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Being jealous of a peach was fucking ridiculous, and yet here he was.

The real problem was that it was one of his days off, again. Which should have be a nice thing: free time during the summer in beautiful Italy, perfect for relaxing, and it was a day that wasn't ninety percent humidity, to boot. And instead he was bored and alone and lonely, because while Armie might have a day off, Timothée certainly didn't. Timothée never got a day off. If they were shooting, he had to be there.

Armie wasn't jealous of that schedule, exactly, but he did feel left out. Feeling that way made his brain go down dangerous paths, historically speaking, and it seemed today was no different. What was he missing, he wondered. What jokes were Luca and Timothée having without him? Would he spend most of tomorrow trying to catch up on whatever hysterical thing had happened today?

It was like the damn peach thing. The three of them had been having dinner a few nights ago, after the day's shooting had wrapped, and it had been lovely and intimate and special, and then Armie had asked whether they were really doing the peach scene. Last he had heard, Luca was still on the fence about it.

He had watched, thunderstruck, as both Luca and Timothée had grinned widely. "Oh, yes," Luca said. "I hadn't been convinced, but then I tried it myself and suddenly I saw how it could be done. And Timothée had the same experience." Armie had looked over at Timothée, expecting him to laugh and tell Luca to stop making shit up. But he wasn't laughing, just grinning and blushing, and Armie hadn’t known whether he wanted to murder a peach or these two assholes who had shared fruit fucking and left him out of it.

Well, he decided now, he did have the entire day off. And he could only feel left out if he was the sole member of their trio who hadn't gone through that rite of passage. There was an easy solution to his problem.

He got himself a peach.

*

Of all the things he’d failed at in his life, fucking a peach had to be up there.

He’d expected it to be awkward, certainly. Embarrassing went without saying. But he was an actor, and either you got used to doing vaguely mortifying things in the course of your job or you found something else to do.

(A small part of his brain quietly pointed out that this particular embarrassment was not strictly necessary to his craft, but he told it to shut up.)

This, however, went beyond awkward and embarrassing and straight through to humiliating, because not only was he lying naked and alone on his bed with the remains of a poor peach he had attempted to defile, it hadn’t even been good.

There were parts of it that hadn't been bad. It was undeniably satisfying to hold a ripe peach in his hand and feel the flesh give when he squeezed gently. What he really wanted to do was take a bite of it, but the point wasn't to eat the peach.

He did need to get the pit out, though, so he thought one bite couldn't hurt. He let the juices run down his chin, not attempting to be neat about it, trying to convince himself that this was part of the appeal, and then he got his fingers in and managed to pull the pit out. He was left with three quarters of a faintly scandalized-looking peach, and his dick was not at all certain it was interested in these events.

He had gotten himself mostly hard before he got the peach involved: nothing fancy, just his hands and his imagination and a bit of his favorite lube to get himself started. Keeping an erection had never been something he'd struggled with, but trying new things could be intimidating, and this was definitely new.

The juice from the peach really was everywhere, but especially all over his chest hair. It was sticky and it pulled, and he liked a little hair pulling during sex as much as the next guy, but not this kind; and then he thought about what other kind of hair would pull uncomfortably and his semi wilted even further.

There was nothing for it, though: he licked some of the juice off of one hand and tried to jerk off a bit, getting his dick comfortable again before introducing it to something new. That was somewhat successful, and he told himself to stop being a chickenshit and just do it.

So he put the peach on top of his dick and thrust up and promptly lost all interest in even being a human any longer, much less in doing this until he managed to come.

He gave his poor dick and the peach a break and stopped trying, his heart pounding from adrenaline and embarrassment and something else he couldn't quite name. He'd never thought jerking off was a thing he could fail at. It should have felt good. He should have been good enough. Hell, both Luca and Timothée were.

And then, with a bolt of inspiration, Armie realized the truth.

Timothée and Luca had lied.

*

“You lied,” Armie said smugly.

"What?" Timothée was staring at him with the start of a smile at one corner of his mouth. "No, I didn't."

"Oh, now you're claiming you've never lied to me about anything?"

"Well, until I know what specific lie I'm being accused of, yes! That's exactly what I'm saying," Timothée said, a full grin spreading over his face.

God, it was so good to actually have someone to talk to after a day alone with himself and his peach remains, that for a moment Armie thought about letting it die and taking his fruit shame to his grave. He couldn’t even remember exactly why he’d been so grumpy; he had known Timothée would come back to the hotel as soon as he was finished filming, so that they could get dinner together and then watch videos or something. And that was exactly what Timothée had done, and it should have been enough.

