Fanfic: One Day in the Life of Alfred F. Jones
*******
Title: One Day in the Life of Alfred F. Jones
Author: slashy_lady
Rating: PG13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Arthur and Alfred, with appearance from Elizaveta and Francis/AlfredxArthur
Word Count: 4208
Disclaimer: The characters involved in this story do not belong to me, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.
Warning: This fic is not beta-ed and done in a rush so if you find any error in it, beg pardon (and notify me?).
Some Kind of Summary: The life of Alfred F. Jones, supermodel, was spectacular. But then he met Arthur Kirkland--his idol, his hero, his dream guy--and his life became perfect.
Note: Written for usxuk's 2011 Special Relationship Sweethearts, Day 5 - Across the Universe. And because hakuku's art HERE is really inspiring (the last picture, oh God!), I dedicate this to her.
*******
The life of a supermodel was glamorous, hectic, full of spotlight and it drew a lot of attention. It was maddening and sometimes it was enough to send someone to heaven and hell and back to earth with a wham in a speed of light. It was glitter and dust, success and failure, sweet and bitter, all of them mixed into one. It was addictive and it was busy.
It was the life of Alfred F. Jones.
*
There was a woman in Alfred’s life who had done so much for him that he often referred to her as the woman. She was determined, she was strong, and at that moment, she was clinking her stiletto heels as she talked to Alfred.
Or, perhaps it should be said that she was trying to talk to Alfred.
“Just a couple of shots,” she explained in a tone that signaled that she was trying hard to hold her temper. “You just have to sit there and look pretty. What’s the difficulty in that?”
Alfred sighed. The backstage of some photo session was surely not a conductive place to carry out that kind of conversation. He suspected that Elizaveta-that was the name of the woman in front of him, the woman who had been his manager for nearly five years already-knew about that. He even suspected that she only did the whole talking-in-backstage business because she understood how Alfred hated it.
Mainly, though, he hated it because sooner or later he would be too tired to argue and just okayed whatever thing she said. Elizaveta might be a slender looking woman but, boy, what a cunning mind that woman got. That, and she also could kick someone’s ass really well. Both literally and figuratively.
“But it’s on March,” he said with a despairing sigh. It seemed to be ineffective, though, for she was still looking at him sternly.
“Of course it’s on March. It’s a photo shoot for the new spring collection,” she said.
“I told you I don’t want to be disturbed on that date,” Alfred said sullenly. “It’s my vacation time.”
“You have free time on June,” Elizaveta said patiently. “You can go and have your vacation then.”
Alfred gave another-louder-sigh and slumped deeper into his seat. He knew he would have some free time on June. But it was on June!
“But that’s still months from now,” he said. Whined, actually. “I’m tired and I’ve been working non-stop for months now. Months! I even put up with that Christmas snit and New Year promotion. I want my holiday.”
“Oh, stop the melodrama,” Elizaveta said. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Alfred, who could only blink and tried to look innocent upon receiving that glare. Considering that the intensity of the glare didn’t lessen a bit, Alfred deduced that his whole playing-cute-and-innocent trick didn’t really work.
Well, fuck.
“I’m good at melodrama,” he told her. “I’m a supermodel.”
“Yeah, and a very whiny one at that,” she said with a snort.
Alfred was tempted to pout at her but he knew it would only succeed in ruining his image. It was backstage, after all. Though it was not really public, there were still several people present watching them. He couldn’t bear having his image tarnished. When people saw him, they should see Alfred Jones, that cool guy who made the front cover of the majority of top magazines in the Western hemisphere and not Alfred Jones, grouch extraordinaire.
“Come on, Alfred,” Elizaveta said. She walked closer to him and perched herself on the hand rest of his seat. “It’s Feliciano Vargas. You love his collection. You love posing in his designed outfits. You even once practically begged to be allowed to be his model.”
It was true, of course. All of them were true. He did love Feliciano Vargas’ collection. He did once-well, twice, actually-not really begged but made it perfectly clear that he really hoped to pose wearing his new collection.
“Are you sure you’re not pressing me because you fancy him?” he asked Elizaveta with a smirk.
Elizaveta whacked him upside the head, making him squeak in alarm.
“Don’t muss the hair,” he said, glaring at her. “I spent years trying to style it to perfection, you know?”
“It was your hair stylist who did it and she only spent less than two hours,” she said. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Hey, supermodel here,” he said, raising his hand. “I’m expected to be dramatic.”
“And you’re expected to follow your manager,” Elizaveta retorted.
Alfred rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Somehow he knew that he couldn’t escape it. And somehow he knew that Elizaveta knew that he knew. That would explain the victorious smile she had on her face when he turned his face to look at her.
“Oh, fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
She squealed a little and kissed his forehead fondly.
“You’re an angel,” she said.
