Chapter Text
The Diner
With Armie in tow, Timmy bounces up the creaky wooden steps and into the old diner on Main Street. It’s Friday night and the railcar-style diner is packed with customers and bustling with activity. It smells like grilled burgers and french fries, and the space is filled with the chitter-chatter of its patrons, the pitchy clink-clank of dinnerware, and the purr of pop music from the jukebox. Timmy looks around for an open booth and spots one that’s just been vacated in the rear. As the booth is being serviced, he and Armie linger by the entrance.
“The diner will be quicker,” Timmy says. “I’m really sorry I messed up our schedule,” he adds contritely. Because he’d convinced himself that Armie wouldn’t show up, their date—dinner and a movie—is now behind schedule.
“Not a big deal,” Armie replies, taking notice of the alluring blush that forms on Timmy’s cheekbones, against the canvas of his pale skin.
“At all,” he continues.
And he means it.
They can go to the Italian restaurant he’d selected for their date another time. As far as he’s concerned, it was well worth waiting for Timmy to get dressed and all the Italian restaurants in the world to see him in the tight sweats he was wearing when Armie arrived at the Chalamet’s home. The old pilly sweats probably should have been tossed years earlier, but Timmy finds he can’t part with the comfort it provides. While standing in front of Marc and Nicole, Armie had to pull his leering eyes away from the way the flannel hugged Timmy’s ass.
From behind the counter, the owner of the diner motions to them that the booth is ready. As they make their way through the narrow space, Armie finds his eyes wandering to the firm ass clad in gray stripes before him, attempting desperately to get a good look, finally.
Way too soon (in Armie’s opinion), they arrive at the booth. Timmy slides in facing the back of the diner; Armie slides in across from him.
Right away, Flo, the diner’s long-time and hard-working waitress approaches. She’s wearing a pink uniform; her graying blonde hair is swirled into an elaborate and curly updo. “Welcome boys,” she bellows and hands them menus laminated in frayed plastic. “Be back in a few.”
Timmy pushes the menu to the side. He doesn’t need to look at it; he orders the same thing every time he comes to the diner. The other thing he does: he queues up a tune on the tabletop jukebox. He doesn’t know why he bothers when the diner is as busy as it is tonight, since it’s a crapshoot whether he’ll even get a chance to hear his song before they’re done with their meal and have to head to the movie theater.
As Armie examines the menu, Timmy browses through the selection of songs. For some reason, he pauses on one song in particular, a tune he hasn’t heard in a while. He reaches into his pocket for a coin, and in that moment when he moves to insert the coin into the jukebox, the niggling words he tossed out earlier in the day at home return to him at the diner and hit him like a boomerang.
He’s out of my league.
Timmy turns his head slightly and gazes across the booth. Armie is focused on the daily specials page at the center of the menu. I bet he does everything intently; soon, he’ll realize.
Timmy returns his attention to the jukebox. He lets the coin fall into the slot and selects the tune that started his train of thought. This Night—the pop tune where the piano man himself weaves the second movement from Sonata Pathétique around the chorus. For a few moments, as his hand rests on the top of the jukebox, his thoughts return to his unfinished sonata. How will it end? Timmy wrinkles his brow and tightens his hand on the chrome jukebox. His thoughts drift to this night—this date with Armie. How will this end? Will it be the first and the last? He tries to shake off the thought. How pathetic, he tells himself. They’ve barely settled into the booth, and here he is, dreading the moment…when this—them—will be over.
Armie looks up. When he sees how tense Timmy seems, he considers for a moment. Then, beneath the table, in that private space where it’s just them, he wraps his ankle around Timmy’s and says softly, “Come back to me.”
Timmy's eyes dart to and meet Armie’s. The negative thoughts and the uncertainty in his belly settle. Tonight, you’re mine, all mine. He turns the volume on the jukebox down, hooks his other ankle around Armie’s foot and squeezes tightly.
They’re so caught up in each other that they don't notice when Flo returns.
Flo clears her throat as her eyes travel between the two. There's something reminiscent about them, the sparkle in their eyes and the way they’re leaned into each other across the booth…it’s adorable.
“What’s it gonna be, boys?” she asks.
Armie looks up at Flo and gives her a huge smile. Before he orders, he banters with her for a minute, asking her how she is, how her day is going. This takes Flo off guard, this line of questioning from someone so young and handsome. At the unexpected attention, Flo visibly swoons; she decides she likes this fellow.
Armie explains that they’re going to the eight thirty show at the movies, and then as if he’s seeking serious advice from an old confidant asks her to recommend something tasty but quick so they can make the show. By now, Flo is completely taken with Armie. She suggests that he orders the turkey club. She promises to add extra bacon and get it out as quickly as possible.
