Chapter Text
Timmy groaned, hiding under his pillow. He’d stayed up late with the cast after a great show and there was no matinee today so he could finally catch up on sleep. But his phone would not stop going off. His hopes of ignoring it were dashed when either a text chime or the consistent buzzing of a phone call assaulted his senses constantly. He wanted to toss it across the room, but when he thought about the possibility that maybe someone he loved needed him, he was quick to grab it off his nightstand. One of Pauline’s silly faces, his contact picture for her, was on the screen and he answered.
“Hel--”
“Oh thank God! Timmy! Please tell me you haven’t seen it yet.” Pauline was near hysterical. “I promise I’m almost to London but if I could be there any faster, I would.” Pauline was rambling, out of control and Timmy was instantly worried.
“What the fuck is going on?” His voice shook. Pauline let things that would shock most people to their core roll of her shoulders like nothing at all. His breathing came in faster pants, panic and dread setting in. “What is--”
“Okay, okay.” A deep breath. “Okay, Timmy, I want you to do something for me. Promise me .”
“I promise but--”
“No buts!” She practically shrieked, muttered a string of French curses under her breath.
“Pauli--”
“ Timmy!” Pauline sounded ready to cry and Timmy’s hands were shaking, fingers struggling to hold his phone.
“Are Mom and Dad okay? Please--”
“ Yes . Of course, Timmy, nobody is hurt, no one is sick.” Her voice was calmer as she soothed him but quickly ramped back up to her previous intensity, “Just promise me, whatever you do. After this phone call, put your phone down and do not, I repeat do not, pick it back up. Stay the fuck away from the media. No TV. Rien . Go take one of your xanax and a fucking shower. Promise me!”
Now Timmy was very confused as well as panicked. What the fuck was going on?
“Promise me!” Pauline yelled.
“I promise, I promise!” Timmy managed a deep breath.
“Thank you.” Pauline breathed out a sigh. “I’ll be there in like 20 minutes, just please, do as I ask.” She sounded deeply shaken and Timmy didn’t want to put any pressure on her so he swallowed.
“I promise.”
“Thank you Timmy. And remember I love you so much, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can.” And the line went dead. Timmy closed his eyes, clicking the lock screen button before setting his phone face down on the bed. It continued to beep and buzz with incoming texts but Timmy clasped his hands together, tuning the tones out to focus on his breathing.
Xanax. Xanax was good. And a shower, yeah, those things could last him till Pauline got here. If it was bad enough to shake her so deeply, he had no doubt he needed his big sister to process whatever was coming his way.
Fighting the rise of bile in his throat, he dry swallowed a xanax and made his way to the bathroom, stepping under the hot steam and focusing on the burn of the just-too-hot water on his fair skin. He needed the sensation, the distraction as dread continued to coil and twist and grow in his stomach.
***
“Give me your fucking phone, Jesus, Armie!” Strong fingers plucked his phone from his hand, smashing Armie’s thumb to the unlock button. Whoever was shouting needed to lower their voice. It sounded so much like Nick but Nick was in LA. Just when he began to open his sleep crusted eyes, the curtains were flung open, making Armie moan and hide under the covers, his eyes aching, head throbbing at the intrusion of the bright midday sun.
How much had he had to drink last night? He heard a heavy sigh and a grumble, a few Italian swear words, then stomping feet and distant clanging in the kitchen.
“Wakey, wakey, assshole!” Nick had returned, banging two pot lids together and it made Armie want to cry, the way the sounds echoed in his skull. When he rolled further into the sheets to escape the sound, strong fingers gripped the fabric. “Get the fuck up!” A rage he’d never heard before in Nick’s voice as the covers were ripped away. Nick’s scowl was dark, the kind that meant one of those very thorough Italian scoldings was coming his way. He just didn’t expect one from Nick.
“What is wrong with you?” Armie grumbled, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, then, oh God. His cock was practically crusted to his pubes with dried come, pajama pants tangled around his ankles.
“Me?” Nick looked at him incredulously. “No, I want to know what was going through your brain last night because I could fucking strangle you right now. Get. Up. And per l'amor di Dio , put some pants on.” Nick turned on his heel, grabbing the pot lids from the floor, swearing and cursing in at least two languages--Armie definitely heard Italian and French around of smatter of emphasizingly placed “FUCK”--as he left the bedroom.
Nick had taken Armie’s phone with him so he had no idea what he did last night to warrant Nick coming to New York to yell at him. He didn’t remember most of last night, but it had been so cold after the show, and his back hurt, and his old pectoral injury just aches when it was the bitter part of winter. He just wanted to curl up with Timmy and snuggle until the cold left his aching body, and since he knew he couldn’t have Timmy right now, he’d drowned himself in vodka.