“An angel who would get extremely cranky because he cannot go to holiday,” Alfred said even though he was also smiling. “But just for this time, okay? I will really have my vacation on June and I won’t have you suddenly schedule something for me during that time period, is that clear?”
“Fine,” she said. Standing up, she seemed to think for a moment before she exclaimed, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. You won’t be working alone for this photo shoot. He wanted to have you pose as a pair.”
“Hm,” Alfred said casually. It was no big deal, he thought. It was not unusual to have a partner for a photo shoot. “Who will it be? Natalya? I know she’s so popular recently.”
“No,” Elizaveta said, her smile was most mischievous when she bent her body and whispered into Alfred’s ear. “Arthur Kirkland.”
Alfred’s eyes widen. That was unexpected. That was most unexpected and it shocked him and damn Elizaveta for imparting that crucial information so easily as if it was nothing when they both knew that for Alfred it was something closer to ‘everything’. As he gaped in his seat, she chuckled and walked away from him. And Alfred Jones could only think of two words to describe his current situation.
Oh, fuck.
*
Alfred loved being a model. And he knew that he was not the only one feeling that way.
When people opened their magazine, they would see him, smiling and posing from the pages, urging them to look at him, look at the things he wore, admire him and yearn for him. And Alfred loved it. He loved the power it gave him. He loved to have his pictures strewn over the pages of the magazines. He loved the fact that people loved him.
But Alfred was no different from them, because he, too, could open his magazine and have his breath caught when he saw the beautiful men and women he saw inside. Or perhaps, to be more precise, he should have said ‘when he saw the most beautiful man he saw inside’.
That man was Arthur Kirkland
*
“This is not a good idea…” he told Elizaveta as they drove to his photo shoot that day. “I’m telling you, this is not a good idea.”
He turned his face to glare at his manager but was disheartened when he saw that she was still busy with her PDA without seeming to give him much thought.
“Did you hear what I was saying?” he asked her with a hint of hurt in his voice. He didn’t like it when people ignore him.
“Yes, I heard you,” she said calmly. “You said ‘this is not a good idea’ and you’ve said that in total of twenty two times today. I don’t know how many times you’ve said it since the first time I informed you that you would be working with Arthur Kirkland. I stopped counting after one hundred and twelve.”
Alfred frowned. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“I keep count,” she said. “How can you say I’m not taking you seriously?”
“Yeah, but…” Alfred tried to say but then he decided not to continue his sentence. Instead, he opted to sigh and cross his arms before his chest in a way that any sulking teenager might do. “This is not a good idea.”
Elizaveta, clicking her PDA with a victorious smirk, cheerfully informed him from his side.
“Twenty three now.”
*
The truth was, Alfred was really looking forward to working with Arthur Kirkland. It was only natural. After all, everyone would dream of working together with their idols, right? But at the same time, he was also so very anxious. Arthur Kirkland had been a professional male model even when he was still finding out how to get into that glamorous world. He was Alfred’s hero. And meeting his hero was his number one dream, true, but what if he ruined everything? He was pretty much an amateur if he were to stand side by side with Arthur Kirkland.
He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously as he and Elizaveta entered the studio. His gaze roamed, taking assessment of his environment. Then his gaze landed on Arthur Kirkland (oh my God it was really him) standing less than fifty feet away from him, conversing with his manager.
Alfred could feel something akin to panic building up inside him.
Trying to get himself under control, he nudged Elizaveta gently. Pretending to be calm, he asked her, “Who will be the photographer for today’s session?”
Elizaveta took a single look at him, frowned. And Alfred knew that she could see just how nervous he was.
“Bonnefoy,” she said. “Alfred, calm down.”
Alfred blinked his eyes rapidly. Great, he thought, Francis Bonnefoy. Oh God, he had a mixed feeling toward that guy. He was a very decent photographer but, damn, somehow he could look like he wanted to eat him alive.
“I am calm,” he hissed through his teeth.
“Your lie doesn’t even sound convincing enough,” she said with a sigh. “What’s wrong, Alfred? I thought you would be over the moon at the chance of working together with your crush…”
“Oh, God, shut up,” Alfred said in panic. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know about his (massive) crush on Arthur Kirkland. He looked around in dread, trying to see if there was anyone listening to their conversation. Thankfully, none of the crew seemed to give them any notice.
Sadly, Arthur Kirkland seemed to have noticed them.
Alfred gulped as their gaze met, as Arthur Kirkland seemed to tilt his face a bit to a side before a smile blossomed on his face.
When he approached him, though, Alfred had to use every bit of self control he had in him to prevent him from bolting away.
“Hello,” he said once he was already in front of Alfred. He was still smiling and he even offered his hand to Alfred. “I take that we’re going to work together for this session. Nice to meet you, I’m Arthur.”
