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

43 | Armie

Fireworks explode in the night as the limo cruises through the Parisian traffic. The shower of colour adds a surreal, dream-like glow to the evening. The traffic is heavily congested due to the massive wedding attendance. Which is all the better for me, because I get to kiss Timmy in the back of the limo with the widows rolled down on the most romantic night of my life.

One would think I'd be tired of kissing him at this point, that my lips would be sore, what with the glasses clinking every. Two. Minutes. At our wedding reception. The cheering was deafening; my lips were numb and tingling; Timmy looked like he was wearing lipstick by the end of it all and I'm sure I did too. 

But I'm not sick of him. How could I be? He's so beautiful, his silhouette angelic in the golden glow of fireworks and Paris traffic, smiling and waving blowing kisses at the people frantically tailing the limousine and screaming our names.

My happy little French bean in his element all night, speaking French with the locals, hugging crying fans, giving statements to some of the news outlets whose reporters were screaming at the top of their lungs to be heard over the excited chaos.

I've never seen anything like this in my life. This turnout, this outpouring of love and support, the wild unbridled enthusiasm - all of it is unreal. I just hope we don't get news tomorrow that some poor soul got trampled in all the excitement.

An army of staff members help me escort Timmy out of the limousine when we arrive at the massive, brightly-lit hotel. The blinding flash of cameras and the golden glow of the hotel lights lights our path into the massive building.

The kids are staying with their grandparents in a separate hotel, giving Timmy and I some much-appreciated privacy in the penthouse suite we've rented for our stay in France.

I carry my precious Lil' Timmy Tim, my sweet bunny, my beautiful bride, across the threshold of our room. He's giggling and happy, and I'm so in love with him it hurts. It consumes me, makes my pulse whip all ragged and choppy through my veins.

I set him down in the centre of the massive room, unable to tear my eyes from his beautiful face.

"God, baby," I groan breathily, raking my hands through his hair.

I take my beloved into my arms and kiss him everywhere I can.

I undress him slowly, sensually. My fingers tremble as I work.

The naked boy coils his boy around mine and clamps tight as a vise. I carry him like this into the bedroom, overcome with the need to just love him. 

I'm going crazy here.

So. Fucking. Beautiful. And hot. Angelic. Perfect boy.

I tangle my fingers in Timmy's hair and give him a push; he lowers himself onto his knees, mouth open on a silent, exhilarated laugh, eyes gleaming with eager anticipation as he stares lustily at my crotch.

There may be flower petals strewn all over the bed and candles flickering in every corner of the room, but there is nothing flowery about this. I'm rushing, scrambling, heart pounding, overcome with lust, fingers shaking, fumbling with my damn belt, buckle clinking, stupid hands jittery, zipper catching, yanking my fly down and then my pants and briefs and - oh. Suddenly, sweet relief. My breath catches in my throat and I groan, eyes rolling back into my head. My fingers flex and squeeze in Timmy's hair. Muscles go slack. My breathing is choppy.