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

32 | Timothée

Armie looks tired. He has bags under his eyes and his hair is nearly shoulder-length, pronounced stubble riddling his jawline. But I can still see him through the kitchen window, smiling that breathtaking smile as he plays with Ford. He's got the toddler's training wheels on, teaching him how to ride a bike. Underneath his helmet, Ford is wearing a long Santa Claus hat, the white Pom-Pom trailing around his mid-back. Armie's got one too, and it's even got a fake white beard attached.

Honestly, Armie has the biggest heart, and such an awesome way with kids. I don't think I've ever met anyone like him. He's got a smile so beautiful and eyes so electrifyingly blue that they shine clean through his haggard, almost pitiful appearance of late.

The lesson is cut short when Liz calls them inside to help clean. Startled out of my reverie, I abandon the window and return to my duties. I'm in charge of the kitchen, wiping the counters and washing the dishes. I can hear Armie chasing a squealing Ford into the house, when a hard, lean body suddenly slams into me from behind. Arms shoot out on either side of me, gripping the counter for stability. The warm musky scent and sinewy limbs enveloping me are unmistakably Armie's.

"Mama," Ford giggles, throwing himself at me and nuzzling his face against my hip. He's gone again before I can open my mouth, still running from his daddy.

"Ford, slow down, sweetheart. No running," I call after him.

"Sorry," Armie murmurs, his breath warm against my neck.

"That's okay," I smile ruefully, barely missing a beat as I continue to scrub at the dish in my hands without looking up. I conceal my breathlessness; I'm a little winded from the impact, that's all.

"I didn't mean to run into you like that... Are you okay?" Armie rambles on, still plastered to my back.

"I'm fine, don't worry." I don't mind, honestly. He always did smell and feel amazing wrapped around me. I turn to smile at him in reassurance but falter when I feel an unmistakable hardness against my back.

"I...I'm so sorry." Armie draws a hand over his face and leaves it there, stepping away from me. He looks genuinely tortured, poor man. Before I can tell him that there's no conceivable reason he should have to apologize for an erection he couldn't help, he's gone. 

We divide and conquer the various rooms of the house, and the holiday music blasting throughout takes the sting out of the work. I snack on chocolates as I work, stuffing my mouth to satisfy my sweet tooth. The cravings are always worst around Christmas when there are heaps of chocolate boxes lying around.

In the evening, we sit with the kids on the living room carpet, playing with Lego and decorating each other in stickers. Armie gets Ford up on his shoulders and Harper climbs onto Eric's and they hang candy canes and DIY decorations up on the Christmas tree, and stockings on the fireplace.

Armie digs out his old guitar and strums some Christmas songs while the fire crackles, flames licking up towards the chimney. Meanwhile, the kids run around tucking an odd assortment of cranberry decorations and mistletoe behind our ears and in our hair. Liz films while Armie play-wrestles with the kids on the carpet, who crawl all over him and rub against him until their blond hair is standing on end and they're all adorably disheveled. Armie only really looks happy these days when he's around the kids. I'm not sure why, but he and Liz don't seem right. Remembering how they used to come across as being so in love it was almost sickening, I find myself more and more alarmed by the dynamic between the two. I can tell they're both trying. Liz tries to touch him, sending him flirty smiles and such, but Armie never reacts right. He, for his part, seems to submit to her every whim, but only to placate her and keep the peace.