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It’s mid-afternoon when Timmy comes home, his arms full of groceries. He drops the bags on the kitchen counter and goes in search of Armie, who he had left napping on the living room couch a few hours earlier, amidst a pile of scripts for potential upcoming projects. Before heading-out, Timmy had left him a note on the coffee table on which he had dotted the Is with hearts and quickly drawn kissy-face emojis next to his signature ‘T’. He knew as he was writing it that Armie would tease him for the flourishes; something along the lines of ‘when did you become a 13 year old girl?’. But he also knows that Armie loves it and keeps all the little notes Timmy leaves him in the secret compartment of his suitcase, which has been living in the back of the closet for a few blissful weeks now.
He finds him out back, on the now aptly-named ‘Naked-Timmy-Porch’ - so baptised a few days ago, when Armie spent an early morning getting him out of an ugly oversized Gucci sweater and red rubber rain boots - taking up most of the loveseat, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles in front of him. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt that shows off his shoulders and arms, over a pair of worn and torn blue jeans that hug his thighs, revealing how thick and muscular they are. The sight makes Timmy’s mouth water as he’s reminded of those early weeks in Italy when they’d first met.
Timmy had spent a good portion of their time together gawking at Armie, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious yet unable to help himself because Armie in person was… stunning. It wasn’t the first time Timmy had found another man attractive, he hadn’t even been shy about making that known to the people concerned, but with Armie it was more than just a boring attraction. It was magnetism from the first time he had laid eyes on him. He was - then and still, now - drawn to him. Their relationship had quickly grown from being new colleagues, to being friends, and by the time filming began, a closeness that permeated every moment and action had settled in.
Timmy had used the word ‘meaty’ to describe Armie’s thighs one afternoon, when, in between takes while the crew was resetting a scene in the villa, he and Armie had gone to hang out by the pool to get a little sun. Armie had lain on his stomach in the grass with his chin resting on folded arms, while Timmy lay on his back, using the back of Armie’s thighs as a pillow.
“I can’t get grass in my hair, Lara will kill me.” Timmy had insisted, justifying his positioning by pretending to be worried about the hairstylist on set.
“Mmhmm!” Armie had agreed, hiding a skeptical smirk in his palm, happy for Timmy to use him however he wanted to, even if in those early days, they hadn’t yet done much to truly explore each other’s bodies.
“Your thighs are very meaty.” Timmy had said innocently - or maybe not so innocently given the way he had sounded saying it - moving his head around the way you would to soften a pillow, and Armie had laughed, saying that made him sound like a Sunday roast.
“But do you taste as good?” Timmy had asked playfully, before turning his head to sink his teeth into the underside of Armie’s left thigh, just below the hem of his very short shorts.
The bite hadn’t been premeditated and took Timmy by surprise as much as it did Armie and he’d almost regretted doing it, worried Armie would freak out. But instead of crying out in pain or telling Timmy to stop, Armie had moaned pleasurably, all breathy and low, the sound sending an electric current straight to Timmy's cock. After that, any opportunity he had had to touch, squeeze, knead, kiss or bite Armie’s thighs, he had taken.
They had done a lot of things together in the weeks that followed, their relationship no longer walking the tightrope between closeness and intimacy. They had kissed… often, both on and off camera. Which had led to hands traveling, and body parts rubbing against each other. Eventually, traveling hands had breached the barriers of clothing, and once that happened, it had become a regular occurrence that they would lose themselves in making each other feel good, like two teenage boys learning to discover themselves and each other.
Armie quickly discovered that Timmy had developed quite the obsession for his thighs taking any opportunity to rut against them, rubbing himself to orgasm against their taut muscles before using his hand to make Armie come as well. But that was as far as things had gone. Not that Timmy hadn’t wanted them to. He had just kept waiting for Armie to take the leap, and he never had.
When Armie came to New York that fall, it had been a little over two months since filming had wrapped and Timmy couldn’t wait to see him. They spent the day roaming the city and afterward Timmy had invited Armie back to his tiny apartment to hangout. He hadn’t had a specific plan in mind, he just knew he missed Armie tremendously and now that they were together again, his body longed for the touches he’d memorized. Touches that inspired memories that never quite lived up to the reality.