“Then, the turkey club it is,” Armie says. He glances at her name tag and adds, “Thank you, Flo.”
Timmy watches the interaction, impressed with the way Armie seems to have the older woman eating out of his hands, in such a short period of time and with minimal effort.
Eventually Flo moves her gaze away from Armie. “What about you, hon?” she asks.
Timmy orders his usual: the diner’s famous chicken salad sandwich with chips.
“Sorry, all gone,” Flo tells him. “We usually sell out of the chicken salad by this hour.”
Timmy is disappointed. “Oh no, I love the chicken salad,” he says.
Armie raises a brow. He turns to the waitress and asks, “Flo, now you have to share with me, what’s so special about the chicken salad here?”
Flo looks around, lowers her head and whispers to him, “Crushed grapes. Makes it sweet and juicy. Everyone around here loves it.”
“It’s really good,” Timmy grumbles. Indifferent now, he scans the menu quickly and orders a grilled cheese sandwich. “And a strawberry milkshake,” he adds hastily.
Flo scribbles the order on her pad. She looks at Armie and asks if he wants a shake as well. She tells him they have the best shakes in town.
“You’ve talked me into it,” Armie says. “Do you have coffee flavor?" he asks, raising his brow questioningly. She gives him an enticing nod. “Then I’ll have a coffee shake.”
Flo looks at them and smiles. She holds up her pad. “I’ll put a rush on the order, boys,” she says and dashes away.
Armie squeezes Timmy’s foot. “Sorry they’re out of the chicken salad.”
“It’s not your fault,” Timmy says softly. “By the way, you really charmed her,” he adds, nodding in Flo’s direction.
“Not really,” Armie says. “I just showed a little interest.” He proceeds to look around the diner taking in as many details as he can about the old railcar.
As he does so, Timmy studies him, the way his long arms drapes comfortably along the vinyl perimeter of the booth, his pristine appearance (hair coiffed, skin perfect, clothes tailored), the way he exudes confidence in a manner no one else in the diner does, not even the owner.
He’d be at ease anywhere, wouldn’t he? But he’s different, isn’t he?
“The design is interesting. I bet there’s a lot of history here, I’ll have to read up on it,” Armie says, interrupting Timmy’s thoughts.
Timmy scratches his head. He’s been thinking about Armie all week. And while he knows things about him—even intimate things such as his scent, the way he feels—there’s so much that he doesn’t know, and he’s not even sure where to start with his questions. To say something, he asks lamely, “Main Street Diner has been here forever. You haven’t been here before?”
Armie shakes his head no. “I rarely come to town. I’ve been to the book shop a couple of times. The owner is nice, she helps me track down hard-to-find books every so often.”
Seeing the confusion on Timmy’s face. Armie explains how he hasn’t lived in the area since he was a kid, how he went off to boarding school at a young age and lived on the East Coast most of his life in one school or another, spending his breaks at his family’s other homes or with friends.
“But I thought that your family lived in the Hammer Mansion, isn’t that your primary home?”
“We don’t spend much time there these days.” Armie shrugs. “My brother and I haven’t really lived there since we were… younger.”
“But you’re back there now?” Timmy asks. He doesn’t even try to hide the hope in his voice, the hope that Armie will be around and isn’t planning to leave any time soon.
“I go once in a while, I’ve begun some…refurbishing on the grounds. For the most part though, I stay in the corporate apartments at HIP, that’s the industrial park. Tonight, I came to see you, straight from there. It’s like a contained city up there, have you been?” Armie asks.
Timmy shakes his head no, as Flo approaches with their milkshakes.
“Here you go, boys. Enjoy!” she exclaims as she places the large overflowing fountain glasses on the table. “I’ll be back shortly with your sandwiches.”
They lean in further, remove the wrapper from the tip of the jumbo red-striped straws springing from their glasses through clouds of whip cream and slurp up the thick creamy shake before any more runs languidly down the side of the glass.
At the first taste, they hum their satisfaction in unison.
When Timmy is about a third of the way through his shake, he sits back in the booth. He recalls the article his mom told him about. “So, you work at the park now? I read that you finished school early and are now working for the family business.”
“So you've been reading up on me,” Armie teases, playfully nudging Timmy’s foot.
Timmy smiles. “No, well yes. Earlier this week, at breakfast, my mom was reading an article in the paper about the expansion at the park. She mentioned there was an earlier article about you joining the family business. I looked it up.”
“Your mother knows about me?” Armie asks, confused. “She seemed so surprised when we met earlier.”
“Well. She knows you from the papers. I didn’t tell her we were going on a date.”
“Because you didn’t believe I’d show up?”
Timmy blushes.
“Why didn’t you think I’d come?”
Timmy fidgets, his new trousers scraping against the cushioned vinyl. “I saw in the newspaper how high profile you and your family are, I assumed you’d change your mind.”
