Calling Him By My Name [Armie Hammer + Timothée Chalamet | Charmie | mxb]

8 | Timothée

"This isn't working," I sigh, falling back against the headboard and tossing yet another peach into the garbage can by the bed.

"Hey, don't waste that - I was hungry!" Armie scowls indignantly at me.

"You can suck the rest of it off my dick then," I grumble, thoroughly fucking done with this rehearsal. For two hours now, I've been sitting on Armie's lap with my hand down my boxers while we watch TV, preparing for tomorrow's big scene. I've gotten nowhere. My movements are still awkward and I'm still feeling uncomfortable. Elio is in the privacy of his room; I'm going to be fucking this peach for an audience of everyone and their frigging grandmother.

"Hey." Armie rubs my shoulder consolingly. "It's okay to take a break if you want-"

"I'm fine. Just...give me another peach."

Armie fumbles around in the basket at his side, eyes still glued to the TV screen.

"Don't waste this one," he mutters absently. "Kids in Africa are starving - I'm starving."

"Shut up already," I snap. "I'm trying to focus."

I purse my lips and tuck my hand back inside my underwear. Eyes screwed shut, I force myself to relax my movements, to act, damnit. But it's hard because I'm a sticky mess by this point, covered in sweet, syrupy peach innards and this fucking close to an aneurysm. My semi is wilting and it takes every atom in my makeup not to scream in frustration. This was not in the job description. I didn't even know we were doing this until too recently. I try to think positive thoughts, about how this filming experience has been a dream and everything I've always wanted. Given that I was plucked out of my shitty New York apartment to come work with well-established and world-renowned masters of the industry, fucking a peach on camera should be a small price to pay. And still I crave the sweet release of death. Desperately.

Armie's legs start shifting impatiently underneath me.

"I'm bored," he announces, stealing a glance at the clock. "I think I'll-"

"Oh no you don't," I seethe. "I'm not going to sit here with this peach in my pants, feeling like the seven layers of hell shat upon me, while you run off and have fun."

"Well, hurry up then." Armie pushes his hand into my boxers alongside my own, his fingers dwarfing mine. He helps me ease the peach up and down my shaft in a slow, steady rhythm. "Just relax. Bite your lip if you have to. Let your shoulders fall back, tilt your head, like this-" he angles me just so on his lap, adjusting and positioning my body like a rag doll to create some semblance of comfort.

"We'll celebrate tomorrow after it's over," he promises. I can already feel the tension dissipating from my body, his voice calming and his presence reassuring.

"You have to be there," I blurt. "It'll go shit if you're not there, I know it-"

"Relax." Armie presses a quick kiss to my temple. "I'll be there behind the camera, making obscene gestures to keep you turned on. I promise."

I chuckle, letting myself relax against his chest.

"Thanks, man."

Another kiss, this time on my jaw.

"Now can we go do something? My ass is sore."