Alfred stared at the offered hand for a moment before his good behavior kicked in. Grasping that hand, he returned Arthur’s smile.
“Alfred Jones,” he said.
Arthur laughed. “Oh, I know you already. Your face seems to be in every magazine I purchase, it’s hard not to know you.”
“Er, yeah…” Alfred said. “Isn’t that the same like a pot calling the kettle black?”
Arthur chuckled and released Alfred’s hand. He looked like he was about to say something but Arthur’s manager-Alfred remember his name was Edelstein or something-called him. So with one last smile to Alfred and a brief exchange of ‘see you later’, he took off.
Alfred felt his breath released from his throat as he watched Arthur walking away. Damn, he thought, he looked really fine in those jeans.
“Oh my God,” he said. He turned his head and grinned to Elizaveta. “I talked with Arthur Kirkland!”
Elizaveta seemed trying hard not to giggle.
“It’s fantastic. It’s… really fantastic. I mean…” Alfred tried to say and failed to find any word adequate to describe his feeling. “I should have asked for his autograph.”
That time, Elizaveta did giggle, making some heads turn to their direction. Yet strangely, Alfred didn’t mind. He even joined her in giggling, feeling for the first time in months that perhaps the idea of working together with Arthur was not so bad.
That sentiment, sadly, didn’t last long. And the cause for that? Francis Bonnefoy.
*
Alfred had worked with Francis Bonnefoy several times during his career as a male model. He was an excellent photographer. He even dared to say that Francis was a genius behind his camera. His shot seemed so full of life and passion and dream. He could make a photograph speak a thousand things in a thousand ways without any word to be said.
In short, he was amazing.
But, as was the case of people who were good at their job and knew that they were good in their job, Francis could be really anal and thorough bordering on obsessive compulsive. He was a perfectionist and thus, he would accept nothing but the best.
*
“No,” Francis said, shaking his head and clucking his tongue with a sour expression on his face. “No, no, no. Alfred, mon cher… you have to do better than that…”
Alfred sighed. They had been at it for nearly an hour and Francis had yet to find any shot worthy of his approval.
“You have to… show that passion,” Francis said in his extravagant way which involved a great use of hand gesture and flicking his hair. “I need your passion, inhibited passion. I need you to look so damn tempting. Like a decadent chocolate cake. Both of you.”
Francis was pointing his finger at them and Alfred, turning his face to catch Arthur’s gaze, could only frown at him as if saying ‘chocolate cake, really?’.
“This won’t do. This won’t do. Oh, God…” Francis said as he walked to and fro in front of them, biting his nails and seemed to be in much distress. Then he stopped and glared at them.
“You,” he said to them both, “need to stop hogging the camera.”
Alfred could only blink. His experience working with Francis let him know that soon Francis would explain what the heck he was trying to say in a long and windy anecdote that often ended with a damn good punch line.
“When you have your photograph taken, I always told you to make love to the camera,” Francis said and Alfred thought, yep, an anecdote. He was smiling slightly when he saw Arthur relaxing beside him, as if readying himself for long hours spent listening to Francis. It seemed they both were already used to France’s histrionic tendency and his love for verbiage.
“Because the camera is the… media to connect you with people, you need to show them… make them want you, make them want to possess you and claim you,” Francis said passionately. “But you can’t hog the camera. No. no can do. You have a partner, see… you can’t steal the spotlight from him. You can’t make love with the camera and forget about the guy on your side. You need to…”
Francis stopped and he was staring at them with a manic glint in his eyes.
“You need to make love to each other.”
*
With shame, Alfred admitted that he could not suppress the shiver of desire and want the moment he heard Francis told them to make love to each other. But the feeling was fleeting and short lived, because it was soon replaced by incredulity and panic.
And when he caught Arthur’s gaze, he could see the very same sentiment reflected in his eyes.
*
“Closer,” Francis commanded them from his place behind the camera. “Maintain that body contact, boys, we want to give them a show, just enough to make them wonder what’s going on behind the stage. Yes, like that, show me your passion.”
Alfred, honestly, was having the worst session of internal conflict that he could recall. On one side, he was more than ecstatic to touch Arthur, being close to him, gazing at him intently with a look that promised great time ahead. But the other side of him kept reminding him that, no, that was not proper professional behavior. He only did it for work, dammit, so he shouldn’t get too invested.
“Alfred, Alfred, darling,” Francis called him. “Stop holding yourself back, you can give me better than that. Just let loose.”
Alfred gulped. To make matter worse, Arthur looked so damn hot and tempting up close. The way he looked into Alfred’s eyes, the way his hand linger on his hip, the way his mouth parted just slightly and those eyes seemed to glaze with passion. It was either he’s a very good actor or-dared he think about it-he also felt the same way toward Alfred.
