Date: Sun, 8 Jul 2018 16:32:37 -0700
From: christopher <breakingthroughstory@gmail.com>
Subject: Breaking Through 28

A very big thank you to all of the readers who have taken the time to send
kind messages for the story. I very much appreciate it. Please send any
feedback, complaints, and correspondence to breakingthroughstory@gmail.com.

The usual disclaimers apply. This is fiction.

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Chapter 28

Without Armie, Chris would never have gone to the Cayman Islands. He'd
never have gotten his name etched into the wall of a museum -- technically
on a piece of glass mounted on the wall -- either. But if he'd never met
him, he'd be able to go places without attracting attention. "You look
really, really sexy," Armie whispered in his ear. With a flaxen-haired
movie star on his arm, it was tough to go anywhere incognito.

"You've seen me in this before," Chris said, gripping Armie's hand in his
own. "But I'll take the compliment."

They'd gone to so many movie premieres that Chris was basically running on
autopilot. The car dropped them off, they got out together, buttoning their
suit jackets in an easy, practiced motion, and walked down the red carpet,
right through the scrum of photographers and reporters. Most of the time,
they held hands. No pictures separately, thank you very much, but Chris
would step aside if Armie needed to get in a shot with the cast. Armani?
Yes. Armie's go-to guy. Chris? The same Alexander McQueen he wore the time
before and the time before that. Sorry, "GQ," find your excitement
elsewhere. Yes, they were still married, that went without saying. The
handholding got that point across. No, there wasn't another joint project
on the books just yet. No, they weren't against the idea entirely; it was
just about Chris getting around to writing another movie. No new questions,
ever.

"Is there food inside, or is this an In-N-Out situation?" Chris asked.

"You want In-N-Out even if there's food at these," Armie said. He wrapped
his arm around Chris' waist and led him through the crowd, satisfied that
they'd talked to enough reporters. Armie was always more conversational
with them, but even he didn't have the patience tonight to speak to more
than a few.

Armie stood with his shoulders back, his million-dollar smile gleaming and
his arm proudly around Chris' waist as one more round of flashbulbs and
shutter clicks filled their evening air. He was proud, not only of his
movie, but because he had Chris by his side. There was part of him that
loved showing him off, letting the entire world know that he'd netted a
successful, handsome, and amazing husband. If he never made a movie again,
he'd count this relationship as one of his greatest achievements.

"Christopher Hammer," they both heard from the down the carpet. It wasn't a
photographer or a reporter. It wasn't another actor, either. "Can I just
tell you how much 'American Made' ruined me?"

"The play or the book?"

"Both."

"Armie, this is Paula. I don't think you ever actually met. She's the
president of PBS." Armie offered his hand and Paula took it warmly, shaking
it and smiling. She was talking to a movie star. Even more than that, she
was touching a movie star.

"We haven't," Armie said. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"When are we getting more from you?" she said to Chris. "I thought we did
pretty well. Why did we stop?"

"I think I'm okay with not being on TV," Chris said. "What are you doing
here?"

"I thought I'd see you, is why. You're hard to get a hold of."

"I'm actually not," Chris said. "But I wouldn't miss my husband's
premiere."

"And congratulations are in order for that," Paula said, looking up at
Armie. "This is spectacular. I've only heard good things about the movie."

"I hope you enjoy it," Armie said. "I'm very proud of it."

"Christopher," Paula said. "I'm serious. We need you to keep on making this
show. Expand to other states, other countries. I want it. Think about it. I
know this isn't a networking event, so I'll let you two celebrate, but
please, think about it."

"I'll let you know," Chris said, laughing. "It was great to see you again."

"It almost seemed like you enjoyed yourself back there," Armie said as soon
as they were out of earshot.

"Nerds unite," Chris said, leaning up and planting a quick kiss on his
lips. "I'm going to be in the theater and after your Q&A, let's meet at the
concessions and get out. Deal?"

"Slow down. Kiss me like you mean it before you send me out to the wolves,"
Armie said, wrapping his arms around Chris. Smiling, Chris brought their
lips together one more time, pressing his forehead to Armie's when they
came apart. "That's more like it."

Most of the press had gone inside the theater, setting up for a quick
interview session before the screening. Chris, who'd already seen the
movie, would stay outside so that he and Armie could make a quick
exit. Only this time, Paula was waiting for him in the lobby of the
ArcLight, a knowing expression on her face.