This was the furthest thing from Armie’s thoughts. Not once did it ever occur to him to back out of their date. To the contrary, all he’s thought about is seeing Timmy, touching him, holding him in his arms, again. But Armie doesn’t tell Timmy any of this. Instead he clears up his background for him and explains how he came to be working at the industrial park.
“I wanted to be done with boarding school so I had the final one I attended create an accelerated program for me. I got out early but didn't want to go to college right away. My father convinced me, no, actually he told me I had to go to work. He didn’t want me to get into any trouble, figured I would, idle time and all. Since the company is planning to expand HIP, he sent me here. That’s why I’m back. I’m going through the management training program like any other trainee, the only difference is that I haven't completed business school.”
Flo scurries up to the booth and places their order on the table.
“Thank you Flo.” He looks at his watch. “Appreciate it,” he tells her before she dashes away again.
Armie bites into the club sandwich, sinking his teeth into the tender moist turkey and slabs of salty-crispy bacon. It’s delicious. He casually passes his tongue along the pad of his hand, where the gooey mayo has seeped out from between the slices of bread.
Timmy stares at the way the mayo disappears in Armie’s mouth. Then, he bites into his own grilled cheese sandwich; somehow, it tastes inadequate.
“So, you must be really smart?” he asks.
He and Armie are practically the same age; yet, he feels like a kid next to him. Armie’s completed his secondary education, he’s going through management training, pretty much lives on his own, and he has probably been all around the country. What has Timmy done?
“I wouldn’t say that, but when I buckle down, I can apply myself,” Armie responds easily.
They eat in comfortable silence for several minutes more, devouring most of their sandwiches.
“You’re a really great piano player. The piece you were playing at home, it was intense, a little sad though. What is it?” Armie asks.
Timmy coughs, as a chunk of his sandwich hits the back of his throat the wrong way.
“You okay?” Armie asks, his back alert, as if he’s ready to jump up and administer some life saving technique on Timmy.
The cough settles. “Yes, I’m okay,” Timmy says and apologizes. He slurps on his milkshake, which soothes the back of his throat.
“So, the piece…”
“Something I’m working on for school, for a final project.”
“Did you write it? I didn’t realize you compose too.”
“I just started composing,” Timmy says. He downplays the effort. “Just dabbling really.” He doesn’t dare tell Armie that he’s the inspiration for the composition and how he’s been obsessing over it all week.
“That didn’t sound like dabbling,” Armie insists. “It’s really good. Will you play it for me when you finish it?”
Timmy nods. “I’m done with the first part, I’m going to play it at my final school recital, right before graduation.”
“When is that?”
“The end of next month,” Timmy tells him. “Yeaaaah!” he adds excitedly, happy that graduation is on the horizon.
Armie smiles at his excitement. He can relate; he was ecstatic when he was done with boarding school.
As they finish up their sandwiches, Flo comes by and slides a large slice of pie with a towering dollop of whip cream as well as two dessert forks across the table to the center of the booth. They look at her in confusion. “Peach pie, on the house, boys,” she explains. “Peach season is early this year, and it’s going to be a good one.”
They thank her, as she picks up their empty plates and dashes away.
Timmy gestures for Armie to start on the pie. Armie cuts his fork through the flaky golden crust and into the moist peach filling. He brings the fork to his mouth and tastes it. His head bobs in pleasant surprise. “Wow!”
Scooping up a generous portion of the cream, Timmy dips his own fork into the pie and takes a bite. “Wow!” he echoes.
“Wouldn’t be the first thing I would have ordered off the dessert menu, but it’s delicious,” Armie comments.
They finish the peach pie, crumbs and all, and slurp up the remains of their milkshakes.
Flo returns to the table for the final time. She looks at the empty plate and smiles. “I see you enjoyed the pie.” She leaves the check face down on the edge of the table. “Just pay this up front when you’re ready,” she tells them. “And enjoy the movie.”
As Timmy is about to reach for the check, Armie beats him to it and grabs it. He doesn’t even look at it. He doesn’t need to. Money has never been a concern of his. Timmy gestures to see it. Armie gestures back that he has it. When Timmy asks for the total, Armie’s lips press into a seam and he insists that he’ll take care of it.
Timmy’s mouth scrunches up into a pout. “Well, I’ll take care of the movie,” he says.
Armie finds the pout cute and is briefly distracted by it. He begins to say something more about paying for dinner and the movie but decides against it. Besides, they need to get going if they want to make it to the movie on time. He unknots his foot and gets up from the booth. “Stay here,” he says. As he strolls by, Timmy playfully leans and shoulder-bumps him. Armie shakes his head, as if to say, what am I going to do with you.