But Armie knew the truth now, and Timothée wasn’t going to get away with it. He gave Timothée a shove in the chest. “You and Luca. The peach thing.”

“What about it?” The smile had fallen off of Timothée’s face a bit, but Armie wasn’t fooled.

“You guys didn’t fuck a peach.”

Timothée looked down, looking appropriately chastened. Or at least that’s what Armie thought his expression meant until Timothée said, very firmly, “Yes, I did.”

No. “But— ”

“I don’t know if Luca did, I wasn’t there,” Timothée continued. “But from how he talked about it, I’m pretty sure he didn’t lie.”

“How, though?” If Armie was a peach fucking failure, he was at least going to figure out how.

Timothée looked up at him finally. “What do you mean, how?”

Armie waved his hand around. “What it sounds like, how did it work? How did your dick not rebel?”

Timothée was staring at him with a terrible gleam in his eye. “Oh my god, you tried it, too.”

“No,” Armie said, suddenly changing his mind on the wisdom of bringing this up, but Timothée wasn’t buying anything he was selling.

“You fucking did, and—what did you do?” Timothée was laughing at him, the asshole. “How did you fuck that up?”

“It was fucking weird!”

“Of course it’s weird! That’s, like, the point!”

“I thought the point was to get off,” Armie said, in what he thought was a very reasonable way.

“Yeah, but like. I was doing it for Elio, you know?” Timothée was way too perceptive. “So I don’t know how it would work to just do it.”

“Fine, then show me,” Armie said, like it was a dare, like this was a normal conversation to be having with a fellow actor.

Timothée shook his head after a moment’s silence. “No, I’ve already done it. I know how it works.” Armie had just barely processed that Timothée had actually seemed to consider it when Timothée added, “You should show me and I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“What?”

“Do you have more peaches up here, or did you just get yourself one?”

“Just the one,” Armie said faintly.

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” Timothée said, and left.

Armie was still staring at the door when Timothée reappeared, a bag of peaches in his hand.

“I didn’t know I needed an entire fruit bowl,” Armie said. “Maybe that was my problem.”

“You fucked up the first time, I thought I should get a couple of spares," Timothée said, like the asshole he was. Before Armie could think of a crushing retort, Timothée continued, "So I think your main problem is that you weren't turned on enough. Like, in order to fuck the peach, you have to want to fuck the peach."

"It's not like I started with the peach right off the bat," Armie said, feeling vaguely insulted.

"Still," Timothée said. "So you should probably get started or whatever."

Armie couldn't quite believe that this was really happening. "Now."

Timothée shrugged, not looking directly at him. "You're the one who tried it."

"So did you!"

"Yeah, and it worked for me, so chop chop. It's important to keep learning in your old age."

"Oh my god," Armie said, and tugged his shirt and shorts off and threw himself back onto his bed before he could think about it any longer.

"So I don't know how much time you need—"

"Fuck you, I can get a boner," Armie snapped, and the bitch of it was that he could. He had been half hard during most of the conversation, just from talking about it with Timothée, and now that his hand was back on his dick he felt a sense of purpose and desire that had been completely lacking earlier in the day. He tried not to think about why that was and just focused on his body, closing his eyes against any intruding thoughts.

It got harder to forget why he was doing what he was doing when Timothée spoke again. "Okay, so, um, when you're ready, let me know and I'll give you a peach."

"This is what you did?" Armie said, slightly dazed that he was asking that question.

"Yeah, I uh, I thought making a head start was a good plan."

"I thought the peach made you hard. I'm disappointed, Timmy."

"Oh my god, the peach is, like, a metaphor," Timothée said, exasperated, and Armie's dick jumped in his hand.

"I know the peach is a metaphor, smartass, also give it to me," Armie said, holding out his free hand and finally daring to open his eyes and look at him.

Timothée was staring back at him, holding a peach so hard he must have been bruising it. His eyes kept darting between Armie's face and his hand on his dick, and the absurdity of the situation just made Armie harder. "Timmy," he said again, softly this time, and that snapped Timothée out of it.

"Okay, right," Timothée said, handing the peach over. "So, like, press your fingers into the seam, it should split pretty easily." Armie was palming the entire peach in one hand, and he rotated it around like a baseball until the tips of his middle and ring fingers were firm against the seam. He squeezed the peach and pressed in until he could feel it start to give, and then wiggled his fingers inside. Gasping, he pushed in further while fucking up into his fist at the same time.

"Yeah, um, now it's easier if you bite it open a bit," Timothée said, and Armie was half a second ahead of him, the peach already in his mouth. He got drenched by peach juice again and it didn't feel any sexier this time, but he cared a lot less.

"Okay, now what?" he asked, mostly just to hear Timothée's voice again.