Instead of having his head craned over his phone, he stood, dressed in his
best suit, while Paula explained exactly why he needed to come back. There
was an outpouring of support, she explained, from educators and
politicians, sure, but also from viewers who decided to overcome their
challenges with literacy when they saw other people struggling with
it. Being an adult and being illiterate came with a stigma, but one episode
showed that it was never too late to learn how to read. Kids who dabbled in
blogging were sitting down and writing with actual thought, Paula said,
because Chris and fellow author Dave Eggers had shown how a blog could turn
into a memoir. He'd given so many people ideas. That alone made the
12-episode run a success. Chris wasn't used to having his accomplishments
lavished with so much praise in person. Reading a glowing review was one
thing. Hearing it firsthand, complete with enthusiasm and hand gestures,
was something else entirely.

"It was a great experience," Chris said. "But I don't want people to get
sick of me. They should want to explore for themselves, not do it through a
TV show."

"But not everyone can, Chris."

She had a point. "Think about it. I know that it's a passion project. But,
lucky for you, you can bring your handsome husband with you. The episodes
with Armie were my favorite and I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks
that."

"I appreciate you coming all the way out here," Chris said. "I'm sure you
had other reasons, but the fact that you came to this circus really means a
lot."

"No trouble. Doesn't everyone want to feel like a movie star sometimes?"

Chris hadn't thought about it that way in a very, very long time. But
seeing Paula, all done up and loving everything about it, from the
attention of the reporters to the free Champagne and proximity to
A-listers, made him realize just how special nights like this were. She was
soaking it up and he couldn't wait to get home. That attitude wasn't
right. He should be more like Paula, except he was obligated to be there
and she wanted to, which brought things into perspective.

"Everyone deserves to feel like a movie star once in a while," Chris
said. "Please, enjoy yourself. Don't let me distract you from having a good
time."

"Did you just turn down a job?" Sebastian asked, coming up to stand beside
Chris.

"I think so. How long have you been here?"

"How did your audition go?"

"Bombed it. Maybe if you weren't so selfish, we could have done a TV show
together."

"Don't count that out yet, she seems pretty set on more."

"That's not really up to her, is it? The show had your name in the title."

"I need some water."

Sebastian snagged a bottle of Perrier from a passing server and handed it
to Chris. "Ask and you shall receive."

"I need some inspiration."

"I can't help you there. What's happening?"

"Can't figure out how to end my book. I've been working on it for weeks."
Hearing it out loud made it worse. He and David had been working on it, but
nothing great was coming out. Act three always gave him trouble, but this
time, he couldn't figure out what he wanted to do. Happy endings weren't
his usual M.O. Everything else, though, seemed trite, contrived, or too
sad. David told him to try a few things, to take a break. All he had to
show for the last few weeks was a few drafts that amounted to nothing and a
lot of frustration.

"You'll figure it out. What is this book called?"

"'A New Stage of Grief.'"

"Sounds serious."

"You know I don't write fluff."

"Fluff probably doesn't win awards."

"I don't always win awards."

"Good job, man," Sebastian said, looking over Chris' shoulder. Chris felt
Armie before he saw him, two long arms coming around his waist, a pair of
lips at his cheek.

"Let's get out of here," Armie said. "I think we deserve an early night."

"Did you give your adoring fans everything they wanted?" Chris asked.

"You tell me," Armie said, kissing any part of Chris' face he could
reach. Chris smiled and broke free of Armie's embrace, smoothing his suit
and blushing. "You're the only adoring fan that matters."

"Is this new?" Sebastian said, feeling the lapels of Chris' suit.

"Very funny," Chris said. "Okay, are we heading out? Everything set?"

"You're cute when you blush," Armie said, his lips brushing against Chris'
ear. "But you're cuter when you're biting your lip and can't keep it
together because I'm so deep in you."

Chris felt a shudder shoot down his back and clamped his fist closed,
willing his breathing to stay steady as Armie's hand settled on his back
and they headed towards the exit.

"You okay?" Sebastian said as they walked out together.

"Just tired," Chris said, hoping that nobody saw the heat he felt in his
face.

Watching Armie get dressed up was a treat that Chris couldn't get enough
of, but slowly undressing him, taking everything off piece-by-piece was a
very rare treat. "How was your night, Mr. Hammer?"

"Mmm," Armie groaned, kissing at Chris' ear. "I had the hottest date at the
premiere."