“Keep at it, Arthur, love,” Francis called out and, suddenly, Alfred felt something inside him snap. He didn’t like the way Francis calling Arthur ‘love’. He didn’t like anyone calling Arthur ‘love’. He should be the one calling him that.
With a new determination, he touched Arthur’s wrist. It was just the gentlest of touch yet Arthur looked up at him as if startled. He must have seen something on his face for he let out a breathy ‘oh’ and his cheeks seemed to flush, but Alfred did not put much thought on that.
He smirked. If Francis wanted him to let loose, then by God he would do it.
Feeling more determined, he traced Arthur’s wrist with his fingers and looked at him as if he wanted to throw him to the floor and just fuck him with his clothes still on, yanked those tight pants down just enough until he could have his wicked ways with him. He wanted to kiss him, feeling his lips against his and slip his tongue into his mouth. He wanted to own him, to taste him, to mark him, to feel him. He wanted to make him yearn for him.
He communicated all of those, and more with his eyes, with his fingers on Arthur’s wrist, with the very subtle way he stepped closer to Arthur’s personal space. So close they were standing at that time, so close their faces were until they breathed the same air, until it would be far too easy for him to kiss those tantalizing lips.
“Alfred,” Arthur whispered and that was the only warning he got before Arthur’s hand on his hip moved. So very gently, it moved. So very gently, Arthur slipped his hand into his back pocket, teasing him with his eyes, taunting him with his smirk on those perfect lips.
And Alfred’s breath caught because now he knew that it was not mere acting anymore.
They kept staring into each other’s eyes. He could see so many promises in Arthur’s gaze, so many things he wanted to share with him. So much passion and desire and, God, so much love. Love, yes, he thought, he loved Arthur. Arthur loved him.
The realization was too much for him he could feel his heart nearly burst in happiness.
“Guys,” Francis called them, disrupting their moment and Alfred found himself turning his face slightly to glare at him. The camera snapped a couple of times and Alfred was rudely dragged back to reality. He blinked and saw Francis beaming at them.
“Marvelous,” he said, clapping his hands. “Simply marvelous, darlings. You are marvelous!”
His hand was still holding Arthur’s wrist and Arthur’s hand was still in his back pocket but neither of them moved from their position. They were still standing close, so very close. And Alfred still wanted to kiss Arthur. Badly.
“Three rolls. I’ve spent three rolls and I still want to get more of your photographs, oh, this is my lucky days,” Francis said with a giddiness that was almost creepy. It seemed that the only thing keeping him from bouncing on his toes was because his shoes were too expensive to endure such fate. The way he leered at them was downright creepy, though.
“I think a thirty minutes break is on order,’ he said. “Before you tear each other’s clothes and go at it here and now. I won’t mind the free show, though, but those clothes are costly.”
Alfred still needed a few seconds to blink, think, and blink again before he finally realized what Francis was saying. His grip on Arthur’s wrist tightened and he all but dragged him to the backstage with him. He could hear Francis’ chuckles. He was sure that Elizaveta was surely cackling too even if he couldn’t see her. He was sure that anyone looking at them would know what was going on between them.
But he didn’t give them a fuck. They could do anything, he didn’t care. They were not important. This, he thought as he opened the door to his dressing room, was far more important. This-he thought as he slammed Arthur up against the closed door, staring at him intently and found out how he was breathing hard, how their hand were scrambling at each other’s clothes, how they seemed unable to break free fro each other-was far more important.
Then Arthur was kissing him and all thoughts cleared up from his mind.
“You don’t know,” Arthur whispered against his lips. “How long have I waited for this.”
Alfred’s hands were busy trying to undo the buttons of Arthur’s overcoat, but he was still able to nip at Arthur’s jaw before kissing it fondly.
“Almost as long as the time I spent wanting you?” he whispered to Arthur’s ear.
Arthur’s hand slipped under Alfred’s jeans and it was everything Alfred could do to hold himself back from moaning. Those jeans were tight but somehow Arthur could maneuver his hand expertly, could touch him just so until he felt like he was on fire, could tease him so much until he felt like he was going mad.
“I jerked off to your picture,” Arthur admitted as his hand delved deeper, making Alfred shiver. “Staring at those spreads of you in my magazine, feeling so ridiculous like a schoolboy having his first crush but I can’t stop.”
“I jerked off to the image of you just this morning,” Alfred said huskily. He finally-fucking finally-managed to unbuttoned Arthur’s overcoat. His shirt afterward was easy and when he spread his hand on Arthur’s naked stomach, feeling his skin so hot and soft and alive under his hand, he whispered urgently to his ear. “I imagined you, in this room, bent over my chair as I pound into you from behind. I dreamed of you, screaming and moaning and so fucking hot, Arthur.”