A lot of vodka judging by the empty fifth rolled across the floor near the door. A half empty bottle sat proudly, cap disappeared to who knows where on his nightstand.
Rubbing his face again, he was somewhat acclimated to the light now. How late did he sleep?
Fumbling his way out of bed, he discarded his dirty pajama pants and made his way to the bathroom, reluctantly and uncomfortably peeling his dick out of the sticky mess in his pubes to take a piss before finding fresher pajama pants. As he exited the bathroom, the bottle of vodka on the nightstand was gone and Armie swallowed hard.
Carefully stepping out into the main room, Nick was pouring the vodka down the sink, every other bottle from his stash emptied and sitting on the counter ready to go to recycling. Nick was on the phone, speaking furious, rapid-fire French that ended with a much softer tone.
“ Merci beaucoup. Prend soin de lui. Je vous aime tous les deux. Au revoir mon ami. ” Nick made a quick kissing sound like he was sending the affection through the phone to land on the cheek of whoever he was talking to. Call ended, he hung his head, suddenly looking weary and exhausted. And so fucking sad.
“Nick, what’s going on?” He tried to keep his voice soft, not do anything to induce Nick’s wrath because apparently whatever he had done in his drunken blackout last night had not only royally pissed Nick off, but upset him.
“Ass in chair, Hammer.” Nick pointed to one of the kitchen chairs as he leaned his hip on Armie’s counter, rubbing and pinching the space between his eyes. Armie slowly sat down, watching his oldest friend carefully. He’d never seen Nick quite like this before. Leaning his butt against the edge of Armie’s counter, he rubbed his hands over his face and up into his dark hair before sighing. A deep breath and a stern, but more steady tone. “Do you remember anything from last night? Literally anything.”
Armie bit his lip at the way Nick was looking at him, disappointed, pissed, and at least a half-dozen other emotions Armie couldn’t think of the words to in his hungover state, but none of them were good.
“I remember being really cold getting home last night. My back was all tight from sleeping funny and my pec, shoulder, hurt so goddamn bad. So I took a couple Percocet…”
“And then drank your weight in vodka?” Nick looked at him with a raised eyebrow as if to ask, really? Really?
Armie blushed, feeling dumb for mixing the two when Nick put it like that, but he’d done it before. It had been a damn long time since he blacked out though. Maybe because he hadn’t eaten much yesterday, or he was just getting old?
“Okay. So nothing past Percocet, and a lot of vodka.” Nick began pacing slowly.
“I think I remember Twitter, I posted a song or something, I might have been crying…” It wasn’t information he’d normally disclose but Nick had seen him at some of his worst moments. And Armie knew he wouldn’t put up with his bullshit right now, so best stick to the truth.
“Mhmm. Handful of sad country songs about missing your true love, then some raunchy hip-hop, continuingly increasing typos. Then Visions of Gideon and a long winded confession that you were crying.” Nck supplied, watching him as Armie cringed, flushing with embarrassment.
“I think that’s when I got into the second bottle.” He tried to remember. He had snatches of fucking sobbing along to Sufjan Stevens and wailing to the empty room about how much he just wanted his Timmy.
“Is there anything else you remember?” Nick leaned in, again raising one of those expressive brows, forcing Armie to make eye contact until he squirmed out of the intensity of his gaze. “Literally anything?”
“I think I jerked off?” Nick snorted.
“Yeah, definitely no shortage of proof on that front.” Nick shook his head and started pacing again, muttering. “Fuck. You guys were so close to doing it right, I can’t believe you’d fucking do that to him. What the hell were you thinking?” And it all dissolved into muttered Italian as Armie’s stomach dropped.
“Did I do something to Timmy?” His voice shook, fighting again the urge to throw up. Nick stopped, took in the dread on his face and softened a small fraction. "What did I do, Niki?" He felt like someone had dumped ice water down his spine. Nick sighed and fished his phone out of his pocket, clicking through and bringing up TMZ, as he sat next to Armie.
There was a warning attached.
By viewing this graphic and sexually explicit content, you confirm that you are at least 18 years old.
Nick tapped agree as he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, tilting the phone so Armie could watch as he tapped the video in the center of the webpage, grainy like someone had captured it in a rush from an Instagram post.
“No.” His hands shook, cold sweat running down his spine, tears spilling down his face, trying to figure out if he wants to punch something, or beg Nick to hold him. “No, no, no.”
***
Dick Pic Alert: Married Call Me by Your Name star Armie Hammer uploads a graphic video, tagging former co-star Timothée Chalamet
And there on the screen, immortalized in the digital world was a shockingly clear close up view of him coming, moaning low as he stroked himself through his orgasm.
@tchalamet Come and get it.