There was a bit of awkwardness between them once they were alone inside the tiny studio space - awkwardness during which Timmy seemed anxious, scratching the back of his head and looking around nervously, his face contorted in a half-wink, half-smile - and Armie had been typically Armie and chuckled, pulling Timmy into his arm. He’d meant it to be soothing, reassuring. Instead, it had been longing and needy.
Things moved quickly after that. They hugged, so tightly that Timmy felt Armie’s cock start to fill out against his tummy soon after he buried his face in the crook of Armie’s neck, rubbing the tip of his nose into the prickliness of Armie’s beard. Timmy whispered Armie’s name, and then Armie was kissing him, softly at first, but then with an enthusiasm that he had done his best to keep in check in Italy, but no longer could.
Back in Crema, Armie had thought he had not only been guarding his heart, but Timmy’s as well. He had convinced himself that if he submitted to the passion he felt for this beautiful, open, magical boy, they would both be lost to it, and he felt it was his responsibility to make sure that didn’t happen. No matter how much he wished it would. It had taken great resolve, but he had managed to keep both his and Timmy’s desires on the PG side. Ok, maybe more like PG-13.
This resolve faltered the moment he had seen Timmy again, that smile that could light up a room having also reignited his heart. It’s not that they hadn’t talked often after they had left Oliver and Elio in the hands of Luca and his editor, but it had been light; almost like playing pretend. The things they had shared when it was just the two of them, the private and stolen moments he’d thought were just reactions to the actions they had been prescribed to perform, had quickly whooshed back in the minute Timmy was in his arms. So when Timmy dropped to his knees in front of him, Armie didn’t have the strength to stop him, and he revelled in Timmy’s touches. In the way Timmy seemed to know exactly what he was doing even if Armie wasn’t sure he did, but mostly in the way Timmy was looking at him; eyes wide and lusty with his mouth agape and his tongue peeking out, hands grabbing greedily at Armie’s naked thighs.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a Sunday roast again.” he said with a fond laugh, reaching out a hand to tuck a stray curl behind Timmy’s ear.
“I can’t help it. Your thighs are so fucking meaty and delicious looking.” Timmy answered, completely unabashed, the pink in his cheeks there because of his hunger for Armie, not because of what he was saying or doing.
“I don’t know how I feel about that word.” Armie said, retucking the curl that refused to stay out of Timmy’s eyes.
“You love it!” Timmy asserted and immediately, Armie had conceded. Because he did.
“Only because it’s you saying it.”
The memory of that moment makes Timmy smile fondly and he takes a few seconds to take Armie in as he is now, so that when he later remembers this summer at the cabin, he can recall all the little details that make his heart tighten with unmeasurable love and his body zing with a lust that makes his belly feel like a flock of birds has taken off.
“I’m back.” he says after a while, walking up to Armie and straddling his thighs, adjusting as he gets jostled up and down, kind of like he’s riding a horse, when Armie uncrosses his ankles and bends his knees so Timmy doesn’t slide off.
“I missed you.” Armie says and puts down the script he had been reading, dog-earing the page so he can later pick up where he left off. Timmy just hums in response, nuzzling into Armie’s neck and slipping his arms under Armie’s so he can pull himself closer.
“Which one are you reading?” Timmy asks, craning his head a little and stretching a hand toward the script so he can see the title.
“In Love and War.” Armie answers distractedly, his hands rubbing up the length of Timmy’s thighs and then back down, his fingers slipping under the hem of Timmy’s entirely too big shorts on his second pass.
“What’s it about?” Timmy wants to know, curious even if his breath catches and his belly tightens every time Armie’s strong hands get closer and closer to the spots where his legs and his groin meet.
“It’s based on that book I was telling you about the other day.” Armie's voice is thick as he explains because Timmy is spreading his knees and he’s tucked his toes under Armie’s thighs, and Armie can feel them wiggling under him everytime he switches from the pads of his fingers to his nails to make Timmy shiver. “About an English knight in the 14th century who takes a young French prisoner during the Battle of Crecy, and then is forced to take him back to England with him after his brother dies and he has to take responsibility for his family's estates.”
“And?” Timmy asks, moving his arms to the top of Armie’s shoulders so he can play in his hair, fisting into it gently before massaging his scalp.
