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Timmy stands on the back porch of his rental cabin, wearing nothing but a pair of red rubber rain boots and an oversized button down sweater, that he holds wrapped around his naked body to protect himself from the damp and the unseasonable chill lingering in the early morning fog. It’s an ugly thing. The sweater, not the cabin which is cozy and remote and in the middle of nowhere nestled deep in the woods of Upstate New York. But the sweater’s ugly with its taupish grey color and mustard and brown argyle diamonds that are offset by wooden shank buttons. But it’s cashmere and it feels soft against his skin. It’s also so big that it covers him to mid thigh and he can easily tuck his hands inside the sleeves which is why he loves it.
It had started raining yesterday afternoon while he was shooting the GQ cover shots and it had continued late into the night, only stopping as dawn rose. The birds had woken him. They wake him every morning. It’s ok though, because he loves the tangible silence that only seems present at this hour and he’s gotten into the habit of coming out here to just… be.
Everything feels soaked and heavy today. The trees smell green and the ground feels earthy and fertile and Timmy breathes in deeply, letting the quiet and the wetness in the air fill his lungs and calm his mind. He feels settled here. He likes the quiet even if it took him some time to get used to it. Now when he goes back to the city he craves it and he’s thinking about buying a place out here, maybe. Nothing huge, nothing extravagant. Just a small cottage like this one. Where he can come and just be.
He’s watching the sun start to peak through the trees, casting beams of soft light like a kaleidoscope in the leaves, when he hears the screen door creak open and immediately he smiles. He doesn’t turn around, instead he waits because he knows in just a second big strong arms are going to wrap around his stomach and Armie’s chest will press to his back while his lips will find his temple, his neck, his shoulder.
“What are you wearing?” Armie chuckles in his ear, the exhale of sleepy breath against his skin causing every little hair on Timmy’s body to vibrate with excitement.
“Castaways from yesterday's shoot.” Timmy says, covering Armie’s arms with his own, Armie’s hands wrapping over the paws Timmy has created out of his with the sweater. Then Armie’s lips are trailing delicate, barely there, kisses along the long span of Timmy’s neck and it’s setting his nerve endings ablaze. “What’d you end up doing yesterday?” he asks, eyes closing unconsciously. “It was late when you got back. I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“I ended up having dinner at your folks place.” Armie answers and TImmy’s a little surprised but mostly he’s amused. Armie had booked himself a few meetings in the city so he’d be out of sight for the duration of the shoot and Timmy had asked him to stop by his parents' to drop something off while he was there. He should have anticipated that his mother wouldn’t allow Armie to leave without feeding him.
“What’d you have for dinner?” Timmy asks, torn between missing home and never wanting to leave this place, this moment, this embrace. He’s leaning back against the pillar of Armie's body with his head rolled back against a strong shoulder so Armie can have better access to his jaw and that spot behind his ear that makes his body turn to jello.
“Hamburger mac n’ cheese.” Armie says and Timmy hums loudly, both because he loves his mom’s cooking and because he loves what Armie’s doing with his tongue; the sound reverberates and tickles in his chest.
“That’s my favorite.” Timmy says, turning his face to the side so he can rub his cheek against Armie’s stubble, the coarse hair scratching his skin and he loves that too. “She made that on purpose cause I wasn't there, didn’t she?. Did she at least give you leftovers to bring home?”
“She did.” Armie answers while he noses at Timmy’s cheek, trying to get him to turn his face back the other way so he can resume tasting and breathing in the smell of his skin. “She only gave me enough for my lunch today, tough. She said only son’s that visit their mother’s get leftovers. Those who don’t even bother to call don’t get anything. It’s too bad really, ‘cause it was so good.”
“Hey!" Timmy cries out, turning quickly in Armie’s arms so he's facing him, sweater paws on his hips and brow furrowed into one thick line. "That's not fair. Why do you get to have the Leftovers? She's my mother." He starts to protest an OK he sounds like a whiny petulant child when he says it, but Timmy is her son not Armie and… "Hold on." He pauses for a moment and looks up at Armie, all traces of jealousy and annoyance gone, his big green eyes full of awe, elation and unconditional love. " Did she really refer to you as her son? Not just her son-in-law or the big ass old dude dating her favorite child?"
"Your mom thinks i'm dating Pauline?" Armie quips and feigns confusion, mimicking Timmy's earlier knitted brow. "I mean i guess it makes sense, she is super hot. And also, she's like 28 years old so more mature and therefore we're better suited for each other. I should give her a call actually..."
Armie is interrupted by Timmy punching his upper arm and he laughs but winces because it hurts. Ever since Timmy had trained for his roles in The King and then Dune, he had developed a serious right hook.
"Are you done?" Timmy asks, lips pursed and voice stern but Armie can tell he isn't really upset because there's laughter in his tone and a twinkle in his eye. Nevertheless, Armie decides to stop teasing, wanting to avoid another bruised shoulder. If Timmy is going to be leaving marks he would prefer it be with his teeth and his lips rather than his fists. "Good. Cause I'm all for my mom calling you Son - that's awesome by the way, I knew she loved you - but that's enough of this Pauline is hot shit," he says adamantly and wraps his arms tightly around Armie's middle, locking his wrists behind Armie's back to make sure he can't get away. Because Armie is his and nobody else's.