“God,” Arthur said, though it sounded more like a wheeze of breath. “God, Alfred…”
Then Arthur latched on to his neck, biting, sucking, making love to it and Alfred doubted that thirty minutes would be enough for them.
*
There were many things happened to Alfred following his photo shoot that day.
The first one was that Elizaveta promptly came up to him and demanded for some reward because she was the one who scheduled that photo shoot for him and thus she had had a hand in the whole ‘making Alfred and Arthur realize they were so into each other’ business. Alfred couldn’t find anything to dispute her claim. But he still refused to give her a new car for it.
The second one was that their picture that was taken that day ended up on the front page of some fashion magazine and they looked so hot Alfred believed many people saved a copy for their masturbation material. That was okay with him. He was all for doing people good. And, surely, helping them release sexual tension could be considered good, right?
The third one was that he got together with Arthur.
Oh, they got varied responses when they announced their relationship. Some supported them. Some scorned them. Some stayed indifferent toward them. But Alfred was happy, the happiest he had ever been. And he could hardly care what people thought of them, because it was his life and if he wanted to spend it with Arthur, it was no one’s business.
So that night, he clinked his champagne glass with Arthur’s, smiling at him from across the table where they had had their romantic dinner just a moment ago. He knew that once they were out of the restaurant, there would be many people with their cameras eager to snap their pictures. He knew that when he got home, he would find a couple of hate mails delivered to his front door. He knew that during the near future, he wouldn’t open a tabloid and not finding any news about them-either fabricated or not-adorning the pages.
But then Arthur was smiling back at him in a smile so full of love and Alfred knew that all was well with the world.
End
(A/N: wtf, two fics in a day?! I must be going mental >___>)
Title: One Day in the Life of Alfred F. Jones
Author: slashy_lady
Rating: PG13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Arthur and Alfred, with appearance from Elizaveta and Francis/AlfredxArthur
Word Count: 4208
Disclaimer: The characters involved in this story do not belong to me, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.
Warning: This fic is not beta-ed and done in a rush so if you find any error in it, beg pardon (and notify me?).
Some Kind of Summary: The life of Alfred F. Jones, supermodel, was spectacular. But then he met Arthur Kirkland--his idol, his hero, his dream guy--and his life became perfect.
Note: Written for usxuk's 2011 Special Relationship Sweethearts, Day 5 - Across the Universe. And because hakuku's art HERE is really inspiring (the last picture, oh God!), I dedicate this to her.
*******
The life of a supermodel was glamorous, hectic, full of spotlight and it drew a lot of attention. It was maddening and sometimes it was enough to send someone to heaven and hell and back to earth with a wham in a speed of light. It was glitter and dust, success and failure, sweet and bitter, all of them mixed into one. It was addictive and it was busy.
It was the life of Alfred F. Jones.
*
There was a woman in Alfred’s life who had done so much for him that he often referred to her as the woman. She was determined, she was strong, and at that moment, she was clinking her stiletto heels as she talked to Alfred.
Or, perhaps it should be said that she was trying to talk to Alfred.
“Just a couple of shots,” she explained in a tone that signaled that she was trying hard to hold her temper. “You just have to sit there and look pretty. What’s the difficulty in that?”
Alfred sighed. The backstage of some photo session was surely not a conductive place to carry out that kind of conversation. He suspected that Elizaveta-that was the name of the woman in front of him, the woman who had been his manager for nearly five years already-knew about that. He even suspected that she only did the whole talking-in-backstage business because she understood how Alfred hated it.
Mainly, though, he hated it because sooner or later he would be too tired to argue and just okayed whatever thing she said. Elizaveta might be a slender looking woman but, boy, what a cunning mind that woman got. That, and she also could kick someone’s ass really well. Both literally and figuratively.
“But it’s on March,” he said with a despairing sigh. It seemed to be ineffective, though, for she was still looking at him sternly.
“Of course it’s on March. It’s a photo shoot for the new spring collection,” she said.
“I told you I don’t want to be disturbed on that date,” Alfred said sullenly. “It’s my vacation time.”
“You have free time on June,” Elizaveta said patiently. “You can go and have your vacation then.”
Alfred gave another-louder-sigh and slumped deeper into his seat. He knew he would have some free time on June. But it was on June!
“But that’s still months from now,” he said. Whined, actually. “I’m tired and I’ve been working non-stop for months now. Months! I even put up with that Christmas snit and New Year promotion. I want my holiday.”
“Oh, stop the melodrama,” Elizaveta said. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Alfred, who could only blink and tried to look innocent upon receiving that glare. Considering that the intensity of the glare didn’t lessen a bit, Alfred deduced that his whole playing-cute-and-innocent trick didn’t really work.
Well, fuck.
“I’m good at melodrama,” he told her. “I’m a supermodel.”
