Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

That Damn Bassist (P4)

Warnings - dirty minded Timothée, innuendo, mentions of sex. Mentions of masturbation

"Can we put blueberries in them?" Timothée asked.

"You've made a total mess of my kitchen, but yes," I giggled.

"Not my fault, I'm a rock star, I have people that do that for me," he said. I rolled my eyes and tapped his nose with the spatula, getting batter on it.

"You wanna lick it off for me?" He said, eyes dancing.

"I think you can handle that yourself," I chuckled.

"Yeah, that's what it always is when it comes to you, I always have to handle myself," he said, hoping I'd get the double meaning. I did and chose to ignore it as my cheeks heated. Now I was thinking of how he'd told me he'd masturbated to me at the bar, I wonder if he remembered?

"You're far too dirty minded," I said as I flipped the pancakes, which I had added blueberries to, for him.

"Kinda hard not to be when you're in front of me all tousled and wearing tiny pajama shorts," he sighed. I didn't know how to respond, but I think he was used to that by now.

"Come on, food is ready," I said changing the subject. We sat down and ate together, joking and enjoying one another's company.

"Do you need me to leave?" He asked after we'd finished, and he'd graciously cleaned the dishes.

"No," I said with a grin.

"Good," he smiled, and grabbed his phone. He started playing some music. He bowed to me deeply.

"May I have this dance?" He asked.

"Yes," I said, and he grabbed me goofily, and began an over exaggerated waltz with me. I was laughing my head off as he spun me. He danced me all the way into the living room to the dramatic instrumental music. He ended up tripping, and we fell to the ground, with him on top of me.

"You okay?" He asked worriedly.

"Yeah," I whispered. He was so close to me I could feel his breath. He leaned forward, and pushed a strand of hair out of my face, and my breath hitched. I couldn't resist any longer. I kissed him, his lips were so amazingly soft. Our lips made wet sounds between us as he deepened the kiss. I moved my hands up so they tangled in his hair. I was massaging his scalp, and he whimpered into my mouth. I was burning alive as I kissed him.

We were interrupted by his phone ringing. I pulled back and he tried to catch my lips again but I wouldn't let him.

"It's probably important," I breathed.

"I don't care," he said, trying to lean in again. I placed a hand on his chest and gave him a stern look.

"Oh alright I'll get it, but don't forget where we were," he said, and got off me. I took a moment to catch my breath.

I got up and saw him looking pissed. He flung his phone to the side and approached me again.

"It's important isn't it," I asked knowingly.

"I just have to go practice for dumb ole Jimmy Fallon," he rolled his eyes.

"How can you say that so nonchalantly?" I asked him.

"Forgive me if kissing you is a lot more tantalizing," he said with an eye roll, and my heart leapt in my chest.

"You'll see me again," I said gently.

"Yeah, but who knows if you'll let me kiss you," he said, grabbing his things. He had a point. I just couldn't let it go too far. I had him on the hook right now. What if I gave in and became just another hook up to him? What if the personality he was showing me was fake? I didn't want to lose him.

He left grudgingly, texting me right away when he was out the door. It was a few days of just texting back and forth. I did flirt with him a bit, but I couldn't help it. He had a point about his irresistibility.

Three days later I was in my living room, reading a book, when Timothée texted me. He told me to turn on Jimmy Fallon. I turned on the tv, and I saw Cyanide Cylinders on the small stage. Timothée looked gorgeous as always, with a red leather jacket covered in spikes, and red plaid pants that hugged his thin legs. I could have salivated over him.

"I know we're supposed to be done, but I'd like to give the audience here tonight an exclusive," Timothée said into the mic. His eyeliner was perfect, as he looked directly into the camera. I shivered, as if he were really there.

"I recently met someone who is really awesome. They are making me feel things I have never felt before, so I wanted to sing this song I wrote, and dedicate it to them."

My heart jumped into my throat. He was talking about me. He had to be, or he wouldn't have texted me. He took the guitar from the lead singer, and moved up to the mic. What he strummed didn't sound anything like their normal sound. It was soft, and earnest, and pure. I felt tears prick my eyes as he sang.

The chorus went ,"Truthsayer eyes, pulled the honesty right from my mind, and I've never been treated so kind. Just when I thought the good was slipping away, the greatest thing came and slapped me in my face. I don't know how to handle what I feel, but I think that's how you know it's real."

The audience gave him a standing ovation at the end. I checked my phone to see all the groups I was apart of were freaking out, wondering who the mystery person could be. The ones that made me smile the most were saying that he seemed different, softer, and more happy. I opened my texts with Timmy.

"Like it?" He had texted.

"That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me," I replied, biting my lip.

"Would you want to come over after whatever you have planned?" I sent. I'd backspaced it three times, but I finally sent it.

"Absolutely," was the reply. I felt giddy and nervous. I went to put on a nicer outfit. I wanted to look good for him. It was odd feeling like this, it almost felt like a dream.

There was a rapid knock. I bounced to the door, and flung it open. Timothée was there grinning sheepishly. I grabbed the collar of his leather jacket and kissed him. He responded with immediate hunger. His tongue danced with mine as I clung to him. He shut the door behind him, his hands cupping my face. The make out was heated and thrilling. I let him palm my breasts, and I moaned into his lips. He was so incredibly sexy.

"Okay, time to stop," I said, breathing heavily.

"Why," he whined. "You've got me wrapped around your finger, I'm right where you want me. You still don't want to fuck me?"

"Take me on a date, a real proper date, and we'll see," I said, still fearing the worst, even after the song.

"Of course," he said. "Name the place, and time, I'm there."

"I want a regular date with you," I said sternly. "You may not pull out all the stops, and spend a shit ton of money and spoil me. I want to go out with Timothée, not the bassist of Cyanide Cylinders."

"Deal," he beamed, and my knees went weak.

"You're so beautiful," I sighed, and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Fuck, y/n, just when I think I've got you pinned down, you go and do something like that," he chuckled.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Beautiful? I've been called hot, sexy, sex bomb, pantie dropper, horse dick, you name it, but never beautiful."

"Well, you are, and you deserve to know it. You're lovely," I said, cupping his cheek. He leaned against my hand gratefully.

"I promise I won't try anything, but can I just cuddle you?" He asked.

"Yes," I said, and pulled him to the couch. We tangled together so that my back was against his chest, and his chin rested on my head. He interlaced our fingers and sighed happily.