Date: Sun, 4 Feb 2018 15:52:52 -0800
From: christopher <breakingthroughstory@gmail.com>
Subject: Breaking Through 6

A very big thank you to all of the readers who have taken the time to send
kind messages for the first few chapters of the story. I very much
appreciate it.  Please send any feedback, complaints, and correspondence to
breakingthroughstory@gmail.com. I'm looking forward to continuing this
creative endeavor in 2018 and hope to rebuild the sense of community that
had been established the first time around between readers and writers.

This new story will take place in a loose version of the present day and
most of the main ideas from the first go-round will remain. With a 10-year
jump in time, some things have changed. The new story will do away with a
lot of the tertiary characters in the old narrative.

Please donate to this Nifty. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Chapter 6

"It's because I'm a creative," Chris said. "I am controlled my emotion, not
logic."

"Does that really work on anyone?"

"No, because it's bullshit. I had to get away."

"Next time, let me know."

"Sorry," Chris grumbled. It was the first of many, many calls he had to
return. His editor and publicist probably hated him at this point, but they
knew what they had signed up for. He had told a few people, but to the rest
of the world, he'd disappeared for almost a week. He'd spent the time in
Santa Barbara, away from everything, phone included. It wasn't everyone's
idea of paradise, but it was idyllic in its own way.

Back in Venice, rifled through his junk mail and took stock of his
surroundings. Thanks to Jake, reporters everywhere were trying to figure
out if the golden couple was back together. And thanks to that fact, Armie
was in the news, too. It was either a very small world or a very slow news
week, Chris figured. It was, more likely, a combination of both. Now that
he was back in the real world with a very bare-bones outline for a new
short story, it was probably best that he face his real-world
responsibilities. That, or he could watch Netflix.

Sitting on his couch, Chris binged superhero shows while he responded to
his emails. It was more efficient, he thought, to let everyone know he was
fine with a cut-and-paste greeting. Impersonal as it may have been, it was
fast. Even after talking to Jake about Armie -- he's a cool guy, Jake
insisted; he's not as much of a douchebag as everyone thinks, he insisted
-- he still wasn't sure what to do. Jake hadn't mentioned anything that
Sebastian had brought up, but Chris didn't pry. It wasn't right to ask an
ex about a romantic pursuit, if that was even what Armie was. Jake probably
wouldn't have great things to say about anyone looking to take advantage of
his ex.

Chris did hear some not-so-flattering things from other people,
however. Armie had gotten his role in "The Social Network" after gifting
David Fincher a Porsche. Armie married his ex so he'd have access to
another chunk of his trust fund. She divorced him because their
not-so-secret open marriage wasn't fooling anyone. Armie slept with casting
directors, he offered stays at his family's Cayman Islands estate to
reporters to get cover stories and Chris even heard that his family bought
chunks of Disney stock to get him an in with the company for two different
movies. It was all hearsay, but just knowing it was out there meant that
there had to be some truth to it, Chris thought. As competitive as the
movie industry was, rumors had a way of growing from some sort of
fact. Blue eyes and good looks could only get a person so far.

"How is your arm?" Chris had ignored every message Armie had sent for the
past seven days, but he was diving right back in.

Instead of a message, Armie called immediately. "Call off the search
party. The prodigal son has been found."

"Are you still wearing the sling?"

"I can if you want me to," Armie said, his voice dropping an octave. Chris
could practically hear him grinning.

"I was at a retreat," Chris said. "No phones. No email."

"You have a weird idea of a vacation. Can I come over? I've missed you."

"No. Give me your address. I'm coming over there."

"Is that so? Give a guy some warning."

"I'm serious. It's time we figure things out."