"Yeah?" Chris asked, slowly undoing Armie's tie and pulling it off. Armie's
lips were on his, desperate and hungry, licking and kissing, biting softly
as Chris undid the top button of his shirt. Slowly, too slowly, Chris
worked down the front of Armie's shirt, gently kissing at each inch of
exposed skin. Armie's scratchy chest hair rubbed against his face and Chris
ran his cheeks along the skin.

"Yes. Everyone was looking at him, but he's mine," Armie's voice was barely
above a whisper, his fingers running through Chris' hair, feeling his
shoulders. Armie shrugged his jacket off, tossing it over a chair as Chris
landed on his knees. He looked up at Armie, his pupils wide, his breath
short, and his hands working at Armie's belt.

"I think I had a hotter date," Chris said, mouthing Armie's hard dick
through the fine wool of his suit pants. He ran his hands over Armie's abs
and he could feel himself getting hot, his body radiating as he unzipped
Armie's pants and they pooled around Armie's ankles.

"You're so sexy, Chris," Armie said, breathless. He watched as Chris slowly
pulled down his boxer briefs and swallowed the head of his dick. The
familiar slick heat of Chris' mouth enveloped Armie's cock inch-by-inch,
lips stretched and throat open as Armie sunk in slowly.

"God, yes," he groaned, holding Chris' head steady and rocking his hips,
fucking into the tight warmth, his ears ringing and his heart beating
faster as the sound of sucking and slurping seemed to echo through the
room. Armie pulled his shirt off, feeling the cool air rush over at him. He
looked down again through half-lidded eyes, seeing Chris, still fully
dressed, as he bobbed on his dick.

Chris groaned around Armie's cock, sending a shiver straight up Armie's
spine, reaching all the way to his ears. Chris moved quicker, turning his
head enough to change the angles of each forward thrust, letting Armie fuck
over his tongue and straight into his throat. He loved the heavy weight of
Armie's cock on his tongue, loved the way that everything, from his field
of vision to the smells coming into his nose and the sounds in his ears,
was Armie. There was nothing else, nobody else. The world faded away.

Armie felt a tug on his balls and he let out a loud grunt, his toes curling
up and his grip on Chris' head tightening. Armie bit his lip and tossed his
head back, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out all over him as he got closer
to the edge. Chris seemed to sense it, doubling his efforts, groaning as he
sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing out and his lips tight as he bobbed up
and down the length of Armie's dick. He pulled off to catch his breath,
wiping his chin with the back of his hand as he stroked, his grip
tight. Armie took the chance to toe his shoes off and kick his pants
away. Chris pulled Armie's socks off, his lips and tongue going to Armie's
balls as his hands worked to pull the thin material from Armie's feet.

"You can't get enough of my cock, can you?" Armie asked, his voice
gravelly. He stroked himself, watching as Chris' tongue swept over his
balls, which were drawn up tight to his body.

The words hit Chris hard, sending lighting straight to his dick, which was
still trapped in his pants. "I need it," Chris said, his eyes shut.

"What do you need?" Armie asked, hooking his finger under Chris' chin and
bringing his eyes up. Their gazes met and Chris shuddered.

"I need you to fuck me, Mr. Hammer," he said, voice quivering.

The edges of Armie's mouth curled up. "Are you ready?"

Chris shook his head and started to take his jacket off. He was burning up,
the clothes suffocating him. Armie watched as Chris struggled to undress,
his movements clumsy. He tugged his jacket off, turning the sleeves inside
out as he pulled his arms through and pulled his tie off. Armie sat down on
the bed and watched, stroking his dick slowly. When Chris finally got
naked, he was out of breath. He straddled Armie's lap and kissed him, his
tongue sliding into Armie's mouth and his hand feeling any skin they could
reach. He was desperate for contact, his body tingling all over and his
mind hazy.

"Get ready for me," Armie said. "Let me see."

Chris pressed his forehead to Armie's as he took a slow breath to collect
himself. He stumbled off of Armie and scrambled for the lube they kept in
the nightstand. In no time, he was on his back, a finger buried in his own
ass as Armie watched, his eyes dark and his gaze hungry.

"That's it," Armie said, almost cooing, his voice as thick as honey. Chris
spread his legs apart further as he opened himself, working his ring and
willing himself to relax. "You're so good."

"Fuck me," Chris said. Another finger. "Armie, get inside me."

"I usually do that with my tongue," Armie said, feeling Chris' calf and
scooting closer. "You like that, don't you?"

"I need you."