“Yeah, and a very whiny one at that,” she said with a snort.
Alfred was tempted to pout at her but he knew it would only succeed in ruining his image. It was backstage, after all. Though it was not really public, there were still several people present watching them. He couldn’t bear having his image tarnished. When people saw him, they should see Alfred Jones, that cool guy who made the front cover of the majority of top magazines in the Western hemisphere and not Alfred Jones, grouch extraordinaire.
“Come on, Alfred,” Elizaveta said. She walked closer to him and perched herself on the hand rest of his seat. “It’s Feliciano Vargas. You love his collection. You love posing in his designed outfits. You even once practically begged to be allowed to be his model.”
It was true, of course. All of them were true. He did love Feliciano Vargas’ collection. He did once-well, twice, actually-not really begged but made it perfectly clear that he really hoped to pose wearing his new collection.
“Are you sure you’re not pressing me because you fancy him?” he asked Elizaveta with a smirk.
Elizaveta whacked him upside the head, making him squeak in alarm.
“Don’t muss the hair,” he said, glaring at her. “I spent years trying to style it to perfection, you know?”
“It was your hair stylist who did it and she only spent less than two hours,” she said. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Hey, supermodel here,” he said, raising his hand. “I’m expected to be dramatic.”
“And you’re expected to follow your manager,” Elizaveta retorted.
Alfred rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Somehow he knew that he couldn’t escape it. And somehow he knew that Elizaveta knew that he knew. That would explain the victorious smile she had on her face when he turned his face to look at her.
“Oh, fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
She squealed a little and kissed his forehead fondly.
“You’re an angel,” she said.
“An angel who would get extremely cranky because he cannot go to holiday,” Alfred said even though he was also smiling. “But just for this time, okay? I will really have my vacation on June and I won’t have you suddenly schedule something for me during that time period, is that clear?”
“Fine,” she said. Standing up, she seemed to think for a moment before she exclaimed, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. You won’t be working alone for this photo shoot. He wanted to have you pose as a pair.”
“Hm,” Alfred said casually. It was no big deal, he thought. It was not unusual to have a partner for a photo shoot. “Who will it be? Natalya? I know she’s so popular recently.”
“No,” Elizaveta said, her smile was most mischievous when she bent her body and whispered into Alfred’s ear. “Arthur Kirkland.”
Alfred’s eyes widen. That was unexpected. That was most unexpected and it shocked him and damn Elizaveta for imparting that crucial information so easily as if it was nothing when they both knew that for Alfred it was something closer to ‘everything’. As he gaped in his seat, she chuckled and walked away from him. And Alfred Jones could only think of two words to describe his current situation.
Oh, fuck.
*
Alfred loved being a model. And he knew that he was not the only one feeling that way.
When people opened their magazine, they would see him, smiling and posing from the pages, urging them to look at him, look at the things he wore, admire him and yearn for him. And Alfred loved it. He loved the power it gave him. He loved to have his pictures strewn over the pages of the magazines. He loved the fact that people loved him.
But Alfred was no different from them, because he, too, could open his magazine and have his breath caught when he saw the beautiful men and women he saw inside. Or perhaps, to be more precise, he should have said ‘when he saw the most beautiful man he saw inside’.
That man was Arthur Kirkland
*
“This is not a good idea…” he told Elizaveta as they drove to his photo shoot that day. “I’m telling you, this is not a good idea.”
He turned his face to glare at his manager but was disheartened when he saw that she was still busy with her PDA without seeming to give him much thought.
“Did you hear what I was saying?” he asked her with a hint of hurt in his voice. He didn’t like it when people ignore him.
“Yes, I heard you,” she said calmly. “You said ‘this is not a good idea’ and you’ve said that in total of twenty two times today. I don’t know how many times you’ve said it since the first time I informed you that you would be working with Arthur Kirkland. I stopped counting after one hundred and twelve.”
Alfred frowned. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“I keep count,” she said. “How can you say I’m not taking you seriously?”
“Yeah, but…” Alfred tried to say but then he decided not to continue his sentence. Instead, he opted to sigh and cross his arms before his chest in a way that any sulking teenager might do. “This is not a good idea.”
Elizaveta, clicking her PDA with a victorious smirk, cheerfully informed him from his side.
“Twenty three now.”
*
The truth was, Alfred was really looking forward to working with Arthur Kirkland. It was only natural. After all, everyone would dream of working together with their idols, right? But at the same time, he was also so very anxious. Arthur Kirkland had been a professional male model even when he was still finding out how to get into that glamorous world. He was Alfred’s hero. And meeting his hero was his number one dream, true, but what if he ruined everything? He was pretty much an amateur if he were to stand side by side with Arthur Kirkland.