“Relax little green eyed monster.” Armie laughs and kisses the tip of Timmy’s nose, thinking ‘God, your so fucking beautiful when you pout and if you don’t stop I may have to take you right here, right now’ but what he says is “I was kidding. You’re the only Chalamet for me. And your mom did send enough food for both of us by the way. She just wanted me to make sure you understood you could be replaced if you didn’t shape up and call her soon.”
His reassurances have the desired effect and Timmy goes from a pout to a contented smirk as he wrinkles his nose and tilts his head back so Armie’s next kiss lands on his lips. And Timmy melts. Because Armie’s lips are soft and warm and always so malleable. And he always bends to whatever rhythm Timmy wants to set, whether it be slow and languid or quick and frantic; not even minding when Timmy wants it to be wet and sloppy and all over the damn place. Armie always waits to see what kissing mood Timmy’s in and he adapts.
This morning, Timmy’s feeling greedy and he claws at Armie’s shoulders to pull him down as much as he raises onto his tiptoes to reach up. He wants to climb Armie and crawl all over him and it’s silly but he wants to remind Armie who he belongs to. Because he had been jealous moments ago, even if he knew there was no reason to be and it had lit a fire low his belly that’s now being stoked by the way Armie is tugging at his hair and the way he groans when Timmy slips his slender fingers under the elastic waistband of his sweatpants to cup his ass firmly with both hands.
Timmy wants to show Armie all the possessiveness he feels toward him but he also feels needy and wants Armie to ravage him, to make him his in return. Falling asleep without him the night before had left him feeling eager and wanton. They kiss and Timmy feels his lips getting bruised, Armie’s scruff irritating their delicate skin and he relishes the burn and keens at the knowledge that later his lips will be swollen and sensitive and it will be because Armie loves him.
It never takes much for Timmy to get an erection when Armie is touching him - hell, sometimes all it takes is a look or a well placed quip. Once Timmy got hard because Armie had made him breakfast and he had shaped the pancakes into little hearts and if that wasn’t the cutest, fucking sexiest thing you ever saw you’re clearly a miserable person - and he presses his hard cock into Armie’s thighs to show him just how much he wants him.
That’s all it takes for Armie to take charge and Timmy is suddenly lifted off his feet effortlessly and plopped down, not indelicately, on the wide brim of the porche’s railing. And Timmy is grateful for the barrier of protection the oversized, mid-thigh length sweater affords him; because the wood he’s sitting on is old and unfinished and he doesn’t relish the idea of having splinters in his ass. Instead, he’s sitting on the softest cashmere and Armie’s hands are warming the bare skin of his spread thighs as he grazes rough fingertips from Timmy’s knees to his inner-thigh and the contrast of sensation is already making his cock leak precum all over the deck.
“Seriously what are you wearing?” Armie asks again and Timmy rolls his eyes. Mostly because the way Armie is nibbling the jello-inducing spot is making his eyes flip to the back of his head; but he’s ok with Armie thinking it’s because of his lack of fashion appreciation. Because if Timmy had control of himself right now, he’d definitely be rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
“But it’s so soft and comfy.” Timmy defends, making paws with the sleeves again and rubbing his sweater covered fists slowly over the length of Armie’s naked back so he can at least appreciate the smooth silken feel of the fibers. “You don’t like it?”
“I think my grandpa has the same one that he's owned since 1947.” Armie teases, both with his words and his lips that have now traveled to Timmy’s collarbone and Armie starts trailing his tongue along the raised ridge of it, making Timmy struggle to speak coherently.
“I.. This... it’s fucking GUCCI, Hammer! The nerve of you. Does it look good on me at least?” he finally manages to ask, failing to sound appalled because at this point he’s crossed his ankles over Armie’s taut ass so he can pull him into his pelvis, gyrating his hips in an attempt to get some friction and relief for his throbbing hard-on.
“Everything looks good on you. But this particular piece looks better off.” Armie replies, starting to sound strained and breathless himself, and before Timmy can come up with a snappy comeback, Armie is pushing the ugly taupish gray fucking GUCCI sweater off his narrow and wiry shoulders. And because Timmy had never bothered buttoning the sweater when he’d put it on earlier, simply wrapping it around himself like a robe instead, the garment slips off of his frame easily and now Timmy is sitting on the back porch of his remote little cabin in the woods, buck-naked, save for the red rubber rain boots.
Timmy isn’t even cold because Armie is a furnace and his hands and lips and tongue are everywhere. They feel like flames lapping at his skin and he wants to be engulfed in them. He wants to be suffocated by Armie’s kisses and feel the searing heat of a good hard slap coming down on his ass.
“Take me back to bed.” Timmy demandes, pulling Armie’s face away from his neck by a handful of his hair and Armie’s growls - he fucking growls - his eyes wild and predatory; and Timmy feels everything inside him seize, thinking he might come untouched if Armie does that again.