"It's easier with two hands, but you need to get the pit out," Timothée said, his voice cracking.

Armie finally took his hand off his dick and reached into the peach to get the pit out. He stared at the pitted peach, remembering how deeply unappealing its unfortunate brother had looked to him that afternoon, and yet all he wanted to do was fuck it, his erection unflagging in the face of both the fruit and Timothée.

He took a deep breath and held the peach out. "This is where it all went wrong this afternoon."

"What are you doing?" Timothée asked, but that wasn't the question he meant.

"Help me?"

Timothée didn't say anything. For a moment, Armie thought he had fucked up in an even worse way than failing to fuck a peach, but then Timothée reached out and took the peach from him. Still looking at Armie, he took a small bite out of it, and Armie's hips involuntarily thrust up into the air.

"I'm just going to do what I did," Timothée said, kneeling on the bed.

"Please," Armie groaned, and then Timothée wrapped both of his hands and the peach around Armie's dick, and everything began to white out.

"Is that," Timothée started to say.

"It's perfect, it's perfect, keep doing it," Armie gasped, thrusting up into the peach and Timothée's hands.

"Can I?" Timothée asked.

"Yes, anything," Armie said, meaning it, and Timothée squeezed the rapidly disintegrating peach tighter, until he was holding it in just one hand; then he planted his free hand next to Armie's shoulder and leaned in and kissed him.

It felt nothing like kissing him as Oliver, and not just because Timothée had his hand on his dick through a peach. There was a confidence and knowledge and certainty that bled through the desire, and Armie kissed him back just as desperately, both of his hands reaching up to hold Timothée's face as they kissed and he came all over his stomach.

He felt Timothée drop the peach, its remains sliding off Armie's dick and onto his belly. Timothée's hand came up to grip Armie's hair, the peach juice sticking in his hair just as he had thought it would. It was all Armie could smell and taste, and he thought that for the rest of his life peaches were going to give him inconvenient boners and he didn't care at all.

"Armie," Timothée said against his lips, a plea in his voice, and Armie nodded and reached down to get a hand on him. Between the two of them they managed to get his shorts off, and then Armie finally got to see Timothée's dick, hard and flushed and leaking.

"Peaches really work for you, huh," Armie said, licking the palm of his hand before he started to stroke him.

"Oh my god, shut up," Timothée said, his hips already snapping in time with Armie's strokes; his entire body was trembling, and not doing much to dispute Armie's point.

He came with a soft gasp, stomach going taut while Armie stroked him through it. Armie gave him one final squeeze, making Timothée twitch, and then wrapped his arms around him and kissed him again, the peach slipping off his body and falling on the sheets. He had a moment's thought for the housekeeping and then went back to focusing on Timothée, the feel of his skin so lovely even when his hands were tacky from come and peach juice. He let one hand slip down until he was gripping Timothée's ass cheek, his fingertips just grazing the cleft there, and he decided peaches were his favorite fruit.

Finally, he pulled away just far enough to rest his forehead against Timothée's. "So that's exactly how it went for you, huh?" Armie couldn't stop smiling.

"Not exactly." Timothée's fingers were running up and down the side of Armie's body. Armie turned until he was on his back again, tugging them both out of the peach wet spot and pulling Timothée close against his side.

“I'm very impressed, however you managed it. I mean, I had help, beyond the peach. How did you do it?”

Timothée blushed as deeply as Armie had ever seen, his face heating so rapidly Armie felt it against his chest. “I just thought about what Elio would have thought about.”

It took Armie a second to parse that and then he grinned. “Guess I didn’t even need to be there to inspire you.”

“I’m nineteen and you’re shirtless all day every day, come on,” Timothée said, sitting up a bit and shoving him. Armie shoved him back and then tugged him in and kissed him again, as easy and sweet as summer.

“Okay,” Armie said finally, “so you’re nineteen and hot for my body, that’s your excuse. What’s Luca’s?”

Timothée thought for a moment. “Well, he may not be nineteen, but…” He trailed off and shrugged.

Armie gestured at his own body. “Yeah, fair enough,” he said, and let out a soft exhale of air when Timothée hit him in the stomach. “Hey, you’re the one who said it.”

Timothée sighed dramatically. He was running his fingers over Armie’s chest now, occasionally getting caught in the stuck-together strands of his chest hair. Somehow Armie didn’t mind the way it felt when it was Timothée.

“You didn’t have to be jealous of the peach, you know,” Timothée said finally, letting his head settle against Armie’s shoulder.

Armie smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. “Oh my god, the peach was a metaphor, you dumbass,” he said, and he felt Timothée’s answering smile against his chest.