At the front of the diner, Armie settles the check at the register. After, he strolls over to Flo and thanks her one last time. He hands her a crisp bill. When she looks down at it, her brows lift in surprise and her eyes widen.
Back at the booth, Timmy is ready and waiting. He tells Armie he knows a shortcut to the movie theater. As he leads Armie to the back of the diner, he vaguely notices that the tune he selected is wafting from the tables with their jukeboxes on.
This night
Is mine
It's only you and I
Tomorrow
Is such a long time away
This night can last forever
Timmy pushes the diner’s steely back door open, and they bounce down the few steps to the pavement. They’re in the shadowy alley that runs along the various businesses on Main Street and to the back of the movie theater on the adjacent street. Timmy looks around; no one else is in the alleyway. He takes Armie’s hand in his and leads him away from the diner. Against the cool night, he likes the way the large warm hand feels in his. As they move through the alley, he imagines how those hands would feel on him and around him. This makes him stop abruptly, and Armie almost slams into him. “Timmy!” Armie says, releasing a merry laugh.
Timmy lets go. Before Armie has a chance to react, he spins around and hops on the ledge of a nearby doorway. Now, he’s almost the same height as Armie. He throws his arms around Armie’s neck, and before they know it, their lips crash down on each other and they’re kissing. Timmy runs his hand through Armie’s perfectly coiffed hair, messing it up as he rakes his nails along the scalp. At the sensation, Armie moans into Timmy’s mouth, and Timmy plunges his eager tongue into Armie and sucks him in, the sweet-savory taste of their first meal together, cream, peaches, bacon—and them—blending as one. Armie’s hands rake down Timmy’s back and he finally gets a chance to explore the firm mounds of Timmy’s ass as he scoops the cloaked flesh in his large hands and squeezes. Timmy groans and Armie pulls him closer to him. They thrust and grind their pelvis together, and a frenzy of excitement bubbles within them, until a metallic clank echoes resoundingly through the alley, pulling them from their heated kiss.
Whaaat!
Putting distance between their bodies, they jump apart quickly and spin their heads around to see where the disruptive sound came from. Chests heaving, they spot the source, a plump orange tabby perched on the top of a nearby bin. A lid is on the ground. It clatters back and forth on the pavement until it comes to a trembly stop. The tabby jumps down and lands on the pavement with a graceful thump. He slinkers over to them, moves between their combined legs, leaning into them, purring for their love and attention.
They laugh in relief to see it’s only a cat with them in the alley.
Armie bends down and massages the tabby behind the neck. He sighs. “I know how you feel,” he says as he stands back up. After he runs a hand through his ramshackled hair and smoothes the honey strands down as best as he can, he looks at Timmy but turns away quickly, mindful that they’re still breathing hard, aroused and (somewhat) alone. After a few beats, he says, “Let’s go.” As they hurry on down the alley to the movie theater, the tabby sits back and meows after them.
The Movie Theater
Armie and Timmy find two seats near the back of the half-filled movie theater. They relax into the red velvet seats and make themselves comfortable, just in time to catch the first preview. The scent of buttered popcorn fills the air. After the lights lower, Armie takes Timmy’s hand in his and squeezes it affectionally. Timmy gazes up at Armie and squeezes back. He’s pretty sure he’s swooning, probably worse than Flo, the waitress at the diner. But he doesn’t care. He’s still dazed from their kiss. He finally got a chance to kiss Armie, feel his body against his again, and he can’t wait until he can do both, again.
During the first preview, Timmy’s head falls gently onto Armie’s shoulder. Armie adjusts himself to make Timmy more comfortable. For a brief moment, he bends his head in the pillowy curls, and then unable to resist, turns and plants a quick kiss in the soft mess. Timmy snuggles closer to Armie. Before the second preview even begins, he’s asleep. Armie cradles his hand tenderly around Timmy and pulls him closer, and Timmy falls into a deep comfortable sleep that lasts the entire length of the movie.
With Timmy against his chest, a calm warmth washes over Armie. This is what he’s wanted all week, what he’s been aching for: Timmy in his arms. He’d wondered whether it would feel as perfect as it did during those few meager minutes in Milkstone Park, when Timmy had him pressed against the wall of the handball court. He doesn’t have to wonder ever again. It does.
And he wants more.
Midway through the movie, Timmy stirs. Armie immediately leans and plants a kiss in his curls; the stirring ceases.
When the movie comes to an end, a part of Armie is disappointed. While the film was worth seeing, he doesn’t want to let go of Timmy, and if he’s being honest, he wants to take him home. Before the credits begin to scroll and moviegoers who are in a hurry rush to the exits, Armie whispers Timmy’s name and awakens him.