“And they develop a relationship.” Armie mumbles, and he wonders if Timmy can even understand him because he’s melting under his touch, and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth.
“And?” Timmy is kissing a trail from his forehead to his temple and then down his jaw, his lips wet and cool on Armie’s sun-warmed skin.
“And that’s as far as I got before you came home.” Armie answers, moving his hands from the inside to the outside of Timmy’s thighs so he can pull his pelvis closer to his own, and he groans when their erections press into each other.
Armie takes Timmy’s wrists in his hands, long fingers easily encircling their delicateness and squeezing just tight enough to ensure he’s properly restrained, and then Timmy’s arms are twisted behind his back. Armie slowly rolls his hips up into Timmy’s thighs, a deliberate and controlled motion that presses their hard cocks together even more intensely. Timmy groans softly, his head falling backwards, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, because it feels so good when his hard cock rubs against Armie’s through the layers of their clothing; it’s familiar and innocent, and it reminds him of those faraway nights in his little apartment in Crema.
“Which role do they want you for?” he asks Armie, his voice strained, and Armie can feel the muscles in Timmy’s forearms tense as he makes fists, testing the strength of Armie’s hold.
“The English knight - he’s a peer of the realm if you want to be technical - who takes a French prisoner.”
There’s a touch of cheekiness in his tone, as he constricts his arms around Timmy’s ribs, drawing a sigh that is both arousal and contentment from his lips. Timmy loves the safety and the threat that being held like this implies; the uncertainty of not knowing if he will be cherished or ravaged… or both.
“Mm. And this peer of the realm, do we get to see him all decked out in his armor?” Timmy inquires, imagining Armie in chain mail and plate armor, twirling a sword and looking both magnificent and menacing as he does so. The thought makes him swoon.
“Probably.” Armie says, swooning himself because the mention of armor recalls the memory of how Timmy had looked wearing armor for the movie The King. He had been insecure about it at first, thinking himself too skinny, too boyish to pull it off. But Armie had known better. Because despite his slight frame and the shyness he allowed to dominate his public persona, he was very aware of his body and how it moved, and he easily commanded attention and respect when it was required.
“How ‘bout in his britches?” Timmy wants to know now, distracting Armie from his ‘Timmy as a knight in shining armor’ reveries. He’s gyrating rather demandingly on Armie’s lap and Armie tightens his grip on his thin wrists so he can lean in for a kiss, commanding his own kind of respect at the moment. The hold is likely causing mild bruising, but he’s pretty sure Timmy doesn’t mind. He’s clearly into the whole ‘Armie taking a prisoner’ scenario and Armie wonders if maybe Timmy would consider taking the role, even if he knows this would cause havoc in their carefully laid career plans and established public personas.
“Britches aren't exactly sexy.’’ Armie says, because they really shouldn’t be. But then Timmy had been pretty enticing while wearing them so he concedes that on the right person, basically Timmy and only Timmy, they can be. “You looked good in them. But that's you. You look hot in anything and everything. Especially in nothing. Speaking of… aren’t you supposed to be naked out here?”
Timmy either ignores this or simply doesn’t hear Armie. He seems completely lost to his own visions and musings, relying on Armie to support his upper body as he shimmies around to reposition himself in such a way that he is now only straddling Armie’s right thigh, his left knee pressing up between Armie’s legs, right against the large bulge in jeans.
“What are you doing?” Armie asks, but it’s rhetorical because Timmy has already begun undulating his pelvis rhythmically, the friction starting to warm Armie’s thigh, and the memories of late nights in tiny Italian apartments come back to him as well, now.
Armie remembers the way Timmy had felt in his arms then. He had seemed so small and so fragile. Desperately wanting to please but his youth often making it difficult for him to control his own urges and he’d come, hard and copiously on Armie’s thighs as he rutted against him, rubbing himself to orgasm sometimes twice by the time Armie got there as well.