It took Chris over an hour to drive to Armie's mansion in Los
Feliz. Traffic combined with the fact that they both lived in enclaves
built far, far away from major freeways made the 25-mile trek seem like a
cross-country road trip, especially since he drove through Chinatown,
Koreatown, and Little Armenia. Thanks to his night of shame, Chris knew
that Armie had a huge family home in Los Feliz. But when he arrived, he
didn't expect the Regency-era architecture, the huge front yard, and the
security gate. Jake's family had a much more modest midcentury home in the
Hills. Chris thought that only oil barons lived in places like
Armie's. Then, he remembered that Armie's great-grandfather actually was an
oil baron.

"This could all be yours," Armie said as he threw the front doors
open. "Ours." He was wearing a white T-shirt, dark blue jeans and no
shoes. Armie always knew how to show off. The sleeves accentuated his
biceps. The jeans made him look even taller.

"It's...something," Chris said, looking across the front of the
house. There were huge windows going down both sides of the
house. Everything was white and looked pristine. Chris wondered about the
upkeep. It couldn't be cheap. It was at least five times bigger than Chris'
two-bedroom Venice hideaway. Knowing that he basically got extorted out of
his savings to buy it, he couldn't even imagine what a house like this
would go for. Old money had its perks.

"I'm happy to see you," Armie said. He wanted to pull Chris into a hug, but
wasn't quite sure what to do. "Sling's gone. I'm a brand-new man."

"I didn't mean to worry you," Chris said. "It was a whole off-the-grid,
intensive writing thing." The lie was there, but the story was believable.

"I'm glad you're here."

"Can I come inside?"

"I'd like that," Armie said, recalling a similar exchange between the
two. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Inside, Armie's house was very white. Instead of the contemporary steel and
glass confines of Chris' own fishbowl, Armie lived in a fortress of marble
and plaster. The floors gleamed. The walls were washed in a soft ivory. It
looked like something out of "Town & Country." It was an updated version of
what he grew up visiting, Armie explained. His ex-wife had been responsible
for everything but the grill set up outside.

Chris followed behind as Armie pointed out the different rooms, each one
outfitted in inoffensive neutrals. Chris couldn't find anything that had
personality. It was like walking through a nondescript photo shoot. Then,
they arrived in the kitchen. From the doorway, Chris could see this is
where Armie spent most of his time. It was more cluttered and lived-in. The
attached family room and dining room looked worn-in, too. The TV was
paused. Armie had been watching a documentary about sharks.

"Do I pass?" Armie asked as he handed Chris a bottle of mineral water.

"It's beautiful," Chris said.

"It's stuffy, but I don't spend a lot of time in most of it. I keep it up
for my parents."

Chris stared out of the back door, watching the sparkling pool ripple with
the early afternoon breeze. Armie's yard was surrounded by tall oleander
and what looked like citrus trees. It was manicured but still
homey. Armie's prized grill was to the right of the door. Chris felt Armie
behind him, his hands rubbing at Chris' shoulders. When Chris didn't
protest, Armie let his hands wander lower, down to Chris' sides, around the
front to feel at Chris' abs. He could feel Chris leaning back against him,
melting into the embrace.

"I thought a lot about us," Chris said. "About what you want."

Armie rubbed his face in Chris' hair, mumbling something nonsensical. "I
hope this is good news."

"It's not bad news," Chris said, turning around. He let Armie push him
against the glass and their lips met. Tongues sliding together, Chris let
his eyes close. Armie tasted like toothpaste.

"Can we keep going this time?"

Chris nodded, letting his fingers slide up under Armie's tight
T-shirt. "But we should wait until after the movie for anything else."

"I can live with that," Armie said breathlessly. His kisses got deeper,
more aggressive. Chris could feel Armie's hips rutting against his
own. When Chris heard the sound of Armie's T-shirt hitting the floor, he
felt his own defenses drop. The feel of skin and hair, the warmth and the
sense of urgency; everything came together and he let himself feel. Armie's
mouth moved lower, kissing at Chris' jaw and neck. Armie pulled Chris'
shirt off, too, both of them groaning at the skin-on-skin contact.

