Chris was silent for a second, "Way to kill the mood," he sighed. "It's not that," Jake said, "did you...mom sent something over this morning. You probably didn't see it." Chris scooted up, sitting straight against the back of the bench as Jake fished around in his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper folded into quarters. Opening it up, Chris saw that it was a photocopied newspaper article and upon closer inspection, he saw it was from the New York Times, more specifically, it was someone tearing apart his short story in the New Yorker. "I'll be right back," Chris said, pushing himself off the bench, "stay here." Pacing through the park, Chris didn't even know that short stories were reviewed. The things written about his story, that it was a step backwards, that it was like reiterating and watering down the things he'd already written, they hit him hard. He wasn't trying to be avant garde or hip, he just wrote a story. He thought it was good, but he couldn't help but think that he might have been the only person. Why didn't David Remnick, the New Yorker's editor, tell him it was juvenile and callow? He wondered if maybe this critic was just being hypercritical. He'd have to read the story again. He'd have to ask Naomi and even more than that, he had to make sure the GQ wouldn't pull out because of this little blip. "It wasn't bad at all," Chris heard Jake say, "it was great." "God," Chris sighed, "why? Why would they do that? It wasn't serious. It was for fun." "They don't get it," Jake said, "nobody gets you the way I do." Jake grabbed Chris' hand and turned him around so that they were facing each other. "They're just ruffling your feathers." "They've never done that before. What happened to not saying anything if it wasn't nice? What are they going to say about my other stories?" "Don't give them a reason to say bad things," Jake said, "not a single one." *** Chris watched the luggage creep by on the carousel, his eyes glazed over from the redeye and tried to remember how many times he'd done this exact same thing. No matter when he got on the plane, his luggage would inevitably be the last one out, his once pristine white luggage was now scuffed and scraped, worldly and traveled. It probably had a few stories of its own to tell. "Still waiting?" Jake asked, yawning as he stretched his arms over his head. The airport was practically empty, the odd person milling around, but even as Chris tried his best to stay awake, he was losing the fight. He rested his head on Jake's shoulder and closed his eyes, a long sigh falling from his lips. "I see it," Jake said, wheeling his luggage behind himself, "hold on, let me get it." Blinking quickly, Chris shaking himself as he yawned. "I change my mind. Let's just go home," Chris said as Jake walked back with both of their bags. He looked just as sleepy, the stubble on his chin only exaggerating his fatigue. "Come on, you can sleep in the car," Jake said, whipping his phone out. For once, Chris' people were going to take care of them. Where Jake usually got the perks and nicer accommodations, with the GQ stories coming out soon and the publicity already surrounding the movie, Chris' publisher not only gave him a nice bonus, but they were ecstatic to hear that Chris wanted to come out to New York to promote things even further. "I'm going to kick her ass," Chris said, yawning again, his hand coming up to wipe the tear away, "I don't care that she's a girl. She's got balls." Jake chuckled, watching as Chris sat on his suitcase, both of their eyes peeled for the car, "Maybe after you get some sleep," Jake said, his fingers running through Chris' hair, "this is going to be the craziest trip." "No," Chris said, voice almost pleading, "don't say that. You have fun. I'll do my shit and after, we can just chill out." The car pulled up and Chris threw his bag in before hopping into the back seat, Jake sliding in and pulling Chris' head down into his lap, his fingers stroked Chris' hair, his eyes closing slowly. "50th and Park, right?" Jake said quietly, Chris already asleep. "Yes, sir," the driver said, "Waldorf Towers. Will you and Mr. Lewis be needing my services, I'll be available all weekend." "Thanks," Jake said, settling into the car seat. The lights of the airport faded away and changed to the blurring lights of the city. Even this early in the morning--or late at night- -Jake couldn't decide which, the city seemed awake and aware. They'd been to New York so many times, but Jake knew this time wasn't just for fun or just for work; this was damage control. Chris picked at his breakfast, his mind still trying to figure out exactly what to do as Jake poured coffee. The cart was overflowing with food, but Chris didn't feel like eating a single bite. "What are you going to sign if you don't have anything new out?" Jake asked, his fingers tangling with Chris'. "What do I do with the paper? Do I just storm in there and ask to talk to whoever wrote it?" "You don't know who wrote it?" Jake asked, "you should ask for whoever." "I'll figure it out," Chris said, finally tearing a piece of toast apart, "when I'm there, I mean. If I try to plan something out, it'll just fall apart." "You sure you don't want me to go?" "It's my fight," he paused, "I'm such a baby. Just one bad review and I'm falling apart. I used to take these better." "This wasn't just a bad review. It was hurtful. There were line by line eviscerations." "Evisceration? Where'd you get that ten dollar word, Gyllenhaal?" "She actually used it in her review. You 'eviscerated' the short story form." "Fuck." It was going to be a long day. --- Feedback? christopherrluu@gmail.com