Timmy stirs and opens his eyes. Armie lets him go reluctantly. For a few confused moments, Timmy sits there, blinking, unsure of where he is. Then realization hits him. He’s at the movies with Armie and he slept through it, the whole darn movie!
By now, Armie has picked up on the signs of Timmy becoming tense—the slow knitting of his dark brows, the stiffening of his lean shoulders. He plants a soothing but quick kiss on Timmy’s lips and whispers, “Relax, and don’t you dare apologize.” He pats him on the knee, resting his hand there, sits up in his seat, and watches the credits scroll until they come to an end. Timmy slumps back in his seat, brushing his thumb mindlessly along the delicate border of his tingling pink lips and cupid’s bow.
They stand up, stretch and eventually exit the movie theater. Then, slowly and quietly, they make their way back to Armie’s car, shuffling their feet along the pavement, each itching to hold the other’s hand. Neither wants the evening to come to an end. Inside the car, Armie ignites the engine. He pulls away from the curb and makes his way to the parkway, where he pulls into the slow lane and eases down the road. Both are quiet for most of the ride.
From the passenger seat, Timmy yawns and attempts to stifle a second one. When Armie arrived at the Chalamet’s house earlier in the evening and Timmy leaped up in surprise from the piano, Timmy had looked tired to him. However, after he showered and dressed, he looked rejuvenated and ready for their date. He was beaming. Now, Timmy looks like he can barely stay awake.
Armie glances at him, concerned “Are you getting enough rest?” he asks.
“I was up late most of the week, working on my final project.”
“But you now have enough material for your final, so you can get some rest, correct?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Then, will you rest for me tonight?” Armie asks him.
More than ever, he wishes he could take Timmy home with him. He wants to wrap himself around him, all night. Despite his family having more homes than they can count, this however would be a logistical mess. At the moment, he regrets choosing to live in the corporate apartment’s trainee unit, where most of the residents are recent graduates and there’s a strict ‘no overnight guests’ rule. And as for arriving at the mansion after months away, with a guest much less, in the middle of the night, well, that would only create a big doodah with the staff, and he doesn’t want to deal with all that fussy attention, not tonight. As for his mother’s cottage, that’s still being refurbished and isn’t ready; tomorrow, he’ll see if he can expedite the renovations. Besides, he promised Timmy’s father he’d bring him home safe and sound and at a respectable hour. With the curious, careful way Marc scrutinized him earlier, it’s best that Armie do as he promised.
“Yes,” Timmy answers softly.
They pull up to the curb outside the Chalamet’s split-level house. Armie places the car in park and reaches for Timmy’s hand.
Armie sighs deeply, and Timmy braces himself for what’s going to come next.
Is this it? This (night), it’s over…
Timmy gazes into Armie’s eyes; in the dim light, they glimmer like aquamarine gemstones.
“My family’s press secretary has been loading up my calendar. Pretty sure, this is coming down from my father. I have an event tomorrow evening, so I can’t meet then. But I really really want to see you again, soon. Any chance we meet up again tomorrow, say eleven thirty, for an early lunch?”
A wide smile moves across Timmy’s face and relief swims through his body. “Yes, yes, we can meet,” he tells him right away.
Armie smiles back. “Great!” He lets Timmy’s hand go, turns and reaches to open the car door.
Timmy lays his palm on Armie’s forearm. “Wait!” he says.
Armie turns to look at him.
“Don’t get out, don’t walk me to the door.”
“Why not?”
If we don’t say goodbye, then this doesn’t end.
“I don’t want to say goodbye tonight,” Timmy tells him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Armie sits back, relieved.
Timmy reaches over, cups Armie’s warm face in his hand, turns it and kisses him quickly on the lips. Then, he jumps out of the car, sprints up the brick walkway, pushes the familiar red door open and enters the house.
Inside, Timmy leans his back against the door and inhales deeply. After he lets the long breath out, he yells, “You can all come out now. I know you’re up, waiting.”
The lights come on and his family is standing at the top of the stairs, looking at him with curious eyes.
The Pavilion
The next day is lovely. It’s a bright and balmy spring day.
Armie arrives at the Chalamet’s home promptly at eleven thirty in the morning. This time, Timmy is dressed, ready and waiting. Before Armie makes his way up the walkway, the front door flings open and Timmy bolts out, wearing a thin white t-shirt with relaxed pink Jersey sweatpants and matching jacket.
“Hey,” he says, skidding to a stop in front of Armie, squinting up at him, as sunlight beams down on them.
“Hey you,” Armie replies, greeting him. He caresses Timmy’s bicep.
“I missed you,” Timmy says softly, momentarily lost in the touch. Since they don’t have much time he says, “Let’s go,” as he makes his way to the car.
Armie points to the house. “I should go in and say hello to your parents,” he tells Timmy.
“We can do that later,” Timmy insists.