Armie dropped to his knees, his hands undoing Chris' jeans and yanking them
down along with his black briefs. Instantly, Chris' hands tangled in
Armie's sandy hair. The heat of Armie's mouth came as a shock and Chris
almost buckled in half. Armie's hand shot up to steady him.

"Oh god," Chris groaned out, feeling Armie's tongue run up and down his
cock. Armie slowly bobbed, his hands running over Chris' lean body, his
hips and his legs. It was new and exciting and he'd thought about it almost
every night, imagining how Chris would react, how he'd feel and taste. Now,
it was all right here. Armie tugged softly at Chris' balls, bringing out a
soft hiss and a whimper. Chris was breathing hard now, especially as Armie
bobbed on his length, lips tight.

Chris pulled Armie up, their lips connecting again. He struggled with
Armie's jeans, but he was too clumsy to get them off. "Armie," Chris said,
his voice dry and breathy. Armie shivered at the sound of his own
name. "Bed. Bed, please. I'm going to fall over." Chris swore he felt his
heart stop for a split second when Armie picked him up and walked a few
paces to the sofa. It wasn't a bed, but it would do.

Armie let Chris pull him down, their bodies crashing together again. Hands
were everywhere. Armie's jeans had managed to slide down, tangling his
feet. He reached for them, but Chris' insistent kisses kept him from
mustering up the ability to control his own hands. He bit his lip when
Chris' hand wrapped around his cock, hoping to keep any unflattering sounds
from escaping. After a few seconds of maneuvering, the jeans were off and
Armie was straddling Chris' chest, watching his dick slide through Chris'
lips. Their eyes locked together as Armie fucked Chris' mouth, feeling the
slick heat on every inch as he struggled to control his thrusts. He let the
sensations wash over his body, the ripples spreading from his dick to his
back and up his spine, right to the tips of his fingers, which were
gripping Chris' skull.

Every sensation was magnified. The wet, slurping sounds and Chris' soft
grunts filled the air and the feel of each others' hands. Chris felt his
whole body tingle. Armie buried his cock as deep as it would go, holding
his dick in Chris' throat and almost cumming right then. He pulled out and
kissed Chris again, reaching down to stroke their dicks together. He tried
to get away from the edge, but his body seemed to be taking over.

"We need lube," Chris whispered, his hands feeling the cords of Armie's
shoulders, his thumbs tracing his beard as they kissed. The toothpaste
flavor had gone away. It was raw now.

"Upstairs," Armie managed to croak out. "You were right. We need a bed."

Armie got up off the couch, offering a hand. Chris couldn't believe his
luck. Light streamed in from behind Armie, highlighting every contour and
making his hair practically glow. Chris couldn't move. Armie reached down
and pulled Chris up, bringing them together again into another deep
kiss. Chris kissed at Armie's chest, his biceps and his shoulders. It was
so new and novel. He wanted to explore, but his body ached for intimacy,
not familiarity.

Stumbling upstairs, stealing kisses and touches with just about every step,
Chris let Armie lower him down onto the thick duvet. It puffed up around
him and the laughed softly. "I didn't think this would actually happen,"
Armie admitted, nipping at Chris' collarbone. "I wished for it, but I never
thought..."

Chris interrupted that line of thought with a firm tug on Armie's dick and
felt a harder bite on his neck. Lube-slicked fingers slid into him, making
his breath catch in his throat. "Is that okay?"

Nodding, Chris buried his face in the crook of Armie's neck. Sweat. He
tasted sweat. Armie's fingers twisted and scissored, working his hole open
as Chris stroked their dicks, feeling his own cock throb against Armie's
doing his best to ignore the white-hot heat that was pulsing through. He
felt Armie shift and shut his eyes as his legs spread wider, instinctively
heading up to Armie's shoulders. Then, he arched his back, gripping the
blanket in his hands and clenching his jaw tight as he felt Armie push into
him. Both of them groaned despite the effort to keep it back, Chris' body
yielding as inch after inch of Armie sunk in. Hips rocking, he felt the
tightness grip him, the velvety squeeze enveloping him.