“Fuck!” Timmy says after a few seconds, his head falling back, exposing his pale throat. And Armie can’t help himself - because it’s been a long time since Timmy has felt so desperate, and he wants to watch him make himself come like this - so he clenches the fingers of his left hand around both of Timmy’s wrists, leaving his right hand free to grab a fistful of hair, and with a swift but gentle motion, he pulls Timmy to his mouth; lips, teeth and tongue all taking turns exploring the silky salty-sweet of his neck. Timmy’s already leaking through the fabric of his boxers, and it won’t be long before his shorts are saturated too. He might even get Armie’s jeans wet at this rate. “God, I love your thighs.” He says huskily, and it’s practically perverse given how sinfully debauched he looks, eyes closed and mouth wide open, his skin beautifully decorated with dark red splotches that always appear when he’s aroused, as though even Timmy’s skin gets turned on and wants to show it.
"Do you? Do you want to make yourself come and get my jeans all wet?" Armie asks, bumping his knee up, making Timmy bounce. He loses contact with Armie’s thigh for the briefest of moments and then he’s moaning loudly as he lands, the shock reverberating through his ass and his cock and into his spine before it dissipates into a series of shivers. "I think you should. Show me how hard you can come just from my thigh."
So Timmy starts rutting on Armie’s thigh in earnest. He’s torn between wanting Armie to let him go so he can adjust the angle of his hips, so he can lean against Armie’s chest and bury his face in Armie’s neck because he’s a little bit embarrassed - embarrassed by how good it feels and how hard and wet he is just rubbing himself on Armie’s thighs - and wanting Armie to restrain him like this so that he can look at him and see the embarrassment, the lust and utter concupiscence on his face when he soils his shorts like an over-eager teenager.
He tests the hold against his wrists and Armie bounces him again; a gentle warning in the form of loss and a quick regaining of pleasure. Timmy’s face is on fire. He can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks to his ears and down to his chest. Even the tip of his nose is burning.
“God you’re beautiful when you’re falling apart.” Armie says, and that’s all Timmy needs apparently because suddenly he’s coming undone right before his eyes.
Timmy moans loudly as he shudders through the waves of pleasure, back arched and thighs squeezing tightly around Armie’s, his strong arms keeping Timmy from falling. Multi-colored stars dance behind his eyelids and his blood pressure drops, leaving him feeling light-headed and giddy once the last of the aftershocks barrel through his body.
When he opens his eyes, Armie is no longer restraining him, and he’s slumped forward against Armie’s chest. His back is being caressed lovingly under his t-shirt and he shivers under the touch, Armie’s rough hands making the nerve endings in his skin dance and shimmer. Timmy noses at Armie’s jaw and smiles into the kiss he knew was coming.
“We should get you out these sticky clothes.” Armie says, but his voice sounds a little strained because Timmy has started to undo the button and zipper of Armie’s jeans.
“We should get you off first.” Timmy counters, and he slips his hand between Armie’s jeans and his boxers just like he used to do in Crema.
“Then we’ll both be sticky.” Armie warns, but he’s already spreading his thighs wide to give Timmy easier access.
“You’re already wet and sticky.” Timmy whispers in Armie’s ear before nipping at his earlobe, which makes every hair on Armie’s body stand at attention. And he realises that he is in fact already wet and sticky, watching Timmy in the throws of passion having made him leak through his own underwear profusely.
“Good point,” is the last coherent thing Armie is able to say after that. The way Timmy is touching him is both too much and not enough. He wants to feel Timmy’s hand on his skin, but at the same time the roughness of the slicked fabric being rubbed against his hard cock feels amazing and before he knows it, he’s coming all over Timmy’s hand, the sounds he’s making muffled in Timmy’s neck.
“I like this.” he says to Timmy later, while they shower together in the small bathroom off the kitchen. “We never used to shower together back then.” And Timmy knows Armie means back in Crema when they had fallen in love but hadn’t been able to see it.
“There’s a lot of things we didn’t do back then.” Timmy says, rubbing his soapy ass against Armie’s thighs while Armie is trying to wash his back.
“Oh my god, you’re incorrigible.” Armie laughs, tapping Timmy playfully on a wet asscheek, the sound reverberating against the acoustics of the close space.
“You used to say I was insatiable.” There's an obvious smile on Timmy’s face, and even if Armie can’t see it, he knows it’s there.
“You’re definitely that too.” He says, pushing Timmy gently against the cold tile so he can press himself into his back and bring his mouth to Timmy’s ear, a soapy finger gliding into an already eager hole. “How about now we focus on how hot I think your ass is!”