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

13 | Armie

Timmy leaves a gaping hole in our home when he returns to New York. He has to, because of the new movie he's working on, or I would've been tempted to lock him inside my house forever. Before he visited, it was bearable with him so far away, because I didn't know what it was like with him living in my house. Now that I know, I need to see him again like I need the air I breathe.

Thus, only a few week after he leaves, I land at JFK in New York to visit my precious boy. Being a husband and father, it's harder for me to drop everything and leave than it is for Timmy.

But I've missed the fuck out of him.

I tell him so when I kiss him hello in his tiny apartment. It's so small that I can put out both hands and practically reach both walls - but I'd rather put my hands elsewhere.

I shed my clothes in two seconds flat, and Timmy only has to drop the towel he'd been wearing after his shower to blissfully reunite our skin. I'm only here for a day; there's no time. Taking the adored boy into my arms, I wildly plant kisses on his face, shoulders, chest.

"Go get on the bed," I breathe, huge hands framing the face of this absolute fucking doll, so soft and youthful and guileless.

I love the way his ass moves when he runs. I chase him into the room, a pale blue awash in the golden glow of the setting sun. Timmy shrieks with laughter as I pull him back against my chest, scoop his naked body into my arms and tickle him to within an inch of his life before throwing him on the bed. He must've noticed my staring because he immediately rolls onto his stomach and pushes his ass into the air.

This is...new. In some ways, it just feels like a natural progression for us at this point, but I have to draw the line somewhere...

Timmy whimpers in frustration at my stalling.

"Armie," he whines - and there's no more obvious way for a boy to ask a man to rim him.

Maybe I've spoiled him. Like a child, he knows I'm loathe to deny him anything he wants. Maybe it's because of the incredibly intimate nature of the film we shot together that there are no boundaries between us. Usually, I wouldn't bat an eye. But is this too far? Would Liz understand? What should I say to Timmy? Probably not this:

"You want that?" I grip and knead the firm cheeks beneath my hands. "You want me to do that thing with my tongue?"

Timmy's curls shake as he nods vigorously. And we both know that I'll do anything he asks of me. Elizabeth won't care, probably. I'm just helping him get off. If wives had to get involved every time guys helped each other out with a bro-job or circle jerk or something, all men would be single.

I swoop down on him. Timmy keens as I spread his delicious cheeks with my hands and bury my face into the cleft. I french his hot, little hole, pressing my lips and tongue and whole face against it until Timmy collapses flat on the bedspread. Like a newborn calf, he struggles to get back up again on spindly legs.

I marvel at how massive my hands look encasing his slim thighs and pert, little ass. It makes me want to be even more gentle. My thumbs knead the centre of each fleshy cheek, spreading him wider still for my roaming tongue. After licking and lathering him up good, I apply pressure at his tiny rosebud until I can feel it begin to unfold slowly. Timmy sobs and shivers and arches his back in a plea for more. There's no sight, no sensation, quite as exquisite as this. It isn't some dirty, base thing done during a fumbling tryst in the dark, but rather just another way in which I lavish my love on him: opening him up slowly, relishing his low, keening moans and the delectable slope of his backside as he presses eagerly against my face. This is just another way in which I'm taking care of him.