Armie leaned over him and kissed him hard, their mouths crashing
together. Chris' legs moved on instinct, one up on Armie's shoulder, the
other wrapping around his waist. Armie lined up and slid in with one steady
stroke. He could feel Chris tense under him, could feel Chris' body open
up. He groaned against Chris' throat, sucking and biting at the soft skin
as Chris practically whimpered under him. He felt Chris' hands grip his
forearms and a low groan vibrate through his body. Armie rolled his hips,
offering a few lazy thrusts. He stayed deep, reveling in the hot, clamping
muscles of Chris' chute, feeling every squeeze and clench.

"Armie," Chris groaned, voice straining. He held tight as Armie sped up,
the sound of skin on skin reaching their ears along with Armie's low
grunts. Chris could feel lips and teeth on his collarbones, his shoulders,
and his neck. He felt Armie deep inside him, hitting everything just right
to make his cock jump.

"Is this what you needed?"

Chris nodded frantically, doing his best to clamp his hole tight, his
breathing catching as Armie pushed through his ring, sliding deep with
every single thrust. Chris was shuddering under him.

Chris held onto Armie's shoulders, knuckles white as he rolled them
over. Riding Armie was his favorite. It got Armie's thick cock in that much
deeper, making the stretch that much more intense, and the dull burn a
little hotter. Chris kissed Armie softer, moving slowly, taking long,
languid bounces, his eyes rolling back.

"I love seeing you like this," Armie said. His hands roamed all over,
feeling sweaty skin and tense muscle. Chris was riding him steady and Armie
thrust up, getting a whimper or groan to fall from Chris' mouth with every
particularly hard pump.

"You feel so good," Chris said. He stroked himself, knowing that it
wouldn't take much. He was already so close. He'd been on edge for so long
that it only took a few flicks of his wrist before white-hot heat shot
through him. He groaned loud and Armie sat up, kissing him and stroking his
cheek as Chris shot between them. Armie ground up, biting at Chris' neck
and feeling the last few squeezes of Chris' orgasm.

Armie pushed Chris back down on the bed, holding his hands up over his head
and pumping his hips. He fucked Chris deeper, longer, knowing that Chris
was oversensitive, knowing that everything he was doing was being magnified
inside Chris' body.

"Fuck," Armie groaned. He went harder, using every inch, every muscle in
his body to fuck deep and long. Chris arched his back, his toes curling as
he strained to keep it together. He was on fire and as Armie shot towards
his own orgasm, Chris bore down, fluttering his ring on Armie's dick,
gasping when Armie pushed through and breathless every time he bottomed
out.

Armie came with a thundering groan against Chris' neck, his hips grinding
in hard and his cum spilling into Chris' willing hole. His orgasm rocked
his whole body and he thrust in even deeper, burying every possible bit of
himself inside as he shot. His breath was hot and heavy on Chris' throat,
goosebumps coming up as Chris stroked his back.

"Congratulations," Chris said, tracing along the bumps of Armie's
spine. "My big movie star."

"Shhh, we're not done."

Nick and Armie stood on the driveway, sunglasses shielding their eyes as
they surveyed their options. "They're not wrong," Nick said. "It's dark."

"It's been that color since we moved in," Armie explained. "I don't think
it really...what did they say? 'Disrupt the historic appearance of the
property.'"

"This is what happens when you live in a historic home," Nick
explained. "But honestly, it could use a fresh coat of paint. We can do it
ourselves."

"There goes the afternoon."

"What did you have planned? Lounging downstairs or upstairs?"

"I was going to get the car detailed and...yeah, I guess my day wasn't too
busy."

"I'll see what colors are allowed," Nick said, already swiping on his
phone. "I told you this place was going to be a lot of trouble."

"Wow, just a few words short of 'I told you so.'"

"No, no. Don't get me wrong. I appreciated the commission. I just knew that
this would come back and bite me in the ass."

An hour later, they'd gone to Starbucks and Home Depot, gathering the exact
shade of brown that wasn't dark enough to offend whoever was in charge of
the National Register of Historic Places. Having that plaque on the front
of the house wasn't worth this trouble, Armie thought, especially since the
side gate did absolutely nothing but hide a view of the trash can and
recycling bins from passersby. It had been a long time since Armie and Nick
had spent time alone together and even with the sun beating down on them,
it was nice to just hang out. Armie had gathered everything from the
garage: an extension cord, a power sander, and plenty of paper to strip off
the offending shade of dark chocolate brown and the new haul from Home
Depot. Everything was laid out and ready to go, along with two tallboys of
Corona.