Then he’s being picked up, strong hands holding his thighs on either side of Armie’s hips and Timmy wraps his arms around his wide shoulders, holding tight, chest to chest, ankles still crossed behind Armie’s ass and he presses his hard cock against Armie’s hard belly, each step causing his erection to rub agasint the line of golden hair that trails down into Armie’s joggers which feels like delicious torture.
Timmy laughs, the thrill of being so easily picked-up and carried, manhandled, making him feel a bit euphoric and Armie claims his mouth to quiet him, muffling the sound with his tongue. They’re making their way through the cabin blind at this point, muscle memory basically acting as a gps targeted on the downstairs bedroom they’d made theirs over the course of the last few weeks and then they’re tumbling into the unmade king sized bed, Timmy landing on his back with an ompf when Armie drops with all his weight on top of him; the still warm sheets smelling of sleep and sex and them.
“Wait. I should take the boots off.” Timmy says, teetering dangerously on the edge between rational thinking and completely forgetting his own name or who he is other than Armie’s and the lucky trustee of his very ardent desires.
“Those, you can keep.” Armie decides and Timmy can’t help but hide a smile in his pillow because he knew Armie would like them.
When Timmy wakes up next, it’s late morning and the sun has warmed the soft breeze that’s blowing in through the open window. He’s alone in bed and he takes advantage of the extra space to stretch his body, long limbs spreading out to the four corners of the mattress and he groans contentedly. He feels somewhat boneless, liquid almost and he keens when the ache in his muscles reminds him of the things he and Armie had done just hours earlier. Immediately his cock begins the stir and Timmy squeezes it back into submission over the sheet, the fabric rubbing against it managing to pull a pleasurable moan from his lips nonetheless.
He seriously thinks about giving into the urge to make himself come, again - or better yet, to get himself hard and wet and then call Armie into the room so he can see what the thought of him does to Timmy. What the memories of Armie’s tongue, of Armie’s fingers, of Armie’s hard cock make him do. But he’s starving and he can smell the rich aromas of freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen.
Timmy gets up and looks around the room for something to put on. The first thing he sees is the button down jean shirt Armie had been wearing yesterday. Timmy picks it up and brings it to his nose and smiles. It still smells like him and once again there’s a stirring low in his belly. The shirt is obviously huge on him but he doesn’t care, he just rolls up the sleeves to his elbows and buttons it haphazardly before slipping his feet into the now discarded red boots and makes his way toward the coffee.
Steaming cup of coffee in hand, Timmy comes to find Armie on the back porch where he’s sitting on one of the love seats, long bare legs outstretched and crossed ankles resting on the railing. He’s wearing nothing but the GUCCI sweater and Timmy chuckles, his heart dancing to the rhythm of the giggle, because if that’s not true love them he doesn’t know what is.
Timmy sets down his cup on the coffee table and takes the book out of Armie’s hand before straddling his thighs, back curved so he can reach Armie’s lips. Without hesitation, Armie’s hands come to rest on Timmy’s thighs and he squeezes gently.
“I thought... you didn’t... like... this sweater.” Timmy teases once they’ve broken the kiss to breathe, his words coming out in a staccato because Armie is biting at his shoulder and it hurts and tickles and feels good all at the same time.
“It grew on me.” Armie retorts and Timmy chuckles again. “I don’t think I like this shirt anymore though.” He says, starting to unbutton his jean shirt, so he can take it off of Timmy.
“Am I not allowed to keep clothes on today?” Timmy asks coyly. Not that he minds; in fact all-day-naked-days with Armie are his favorite kind of days.
“This is the naked-Timmy porch.” Armie affirms with great certitude. “The Timmy-wears-clothes porch is in the front. On this porch, Timmy’s are required to be naked. We can move to the Timmy-wears-clothes porch if you're attached to wearing this old ugly thing?” Armie says, holding up his shirt that he’s managed the pull off of Timmy completely.
“No no, I like the naked-Timmy porch.” Timmy reassures, exploring the now thicker stubble on Armie’s jaw with his nose. “But I’m pretty sure I saw a sign over there that states that this is also a naked-Armie porch.”
“Oh,” Armie manages to say, despite the fact that he’s now holding his breath because Timmy’s hands have snuck under the cashmere hem and he’s dragging the nails of both hands over the length of Armie’s very hard cock. “I should take this grandad sweater off then.”
“You definitely should. Want me to take the boots off this time?” Timmy asks, forehead pressed against Armie’s who is trying very hard to keep up the teasing banter despite the fact that Timmy is now rocking his hips back and forth, his own hard cock pressing and rubbing into Armie’s.
“Didn’t you see the sign? This is ACTUALLY the naked-Timmy-in-red-rain-boots porch.” Armie makes sure to clarify and once again Timmy laughs. But when he kisses Armie next, the playfulness has been replaced by a passion so intense it makes his head spin. And he hopes Armie can feel how much he is loved and cherished and wanted. And that he can feel that Timmy knows that this… these moments, these memories they’re making together in this cabin in the middle of nowhere… well, they’re everything.