They hop into the coupe and head back to the parkway. There, Armie pushes the car faster than usual, and it rips through the morning wind as they make their way north.
Apparently, both of them are not in the mood to waste any time.
Some time after, Armie turns off the parkway, continues on a local road, densely lined with budding green trees, and eventually down a private road.
“Where’re we going?” Timmy asks, curious.
“We’re going on a picnic.”
The coupe pulls up to a gate with a security booth. Beyond the booth, there is a man-made lake and beyond that, across the lake, the back of a grand white Victorian building. Alfred, an older man known for his aphorisms, exits the booth and walks up to the coupe. When he sees Armie, he smiles and greets him jovially. “Mr. Hammer, sir, how are you?”
“Fine, Al. How’re you today?”
“Oh sir, you know how it is, every day above the ground is a good day,” he says and chuckles, like this is an old joke between them. “Haven’t seen you down here in a while,” he states.
Armie explains that he’s looking for a quiet place to have lunch with his friend. He introduces Timmy, who leans and smiles and says hello to the older man. Al wrings his hands together and inquiries about what supplies they’ll be needing and whether they’ll be going out on the lake. He apologizes repeatedly and explains that since the lake isn’t opening for the season for another few weeks, they aren’t prepared and would need to pull whatever they require from the storage house. Even though he knows that the older man means well, Armie dislikes the fussing. He puts his hand up and tells Al that he doesn’t need to prepare anything. He explains that they’re just going to hang out in the pavilion, have lunch and perhaps walk around a bit. He goes on to tell Al not to worry about a thing, and Al’s shoulders visibly relax.
“Sure thing sir, this is a wonderful day for a picnic, it’s spring, the season of new beginnings,” Al says. “If you need anything, please let me know.”
Armie pulls through the security gate, and rolls the coupe to a white-enclosed pavilion. Colorful flowers, recently planted in the moist earth, surround the pavilion, along with heaps of luminous milkstones. Armie parks the car and they get out. From the trunk, he removes the wicker basket that’s resting next to his overnight bag. He opens the door to the pavilion. At the center is a round custom-made, conversation-style sofa with weather-proof cushions; along the side are two intricately carved benches. Armie plops the basket in the center of the sofa. Then he walks around the pavilion and slides the windows open, letting the pleasant breeze flow through freely, the sweet scent of fresh flowers tagging along.
After he does this, he strolls over to Timmy and pulls him into a huge bear hug.
Finally!
Timmy buries his head in Armie’s chest. Armie presses his lips to one temple, then the other. He pulls back and asks, “Did you rest last night?”
Timmy replies with a muffled yes, not wanting to move from Armie’s chest.
“Good,” Armie says. “Let’s relax and eat.”
Armie opens the lid of the picnic basket and removes the gingham patterned blanket resting on top. He spreads the blanket out on the ground and rests the basket on it.
Timmy takes off his jacket, tosses it to the sofa, and flops down on the blanket; Armie follows him, stretching out his denim-clad legs, crossing them at the ankles.
What’s in this thing?” Timmy asks, peeking into the basket.
“Why don’t you open and see,” Armie replies. He folds his arms and his muscles bulge beneath his fitted polo shirt.
Timmy removes the contents and lay them one-by-one on the blanket. Several sandwiches wrapped snugly in parchment paper, crispy home-made potato chips in a large clear cellophane bag, two large tartan-plaid thermoses, canisters (one large and one small) holding something unseen, and finally dainty bottles of seltzer. “Yummy,” he says. He picks up one of the sandwiches and peels away the parchment. As he breaks the pre-sliced sandwich in two, creamy chicken salad atop leafy lettuce is revealed. Timmy’s eyes widen in delight. His favorite. It even looks like the chicken salad from the diner, the one they were sold out of.
“Where did you get this? Did you make this?” he asks.
Armie chuckles. “No, I can’t take credit for it, for any of this,” he says as he gestures to the contents of the basket before them. “At all. I asked our head housekeeper at the mansion to have it prepared and dropped off at the corporate apartments this morning. She said she knew the owner at the diner, she may have called him and gotten the recipe.”
Timmy hands one-half of the sandwich to Armie. Then he bites into his half, and it tastes even better than the one at the diner. This isn’t surprising to him; it’s obviously made with only the finest ingredients available in the area.
“Mmm,” Timmy moans out and devours the sandwich in a couple of bites.
“Not bad,” Armie comments, after he bites into his half.
Timmy reaches for the chips and pokes a few in his mouth. They’re perfect—salty and crispy, just the way they’re meant to be. Next he picks up one of the thermoses and shakes it. He feels like a kid at a candy store.
“I wasn't sure if you were a coffee person or tea person, so I asked for both,” Armie explains.