They'd talked about Dru. Nick, who'd grown up with Armie and, by proxy, his
mother, found it hard to believe that his pal would basically burn a bridge
like that. It was one thing to do it to an acquaintance, but your own mom?
Armie had laid it all out, however, and it was tough to side with Dru, no
matter how hard Nick tried to see it from her side.

Armie pulled his T-shirt off, tossing it a few feet away before sliding a
dust mask onto his face. He turned on the machine, filling the whole
neighborhood with a low hum, and go to work on the paint. Nick stood back,
watching the dust fly up around Armie's body, impressed at how great his
best friend looked when he was doing manual labor instead of looking like
he'd just stepped out of a country club.

It took more effort than Armie had expected. The power sander helped, but
whatever paint had been on there was thick and stubborn. Plus, there were
grooves between the slats of wood that required special maneuvering. Nick
took a turn so that Armie could have a few sips of beer and they both
agreed that hiring a pro would have been much, much easier.

"Does this remind you of that volunteer trip we took? We were supposed to
help build schools, but we just got wasted on cheap beer and flirted with
anything that moved."

"I can barely remember that," Armie said, taking a few steps back to admire
his hard work. The wood was exposed, without even a fleck of the old paint
left. He picked up his sweaty beer can from the ground and took a long sip.

"You've gotten real boring," Nick said. "Do you recall what else happened
on that trip?"

Armie almost spat out his beer at the mention of it. "Nick, it's been 20
years. Everyone's done things that they'd rather forget."

"You never told him, did you?"

"What do you think? We're friends that fucked around a few times. I'm sure
he's got a history that I'd rather not know about. I'm happy to be in the
dark about some things."

"I thought that's why he didn't like me. It was sort of why I didn't like
him at first."

"You were jealous? Were you really holding out for me after all that time?"

"It was nice knowing I had a backup plan."

"It wouldn't have worked out," Armie said before gulping down the rest of
the can. "You're a better friend than you are boyfriend. It's why you're
still single."

"Don't remind me."

"Do you think about this after every breakup?"

"No, but seeing you so happy all the time, it's tough to be happy for you
when I can't get everything straight."

"You'll figure it out. And you know that Chris and I aren't happy all the
time. We've been through things. We're going through things."

"Good. You were starting to make the rest of us look bad."

"Do me a favor and don't ever bring that particular memory up again," Armie
said. "I pushed it out of my head for a reason."

"Who didn't experiment with their best friend growing up?"

"Stop, stop," Armie said, rolling his eyes. "Pour that paint out, let's get
this done."

Chris pulled his car into the driveway, happy to see that the side gate was
at least three shades lighter than it was this morning. They'd put off
re-painting it for months now and he figured that maybe one day, he'd come
to the house and its historic home plaque would be ripped right from the
wall. Grabbing his laptop from the passenger's seat, he made his way
inside, hoping that Armie had already started dinner or was just waiting
for him to go out.

"How'd it go?" Armie asked as soon as Chris opened the front door.

"I think it's done. Naomi likes this one. That's as good as it'll get." He
wrapped his arms around Armie, loving the way that their bodies slotted
together so perfectly. He kissed Armie and stayed still for a second longer
than normal, enjoying the close proximity and the calm that came with it.

"You should have asked for her help before," Armie said. "It would have
saved you all these weeks of freaking out."

"Well, aren't you full of great ideas now that I'm all done?"

Chris had spent the entire day with Naomi, poring over his book, making
notes where she felt it could be stronger, and finally figuring out exactly
how to wrap things up. It wasn't exactly the way he'd mapped it out
originally, but it was rare that any of his books did. They usually got
away from him, his editors taking the time to rein things in and polish
everything up. This time, David wasn't comfortable making sweeping changes
to the book, he wanted Chris to come back with something he was sure
of. The writer's block didn't help. Chris had offered up a few choices, but
none of them had the finesse of his usual work. They read lazy. They
weren't emotional enough, or they were too emotional.

"I can tell you're really happy," Naomi said. "These pages show it all. The
title's glum, I know you're doing it for shock value, but this isn't a sad
story."

"It is about death, how is it not sad?"

"Don't be so naive, Chris, you know what you're doing."

"I just don't want it to be sappy," Chris said, taking a long sip of his
coffee.

"There's a difference with what you think sappy is and what you think happy
is."