He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously as he and Elizaveta entered the studio. His gaze roamed, taking assessment of his environment. Then his gaze landed on Arthur Kirkland (oh my God it was really him) standing less than fifty feet away from him, conversing with his manager.
Alfred could feel something akin to panic building up inside him.
Trying to get himself under control, he nudged Elizaveta gently. Pretending to be calm, he asked her, “Who will be the photographer for today’s session?”
Elizaveta took a single look at him, frowned. And Alfred knew that she could see just how nervous he was.
“Bonnefoy,” she said. “Alfred, calm down.”
Alfred blinked his eyes rapidly. Great, he thought, Francis Bonnefoy. Oh God, he had a mixed feeling toward that guy. He was a very decent photographer but, damn, somehow he could look like he wanted to eat him alive.
“I am calm,” he hissed through his teeth.
“Your lie doesn’t even sound convincing enough,” she said with a sigh. “What’s wrong, Alfred? I thought you would be over the moon at the chance of working together with your crush…”
“Oh, God, shut up,” Alfred said in panic. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know about his (massive) crush on Arthur Kirkland. He looked around in dread, trying to see if there was anyone listening to their conversation. Thankfully, none of the crew seemed to give them any notice.
Sadly, Arthur Kirkland seemed to have noticed them.
Alfred gulped as their gaze met, as Arthur Kirkland seemed to tilt his face a bit to a side before a smile blossomed on his face.
When he approached him, though, Alfred had to use every bit of self control he had in him to prevent him from bolting away.
“Hello,” he said once he was already in front of Alfred. He was still smiling and he even offered his hand to Alfred. “I take that we’re going to work together for this session. Nice to meet you, I’m Arthur.”
Alfred stared at the offered hand for a moment before his good behavior kicked in. Grasping that hand, he returned Arthur’s smile.
“Alfred Jones,” he said.
Arthur laughed. “Oh, I know you already. Your face seems to be in every magazine I purchase, it’s hard not to know you.”
“Er, yeah…” Alfred said. “Isn’t that the same like a pot calling the kettle black?”
Arthur chuckled and released Alfred’s hand. He looked like he was about to say something but Arthur’s manager-Alfred remember his name was Edelstein or something-called him. So with one last smile to Alfred and a brief exchange of ‘see you later’, he took off.
Alfred felt his breath released from his throat as he watched Arthur walking away. Damn, he thought, he looked really fine in those jeans.
“Oh my God,” he said. He turned his head and grinned to Elizaveta. “I talked with Arthur Kirkland!”
Elizaveta seemed trying hard not to giggle.
“It’s fantastic. It’s… really fantastic. I mean…” Alfred tried to say and failed to find any word adequate to describe his feeling. “I should have asked for his autograph.”
That time, Elizaveta did giggle, making some heads turn to their direction. Yet strangely, Alfred didn’t mind. He even joined her in giggling, feeling for the first time in months that perhaps the idea of working together with Arthur was not so bad.
That sentiment, sadly, didn’t last long. And the cause for that? Francis Bonnefoy.
*
Alfred had worked with Francis Bonnefoy several times during his career as a male model. He was an excellent photographer. He even dared to say that Francis was a genius behind his camera. His shot seemed so full of life and passion and dream. He could make a photograph speak a thousand things in a thousand ways without any word to be said.
In short, he was amazing.
But, as was the case of people who were good at their job and knew that they were good in their job, Francis could be really anal and thorough bordering on obsessive compulsive. He was a perfectionist and thus, he would accept nothing but the best.
*
“No,” Francis said, shaking his head and clucking his tongue with a sour expression on his face. “No, no, no. Alfred, mon cher… you have to do better than that…”
Alfred sighed. They had been at it for nearly an hour and Francis had yet to find any shot worthy of his approval.
“You have to… show that passion,” Francis said in his extravagant way which involved a great use of hand gesture and flicking his hair. “I need your passion, inhibited passion. I need you to look so damn tempting. Like a decadent chocolate cake. Both of you.”
Francis was pointing his finger at them and Alfred, turning his face to catch Arthur’s gaze, could only frown at him as if saying ‘chocolate cake, really?’.
“This won’t do. This won’t do. Oh, God…” Francis said as he walked to and fro in front of them, biting his nails and seemed to be in much distress. Then he stopped and glared at them.
“You,” he said to them both, “need to stop hogging the camera.”
Alfred could only blink. His experience working with Francis let him know that soon Francis would explain what the heck he was trying to say in a long and windy anecdote that often ended with a damn good punch line.
“When you have your photograph taken, I always told you to make love to the camera,” Francis said and Alfred thought, yep, an anecdote. He was smiling slightly when he saw Arthur relaxing beside him, as if readying himself for long hours spent listening to Francis. It seemed they both were already used to France’s histrionic tendency and his love for verbiage.