“Definitely coffee,” Timmy says. He opens the thermos and it’s the coffee. He inhales the strong brew, which has been sweetened with local honey and fresh cream.
“Me too,” Armie agrees.
Using the lids from the thermoses, Timmy pours them each a cup of hot coffee.
While they devour their lunch, Armie tells Timmy about the movie he slept through the previous evening. Somehow, they’d both missed it when it was first released. Armie explains how it’s about a guy named Stef, who’s a high school football player, hoping to get a sports scholarship so that he can get out of the small dead-end town he lives in—how there’s this huge important football game and because of a few mishaps, Stef’s team loses the game—and how this eventually leads to a rift with the coach, who black-balls Stef with his college prospects.
“So, the million-dollar question is how does Stef get out, if at all,” Armie says, wrapping up his take on the plot of the movie.
Timmy snorts; he doesn't know why the local cinema is showing such a movie on the second-run screen. What are they trying to do—juice up all the young people in the town? For so long now, he’s been waiting for the day when he can leave.
“So, what happens, does he get out?” he asks.
“Well, you’ll have to watch the movie to find out,” Armie says.
Across the picnic blanket, Timmy jabs Armie with his foot. “Tease,” he tells him.
Before Timmy can pull his foot away, Armie snatches his ankle. “Come here,” Armie says. He lets go of the ankle and taps his lap, beckoning Timmy. He shifts so that his back rests firmly against the custom sofa. Timmy scoots over and nestles his head in Armie’s lap and stretches out on the blanket.
“The love interest in the movie, she wanted to study music, like you,” Armie says idly. He rests one of his hands on Timmy’s stomach.
They lay like this for a while, Armie hands warm on Timmy’s contented belly, Timmy’s head warm on Armie’s lap.
“Thank you for doing this,” Timmy says softly. “The sandwiches, everything.”
Armie looks down at Timmy, stares into his eyes. Emotions unfold on his face. Timmy holds his breath, certain he's going to say something, make some sort of revelation.
But Armie doesn’t say anything.
He isn’t ready.
Instead, he smiles and says, “Well, we’re not done yet.” He leans over and reaches for the small canister. He lifts his other hand and pulls the lid off. Inside, there’re homemade cookies. He takes one out and hands it to Timmy, who lifts it to his mouth and bites. The cookie is buttery and loaded with chunks of rich dark chocolate; it’s delicious, like everything else.
They quickly wax off all the cookies.
“The other canister is for you to take home, for your family,” Armie tells him.
“Thanks.”
They relax in the quiet afternoon, eyes closed, bellies stuffed. For the first time, they notice birdsong flowing into the pavilion from the nearby trees.
“Armie?”
Armie opens his eyes and looks at Timmy, splayed out on the blanket.
“Hmm.”
Armie places his hand back on Timmy’s stomach.
Timmy hesitates, then says, “When we met, you said that you were thinking about life differently. What happened? You said it wasn't one thing. But something must have happened…”
Armie tilts his head in thought for several moments. Carefully, he begins, “I’ll share two events that occurred, that made me question…my path. When I was helping with the preparations for the commemoration of my mother’s death—”
“Your mom, she….” Timmy gulps out. He feels his stomach drop. He recalls now that he’d read about a dedication. “What happened?”
“It was a long time ago. She got very sick very quickly and then she was gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Timmy whispers.
Armie waves his hand. He doesn’t want to get into it; so, Timmy doesn’t pry.
“Do you recall me telling you that I went to different boarding schools?”
Timmy nods.
“Well, since Hammers don’t get kicked out of schools, let’s just say that, in most cases, the boarding school and I mutually agreed to part ways. There was a period of time when I did whatever I pleased, whenever I pleased. I was selfish. Timmy, I broke the rules, all the time, because I thought that they didn’t apply to me. One day, my mother’s dearest and oldest friend called me and asked me to assist with the planning of the commemoration. As I collected my mother’s papers and mementos and went through them, I realized that there was so much I’d forgotten, and so much more that I didn’t know about her. The more I thought about her, remembered her, the more I realized that she wouldn't have been proud of who I’d become. So, I tried to get my act together. I’m still trying…”
Timmy rests his hand over Armie’s hand on his stomach. He gives it a comforting squeeze.
“Oh Armie…”
Armie is quiet for a long period before he lets out a snort. “Then, there was this day…” he says. “My father, brother and I, we all love to swim, wherever we go, there has to be a pool available. At the corporate apartments, there’s a lap pool. Almost every morning, I go there and swim in private before it opens up for everyone else. A perk of being a Hammer.” He shakes his head and lets out a quick breath. “One morning, I didn’t get there in time. I’d snooze a few too many times because I was up late the night before working on a project for the training program. By the time I arrived, the pool had been opened up for everyone. At the door to the locker room, as I was about to enter so that I could change, I heard sounds, guttural sounds. I quietly stepped in, and sure enough, there were two people, two men, there.”