She had a point. He wasn't exactly known for being a cheerful storyteller,
but he did have a reputation for leaving his stories open-ended. It wasn't
something he was proud of, since so many writers saw it as a cop-out, but
he was also just a product of his generation. His peers did it just as
often as he did, they just didn't get called out on it. It was the problem
with being a big name. He was under a microscope. He had expectations for
himself and his readers had a different set of their own. He didn't want to
give them something totally off base. He'd tried that. It didn't work.

"Do what feels right," Naomi said. She'd said it before. "Why is this
giving you so much trouble?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know if it's because everything's going okay or if
because everything's actually not okay."

"You can't be the kind of writer that's only creative when their life is
falling apart," Naomi said. "It's not healthy."

"My best work came from a divorce," Chris said. "My creative process is
obviously very unhealthy."

"Your mental and emotional well-being is more important than any book. But
I won't disagree with you. That was a sublime book."

"Thanks," Chris said. "It got me a whole shelf of awards and at least
another few years of relevance with the lit crowd."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Naomi insisted. "That 'lit crowd'
thinks you're a sellout. They've thought that since you made your first
movie."

It was true. As soon as he'd gotten popular outside the sphere of literary
magazine subscribers, NPR members, and the academic elite, along with his
sudden appearance in tabloid magazines so many years ago, he wasn't one of
them anymore. He was a writer that appeared on late-night talk shows. He
attended glitzy events. Chris felt like he had to gain his credibility all
over again. The awards shut down the naysayers. The "New York Times"
Bestsellers list gave him commercial clout. It all seemed to work out, but
he was always his own toughest critic. Balancing being true to his story
and wanting it to be commercially viable at the same time wasn't
easy. People read books to escape. It was his responsibility to take them
somewhere they wanted to go.

"They're jealous," Naomi said. "And I don't say that lightly. To have a
book made into a movie is one thing, to have more than one? That's
something you should be proud of."

"So, you don't think I need to slap on a happy ending?"

"You're not writing a Disney fairy tale. Happy for you isn't necessarily a
happy ending for everyone else."

"I think this is brilliant. It's difficult to write a book with this sort
of circular narrative structure, but you're so talented that it reads
effortlessly. Don't try to make it more complicated than it is."

"That's the story of my life."

"I wouldn't go that far."

Chris walked her through the outline one more time, just to make sure his
notes made sense. Naomi reassured him that it was fine and that there
wasn't a reason to worry about it. Overworking it would be just as bad. She
mentioned the house and its now-infamous appearance in "Architectural
Digest." Chris insisted that she see it in person, but she turned him
down. She had things to do and people to see. Chris always took precedent,
she explained, but she had responsibilities to herself, too. She'd already
met Armie, so Chris wondered if there were other reasons for her to avoid
seeing the house.

He didn't have to wait long. "The divorce was hard on everyone, maybe me
more than most. It's hard seeing you play house with him," Naomi
said. "Makes me miss all the time we had together."

Chris didn't respond. He just straightened everything spread out around the
two of them: the notebooks, pens, and his laptop. He didn't know what to
say, but he understood.

"I didn't mean it like that. He's a wonderful man," Naomi assured him, her
voice marked with a tinge of apology.

"Next time," Chris said. "I know it's out of the way for just about
everything. I get it."

"Venice is beautiful. I hear it shed its bohemian reputation, though."

"When it's as expensive as it is, it's tough for those bohemian artists to
afford it."

"Isn't that the truth?"

Armie's broad shoulders were hunched over the stove and Chris settled into
his usual spot on the island. He took off his watch, emptied his pockets,
and rubbed his eyes, hoping that he could wrap this book up in the next few
days. The anticipation was there, but just like every other time he was in
this position, he wondered what would happen next. He'd only considered it
a few times before, but doing nothing sounded amazing. If he could just
take a break from everything, maybe actually learn to use the gourmet
kitchen to do more than heat up leftovers or just relax and let his brain
settle down, it'd be better for everyone.

"Did you notice the gate?"

"Looks great," Chris said. "Why didn't Nick stay for dinner?"

"He didn't say," Armie said over his shoulder.

"Don't we have to feed him to say thank you?"

"He'll be fine. He can feed himself."

Chris walked over and wrapped his arms around Armie, resting his face
against Armie's back. "I don't deserve you."

"Don't be too impressed, it's just Brussels sprouts. There's a pork
tenderloin in the oven."

"No, for everything."

"Am I having a case of deja vu? I think we've had this conversation
before."

