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

21 | Armie

I get up early the morning of Timmy's departure to San Fransisco, to wish him luck and make out with him. I drive him to the airport, and we sing along at the top of our lungs to the best hits of 2018 as I cruise down the highway.

I miss travelling with Timmy. We were on the circuit for fourteen months, and each time he and I would show up on the red carpet together, everyone would turn to us and get all whispery and stuff. We totally command a room. I mean, I'm gigantic, so that helps - but we're also just this dynamic duo of sorts - we complete each other - and it's magnetic.

When he arrives that evening, I FaceTime him to tell him I love him. 

"Arms," he greets me in his hotel room with a tired smile. "You look especially suave tonight."

I blush like a moron, always pleasantly thrown by these little compliments Timmy graces me with.

"Thanks, Sweet Tea." I settle back against the pillows, grateful for the girls' night out that's giving me the bedroom to myself. "Hey, is that underwear new?"

Timmy props his phone against a bedside lamp before turning around and bending over, pushing his bum out to give me an unobstructed view of the snug briefs he's wearing. They're a bright, cyan blue emblazoned with an expression that nearly makes me swallow my tongue. Daddy's Boy.

"Yup! Do you like?" He looks around at me after a minute of bored wriggling.

I gape, dumbfounded, at his long-limbed, coltish form draped over the bed, at that expressive mouth of his, so sweet and needy with his plump lips red and slick. He's a creature of beauty, gorgeous with his baby smooth cheeks, all slim and pale with his signature soft, scented dark hair that looks like a bird recently vacated it.

Oh. The underwear's nice too.

"You look so beautiful," I manage, slack-jawed. "Wish I were there with you, sweetheart."

Timmy picks up his phone and scoots further up on the bed, rolling over into our talking position with the screen right next to his head. He stares at me quietly for several moments, thin shoulders drawn up.

"How're Ford and Hops and Liz?" My sweetheart's mouth falls open in a soft yawn. "And Ham and Bunny?"

"They're good," I smooth, smiling fondly. Timmy smiles back, blinking tiredly at me. "Are you sleepy, babe?" I croon. "I can call you back tomorrow." I know the exhaustion that overtakes an actor on the circuit. It's all a whirl of hopping on planes and crashing in unfamiliar hotel rooms, hectic schedules, impossible handlers and agents and assistants, surviving on coffee and protein bars.

Timmy shifts his weight onto his forearm, propping himself up on his side.

"I love you, Arms."

I pucker my lips and send Timmy a gentle air kiss.

"I love you," I echo, voice thin and taut with emotion. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. Make sure Hops brushed her teeth," Timmy reminds me. "She tends to conveniently forget that. And feed Bunny. And make sure when you're cleaning that you use those disinfectant wipes on everything. God alone knows what Ford will pick up and put in his mouth at this point in his life."

I chuckle fondly.

"He's got the cutest little teeth, huh?"