Timmy swallows. There?” he whispers, not sure which direction Armie is going with this story.
Armie looks down at him and nods. “Yes, there, in one of the shower stalls.”
“Oh…”
“They were…” Armie pauses, then reveals, “at it.”
Timmy isn’t expecting to hear this; he isn’t sure what he expected, but it’s not this.
“At first, my instinct was to say something, raise my voice and ask what they thought they were doing, but something deeper within me didn’t do this.” Armie chuckles. “I stayed,” he continues, voice softening. “And they were so into it, they didn’t even notice. And I saw everything they did, I heard everything, the hushed sounds they made, the steamy words they spoke to each other—when they thought no one was watching.”
Armie grips Timmy’s t-shirt in his palm.
“And I got so hard.” He pauses again. “When they were through, I slipped away, unseen. But I couldn't stop thinking about them—that—how it made me feel. I thought I knew myself, but after that morning, I questioned who I was. I picked up my first Philosophy book then, looking for a way to find the answers.”
The ocean of vulnerability Timmy saw in Armie’s eyes the night they met at Milkstone Park returns. There, there, it is.
Timmy caresses Armie’s hand, massaging his thumb over the whitened knuckles. As he does so, Armie’s grip steadily loosens; his hand slowly opens back up and falls back flat on Timmy’s stomach.
“I think you should take all the time you need to find out what you want. There’s no rush,” Timmy says firmly.
And Armie’s stare deepens with fondness.
“You’re gorgeous, do you know that?”
“No, you’re gorgeous.”
“Okay, then you’re beautiful. Is it okay if I say that?”
Timmy nods. “And you’re handsome.”
“I am, am I?” Armie laughs, the mood in the pavilion lightening. He begins to tickle Timmy, wiggling his strong fingers along his rib cage, poking at his core.
Timmy giggles happily as he tries to pull away from Armie. When Armie releases him, he becomes serious. He stoops up on the blanket and raises his hip over Armie, so that he’s straddling him. He cups Armie’s face and presses his lips into his. The kiss is instantly insistent, and it travels all over Armie’s face, along his perfect jawline and down his flexed neck. Armie cups Timmy's ass and claws at it. He presses his head against his chest. While he’s relishing the warmth, he nibbles at the nubs of Timmy’s hardened nipples through the soft cotton tee.
The familiar frenzy within and between them builds. Timmy has never wanted anyone as much as he wants Armie at that moment. He murmurs, “What you saw those men doing, in the locker room, I want that with you, I want to do that with you.”
Timmy’s words cause desire to rip through Armie. He’s never been so turned on by anyone. His hands move beneath Timmy's waistband, over his loose-fitting boxers, and closer to his hot skin. Timmy lifts himself further up on his knees and molds his hardened body against Armie’s. For a split second, through the haze of his lust, Armie catches a glimpse of the placid lake and the white clubhouse on the bright horizon through the window of the pavilion, and he remembers where they are. If they don't stop now, the boxers—a barrier to what he hungers for, what he knows Timmy hungers for—are coming down next, right there in the airy pavilion. But they must remain decent. So, he musters all the willpower he can and whispers desperately, “Timmy, we should stop, not here.” He removes his hand and reluctantly guides Timmy’s hips away.
Panting, Timmy sits back against Armie’s legs. As he deflates, his brows crease into a displeased frown. But he doesn’t argue. He knows Armie is right. Haven’t they gotten in trouble, because of this, before?
Armie moves his head around the pavilion until his eyes settle on Timmy. He reaches for his hands. “Are we okay?” he whispers.
Timmy raises his eyes and gazes at Armie. “Of course,” he says firmly.
“Okay, let’s go for a walk,” Armie suggests. “Let’s cool down.”
They stroll along the path by the lake at an intentionally leisurely pace, the magnetic energy between them drawing their bodies to each other. Each time their limbs brush, a small smile, almost imperceptible, forms on their smitten lips. They ease between moments of revelatory chit-chat and comfortable silence. The time speeds by all too quickly, before they have to end their time together. But before they move on with the day, a need to reassure Timmy tugs at Armie. He tilts his head in thought. When he does so, he notices a nest of pebbly milkstones glowing on the side of the path. He bends and picks up a couple and rotates them over and over in his hands. Moments later, he says, “You know, our first time together, I don’t want it to be rushed, I don’t want us to have to look over our shoulders, wondering if someone is seeing us, I want us to take our time.” Then, Armie tosses one of the pebbles into the lake; there’s so much force behind the throw, it skims across the lake for the longest time and then disappears, creating ripple, after ripple, after ripple.