"I don't think so," Chris said, taking a deep breath, his hands rubbing
Armie's stomach. "Am I enough? Do you ever feel like it's just me and you
against the entire world?"

"If it really was us against the rest of humanity, I don't think I'd want
anyone else with me. Except maybe Indiana Jones."

The oven beeped, making Chris' head turn. He laid his ear against Armie's
back, listening to the sound of his heartbeat for just a second. "I'll get
that."

"I heard you say that Jake's mom helped, why does it sound like things
aren't great?"

Chris pulled on oven mitts and opened the oven, sending the scent of
rosemary and apples into the kitchen. He pulled the rack out and grabbed
the pan, setting dinner down on the stove beside the pan Armie was working
on. "This looks so good," Chris said, reaching over to shut the
oven. "Sometimes, even with an amazing support system, you can feel like
you're all alone. But not completely alone, because I've got you."

"You'll have me no matter what," Armie said. "And even though things are
different, I'm sure that Naomi will always be there for you, too."

"Let's hope you're right," Chris said. He grabbed everything to set the
table, but decided to take it all to the patio, setting it up outside,
instead. He flipped on the fire pit, turned on the string lights that Armie
had finally put up, and sat down, thankful for a little quiet.

"It looks great out here," Armie said, setting down the food. The lights
really did make everything look great, the warm light lending a flattering
glow to everything around them. The fire helped, too, tossing its own
ambiance. Armie sat down and Chris' breath skipped. Of course he looked
amazing. Chris didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing the way the
glints of gold sparkled in Armie's hair or the way his blue eyes softened
when he looked at Chris.

"You're stronger than you think," Armie said as he pulled Chris close. "You
might not think so, but I know you. There's nothing you can't take on."

"See? I don't deserve this. You won't even let me spiral into self-doubt."

"What do you even have to doubt right now? You figured out how to end your
book, which means you've got nothing to worry about."

Chris didn't say anything, just continued eating and enjoying the proximity
to the man he was lucky enough to call his husband. Chris knew that he
worried too much, but it came with the territory. Success wasn't
guaranteed, for him or for Armie. All Chris could do was put out a book
that he could be proud of. The problem was, it was even tougher to follow
something that was successful. Expectations were higher all around with his
last book still riding high. Thanks to the show and the play, plus Armie's
involvement in both, everything he did garnered a little more attention.

"What happened when that book flopped?"

"I worked harder on the next one."

"But you didn't lose focus or lose your contract or anything?"

"No, it probably made me focus even more. It didn't get any movie options
or anything, because it wasn't that kind of book. Short stories aren't good
for movies."

"And now you're even more popular, so if this book doesn't sell or get bad
reviews, it's not like anything really bad can happen, right?"

"You can't think about it like that."

"I don't have to, because I know this book is good."

"You're not an objective critic."

Armie leaned over and kissed Chris on the temple. "Get out of your head,"
he said softly. "I'm here. I love you."

Chris thought it would take a few days to get his book finished. It took a
week. A week of holing himself up in the office for hours at a time, only
taking breaks to eat and help Armie run lines a few times. He couldn't even
remember if they got tacos on Tuesday. While Chris was focusing on his own
project, Armie had a stack of scripts to get through. Deb wanted him to be
more selective, but as Armie read through them, nothing really stood
out. Deb would, unfortunately, have to go find better projects, especially
since Armie had gotten so much acclaim for his last role. He and Chris were
both on an upward trajectory and they both knew that a misstep could send
either one of them tumbling down.

Armie had been a rising star for so long that he was always looking for
that one project to push him into the stratosphere. He was so, so
close. Just like Chris had to find a balance between writing material that
was true to himself, but still accessible to readers, Armie needed projects
that gave him artistic clout and commercial success. It was a golden ratio
that every actor dreamed of and one that he'd been striving towards for so
long. He had movies that made a lot of money. He had been nominated for a
few awards. He wanted something that could do both.

"Send it," Armie said, stretching his arms over his head. He'd been planted
on the office couch so long that his whole body felt stiff. "Send it and we
can get some fresh air."

"The window has been open all day," Chris said. "I can smell the beach."

"Did you email him?"

"All set," Chris said, shutting his laptop. "I'm not done though. He'll
still have edits."

"But you are done," Armie said, coming over and wrapping his arms around
Chris, kissing him and reveling in the sense of accomplishment that
radiated from his body.