Chris shuddered with every forward thrust, Armie's dick raking across his
prostate. Chris' toes curled and he threw his head back as far as he could
with the loft of the blanket under him. His body arched more, making way
for Armie's intrusion. He could hear his own name, almost inaudible,
falling from Chris' lips over and over. Armie let Chris' legs fall and wrap
around his waist, watching Chris' muscles tense. Armie thrust again and
again, watching Chris' body react. He was rapt, seeing each move create so
many more. Chris pulled him down for a sloppy kiss, drowning his own
whimpers out with Armie's grunts.

Chris rolled the two of them over, sinking that much deeper and feeling the
blunt head of Armie's dick reach past its previous mark. "You look
incredible," Armie managed to say, watching the languid roll of Chris' hips
and the bounce of his cock as he moved. Chris didn't respond, his head
cloudy. Instead, he leaned down and licked at Armie's lips, capturing his
tongue in another wet kiss. Armie's hips thrust up despite his brain's
protests. He wanted to last, but the both of them were racing towards
orgasm, barreling forward. Armie grasped at Chris' hips, his fingers sure
to leave bruises, his knuckles white as he grit his teeth and fucked up
into the tightness, his balls rising, his breath quickening and both of
their bodies gleaming with a sheen of sweat. "I can't last," Armie
whispered.

Nodding, Chris ground his hips down, grunting at the sensation. He licked
and kissed at Armie's chest. Armie's unloaded with a loud groan, holding
Chris down on him, both of them freezing in the moment. Chris felt the
warmth inside of him, felt Armie tense and relax with each throbbing shot,
felt Armie hand stroking and squeezing his own dripping cock. He shuddered
and locked their lips together. He thrust into Armie's grip, inadvertently
fucking himself on Armie's softening cock. It only took a few strokes. He
painted Armie's hairy abs with his own load and steadied himself with a
hand on Armie's shoulder.

"Chris," Armie whispered, his lips grazing Chris' ear.

Chris shook his head, settling in against Armie. He couldn't speak, not as
he was taking in the scent of Armie's skin and the watching his chest hair
sway every time he exhaled. Armie's hands traced up and down along Chris'
spine and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

The sizzle of Cajun-spiced salmon ripped through the calm of the night. By
the time they'd managed to get back to their clothes downstairs, night had
blanketed Los Angeles in blues and purples and Armie had sucked one more
load out of Chris.

Pulled up to his chest, Chris half-closed his eyes and felt the cool air on
his bare back as he watched Armie cook. On his own insistence, he was
wearing Chris' briefs. They were a size too small, but he wasn't deterred.

Intimacy had turned into domesticity very quickly, but Chris' stomach
wasn't going to argue if Armie insisted on feeding it.

"It's nice, right?"

"It's more than just 'nice.' So much more." Chris didn't know if his
scantily clad companion was referring to the house, the present situation,
or the thought of being together.

"Tell me about what you wrote."

"What?" Chris' brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Armie was
asking about. He waded through the murk of his brain and came up
short. "Same old stories," he said unconvincingly. "Meditations on life and
socio-economic disparities. War. Famine. Conspiracies." Now he was just
spouting out words that vaguely reminded him of NPR.

"I read this story in the 'New Yorker' about a deaf person who played
piano. He felt the vibrations. It was muscle memory. I can't remember."

"Stop."

Armie smiled and tossed a handful of Brussels sprouts into a pan and tossed
them a few times. He set the cast iron onto the grill, right by the
fish. "But at the end, we found out that it was all in his head. Childhood
trauma with his parents made him think he was deaf. It was a stress thing."

"That sounds like a fever dream."

"Was it?"

"No, I wrote that story on a plane. I saw a kid practicing piano on his
tray table. No sheet music, no actual piano, no headphones."

"And you got a whole story from that?"

"Can't turn off my brain," Chris said, leaning back. For this one moment,
while he was sitting with his prince charming in a castle on the hill,
Chris wished that he could.

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