Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

That Damn Bassist (P3)

Warnings - drunk ness, confessions, panic attack, mentions of sex, mentions of grooming and losing virginity, means of cold parents, self dislike, talking about drunk sex, mention of masturbation

"Timothée can you please stop putting the window up and down, pick one," I sighed as I drove the drunk boy to my house.

"It makes a silly noise," he giggled.

"Yeah, I know, but how about we focus on something else?"

"Like you? Like how you're sooooo pretty," he swooned. My cheeks were heating up and I wanted to look at him but I was driving.

"You're very drunk."

"Doesn't matter," he said in a sing song voice. "I still think you're gorgeous when I'm sober. You have these eyes that stare into my soul, and make want to tell you everything about me. The thing is, even if I did, I know you'd accept me, that's who you are."

"That's very sweet, but I'll doubt you remember you said that tomorrow," I said, trying to downplay what he'd just admitted to.

"I'm soooo glad you didn't have sex with me after the concert," he sighed.

"That's not what sober Timothée would say," I chuckled.

"Oh no, he never would, but he would feel it in his heart. Sober me can be a bit of a prick, but you saw through that. Now I can't get you out of my head," he admitted.

"Oh, really?" I asked shakily.

"Nope," he popped the P.

"I masturbated in the bar bathroom while thinking of you," he said plainly. I needed to swerve when I almost hit someone because of the shock his statement caused.

"You what?"

"Then I had to get drunk because it felt like a really pathetic thing to to do, and I knew you weren't doing the same to me."

I bit my lip. I wondered what he'd say if I told him I'd been masturbating to him for years. Sometimes just playing his songs made me horny, pair it with a video of him and I was good as gold. We were at a light so I looked at him. He was so pretty, a bit more tousled than usual, but still gorgeous.

He darted over and captured my lips. I pushed him back, not wanting to take advantage of him in his fragile state.

"I wanna kiss you," he whined.

"You're drunk," I told him carefully.

"I'm perfectly sober, could a drunk person do this?" He hit the woah, in an embarrassingly bad way. I was in a fit of giggles.

"I don't think anyone could do what you just did," I laughed as I turned into my driveway.

I got him set up on the couch, instructing him to sleep on his side. I gave him water, and pain medication for the roaring hangover he'd surely have in the morning. I told him where the toilet was, and to get me if he needed anything. I also put some crackers near him as well.

I went to bed myself. I was nearly asleep when the door cracked open. Clumsily, Timmy got into bed with me. He sighed in contentment as he pulled me to him, nuzzling into my neck. I was frozen, washed over with chills.

"I don't wanna sleep out there," he mumbled into my skin. "So much nicer in here, and I'm your guest so you can't say no."

I didn't say no, but getting used to him holding me was hard. I felt like every nerve ending I had was ablaze. I eventually was able to fall asleep.

I woke up the next day to hear him wondering where he was.

"Hey there sleepy head," I yawned.

"What am I doing here?" He asked, sitting up. I sat up too.

"You don't remember drunk calling me?" I asked.

"I remember.... Not much honestly. I remember kissing you, but you pulled away."

"Yeah," I said.

"But now we're in bed together, did we have sex?" He asked, and looked sad, as if he would've liked to remember it.

"Are you crazy? You were so drunk, you couldn't consent to practically anything," I said in horror that he thought I'd do that to him.

"I couldn't consent?" He asked in confusion. "And that stopped you?"

"Uh, yeah, that's why I pushed away the kiss too," I told him.

"You-" he cut himself off and a shudder went through him. He started hyperventilating. He couldn't catch his breath. His eyes were wide and he looked entirely panicked. I'd never seen a panic attack so bad, he truly couldn't catch a breath.

"Hey, Timmy, oh my, Timmy, I need you to breathe for me okay," I said, straddling him so I could hold his face. His eyes were darting all over as if attackers were coming for him.

"I can't-"

"You probably feel like you're dying right now but you're not," I said and lifted his hand to press it to his chest.

"Your heart is beating, it's okay, breathe in and breathe out, again, in and out again, good," I coached him, and soon he was able to breathe again, but tears were cascading down his cheeks. He was full on weeping.

"I don't get it," he sobbed.

"What's the matter," I said caressing his face.

"Don't do that," he grabbed my hand and pushed it away. His face crumpled even more.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again," I said raising my hands.

"It doesn't make any sense! I was born to cold parents who never did anything for me. I was groomed by an older woman for years before giving my virginity to her, but then I was too old to be interesting and she left me heart broken. My band mates hate me because I became the most popular. All anyone wants from me is fame or sex, I'm treated like a commodity, then you come along and fuck everything up. I'm a bad person, I'm supposed to have bad things happen to me. You really didn't have sex with me because I couldn't consent? Do you know how many times girls have fucked me while I'm drunk. You wouldn't even kiss me. This has to be some sort of trick, why did the universe lead me to you. It's too good to be true."

"Hey, hey," I said, and I hugged him. He let me, sobbing into my shirt and clinging to me.

"Timothée thank you for being vulnerable with me, but you're not a bad person. You're a broken person who doesn't know how they deserve to be treated. I'm not some siren in disguise trying to tempt you to your doom. You deserve good things, and it's nice you think I'm one of them."

"This doesn't feel real," he sniffled.

"I'm so sorry all those things happened to you, you didn't deserve them," I said gently, I ran my hands through his hair. I pulled back, and took in his tear stained face. I wiped away his tears.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked. I knew in this moment it wasn't a good idea. My hunch was that since sexual favors were usually wanted from him, he was offering a kiss as a sort of apology for breaking down in front of me. I didn't want to reinforce that idea in his head.

"I think you're still a little too raw," I said gently. "Don't get me wrong, I want to, and I'm not saying no because you were open with me and now I look at you differently. I'm saying no because I think you want to kiss me for the wrong reasons."

"Okay," he said solemnly.

"But you can help me make pancakes, if your head doesn't hurt too bad," I smiled.

"I'd love to," he said eagerly.