"I'm proud of you," Armie said, still holding Chris tight. "It took
convincing, but you stuck to what you wanted this story to be."

"I listened to everyone except myself. I was right the whole time."

"Okay, it's time to celebrate."

"No, it's not. There's a lot more to do."

"No, it is. Get changed. We're going."

Chris did as he was told. He put on a pair of jeans he knew Armie liked, he
put on the thin black sweater he knew Armie liked, and he knew as soon as
Armie's expression lit up that he did the right thing. "Look at you," Armie
said, smiling wide. "Which one of us is the trophy husband now?"

"Where are you taking me?" Chris asked as he slid his watch on, making sure
that Armie saw the finishing touch. He wore it almost every day, but he
made a show of it this time for Armie's sake.

"Is it stupid to say that it's a surprise?"

"I'll play along," Chris said. He held onto Armie's hand and followed him
out to the car.

"You know I never officially proposed to you, right?" Armie said as they
drove south.

"Please don't do that," Chris said. "We're already married. We don't need
to be a spectacle."

"I knew you'd say that," Armie said, his hand reaching over to squeeze at
Chris' knee. "But I'm not wrong."

"I didn't say you were," Chris added. "I just like our story the way it
is. It's very...us. I wouldn't change anything."

"Call the party planner in my phone," Armie joked. "Tell her everything is
off."

Chris rolled his eyes and settled into the passenger's seat. They sped down
the freeway, past the oil refinery, past the soccer stadium, and past the
industrial sprawl of mattress factories and suburban tract housing. "Where
are you taking me?"

"Laguna."

Chris let out a contented sigh. They both loved it there, even though it
was like driving over an hour from one sleepy beach town to another sleepy
beach town. The general feel of Laguna was different, though. Instead of
being hip, cool, and beachy the way Venice was, Laguna Beach was relaxed.

"Remember that seafood place we found? With the crab dip?"

"And the rooftop?"

"That one. We're going there."

The drive was quick, looking for parking just as difficult as they
remembered, and thanks to the fact that it was a normal weeknight, there
was no wait for them to head upstairs and enjoy the ocean view.

"Did you know that Rock Hudson and Charlie Chaplin used to use Laguna Beach
as an escape from L.A.?"

"It's a good place to escape to," Armie said, tossing his arm over Chris'
shoulders. "Even if you're not Rock Hudson."

Before the crab dip even came out, Armie congratulated his husband and
proposed a two-person toast. Chris blushed, but went along with the pomp
and circumstance, even though his glass of water didn't quite have the
festive look that Armie's beer did. They'd been talking about the book for
so long that there was nothing left to say, but part of what Chris loved so
much about Armie and about their relationship, was just being with
him. They didn't have to be talking. They didn't have to be doing
anything. As long as they were together -- and pressed together like they
were right now -- everything felt right.

"Do you think that Rock Hudson ever thought he was good enough?"

"I don't really know much about him," Chris said. "But you are good
enough. I know that sometimes, you don't think you are, but you are a
wonderful man, you are a talented actor, you are a great director. There's
nothing that you can't do."

"It doesn't feel that way all the time."

"I try to make you feel that way all the time," Chris said.

"I feel it from you," Armie said, kissing Chris' temple. "I think maybe I'm
losing myself in my work. It's time to focus. I'm going to find a passion
project."

"I think that's a great idea," Chris said, raising his glass one more
time. "To focus."

"Tonight is supposed to be about you," Armie said, clinking his glass
against Chris'.

"We're a package deal," Chris said, resting his head on Armie's shoulder.

Chris basked in the quiet. The same smell of surf and sand hung in the
air. Armie spoke about what he was hoping to do and Chris could listen to
him talk about anything. There was passion behind it, even when he was
unsure of himself. Armie's gentle baritone always sounded warm and
indulgent, even if he was just talking about the food they were eating. By
the time dessert came, Chris let himself enjoy the sense of accomplishment,
which never got old. He'd been through this over a dozen times and the mix
of nervousness and pride always hit him a different way. No matter how
great he thought a book was, there was a chance that nobody would agree
with him. This time around wasn't any different.

He never thought he'd feel this way again. Divorce, he realized, didn't
mean he wasn't allowed to be happy again. Some people treated it like a
death sentence. Others saw it as liberation. Everyone had their own way of
dealing with it, but with Armie, Chris was confident that he'd managed to
do it right.

"You already have an idea for the next one, right?"

Chris nodded. "I'm writing a love story."

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