“Because the camera is the… media to connect you with people, you need to show them… make them want you, make them want to possess you and claim you,” Francis said passionately. “But you can’t hog the camera. No. no can do. You have a partner, see… you can’t steal the spotlight from him. You can’t make love with the camera and forget about the guy on your side. You need to…”
Francis stopped and he was staring at them with a manic glint in his eyes.
“You need to make love to each other.”
*
With shame, Alfred admitted that he could not suppress the shiver of desire and want the moment he heard Francis told them to make love to each other. But the feeling was fleeting and short lived, because it was soon replaced by incredulity and panic.
And when he caught Arthur’s gaze, he could see the very same sentiment reflected in his eyes.
*
“Closer,” Francis commanded them from his place behind the camera. “Maintain that body contact, boys, we want to give them a show, just enough to make them wonder what’s going on behind the stage. Yes, like that, show me your passion.”
Alfred, honestly, was having the worst session of internal conflict that he could recall. On one side, he was more than ecstatic to touch Arthur, being close to him, gazing at him intently with a look that promised great time ahead. But the other side of him kept reminding him that, no, that was not proper professional behavior. He only did it for work, dammit, so he shouldn’t get too invested.
“Alfred, Alfred, darling,” Francis called him. “Stop holding yourself back, you can give me better than that. Just let loose.”
Alfred gulped. To make matter worse, Arthur looked so damn hot and tempting up close. The way he looked into Alfred’s eyes, the way his hand linger on his hip, the way his mouth parted just slightly and those eyes seemed to glaze with passion. It was either he’s a very good actor or-dared he think about it-he also felt the same way toward Alfred.
“Keep at it, Arthur, love,” Francis called out and, suddenly, Alfred felt something inside him snap. He didn’t like the way Francis calling Arthur ‘love’. He didn’t like anyone calling Arthur ‘love’. He should be the one calling him that.
With a new determination, he touched Arthur’s wrist. It was just the gentlest of touch yet Arthur looked up at him as if startled. He must have seen something on his face for he let out a breathy ‘oh’ and his cheeks seemed to flush, but Alfred did not put much thought on that.
He smirked. If Francis wanted him to let loose, then by God he would do it.
Feeling more determined, he traced Arthur’s wrist with his fingers and looked at him as if he wanted to throw him to the floor and just fuck him with his clothes still on, yanked those tight pants down just enough until he could have his wicked ways with him. He wanted to kiss him, feeling his lips against his and slip his tongue into his mouth. He wanted to own him, to taste him, to mark him, to feel him. He wanted to make him yearn for him.
He communicated all of those, and more with his eyes, with his fingers on Arthur’s wrist, with the very subtle way he stepped closer to Arthur’s personal space. So close they were standing at that time, so close their faces were until they breathed the same air, until it would be far too easy for him to kiss those tantalizing lips.
“Alfred,” Arthur whispered and that was the only warning he got before Arthur’s hand on his hip moved. So very gently, it moved. So very gently, Arthur slipped his hand into his back pocket, teasing him with his eyes, taunting him with his smirk on those perfect lips.
And Alfred’s breath caught because now he knew that it was not mere acting anymore.
They kept staring into each other’s eyes. He could see so many promises in Arthur’s gaze, so many things he wanted to share with him. So much passion and desire and, God, so much love. Love, yes, he thought, he loved Arthur. Arthur loved him.
The realization was too much for him he could feel his heart nearly burst in happiness.
“Guys,” Francis called them, disrupting their moment and Alfred found himself turning his face slightly to glare at him. The camera snapped a couple of times and Alfred was rudely dragged back to reality. He blinked and saw Francis beaming at them.
“Marvelous,” he said, clapping his hands. “Simply marvelous, darlings. You are marvelous!”
His hand was still holding Arthur’s wrist and Arthur’s hand was still in his back pocket but neither of them moved from their position. They were still standing close, so very close. And Alfred still wanted to kiss Arthur. Badly.
“Three rolls. I’ve spent three rolls and I still want to get more of your photographs, oh, this is my lucky days,” Francis said with a giddiness that was almost creepy. It seemed that the only thing keeping him from bouncing on his toes was because his shoes were too expensive to endure such fate. The way he leered at them was downright creepy, though.
“I think a thirty minutes break is on order,’ he said. “Before you tear each other’s clothes and go at it here and now. I won’t mind the free show, though, but those clothes are costly.”
Alfred still needed a few seconds to blink, think, and blink again before he finally realized what Francis was saying. His grip on Arthur’s wrist tightened and he all but dragged him to the backstage with him. He could hear Francis’ chuckles. He was sure that Elizaveta was surely cackling too even if he couldn’t see her. He was sure that anyone looking at them would know what was going on between them.
But he didn’t give them a fuck. They could do anything, he didn’t care. They were not important. This, he thought as he opened the door to his dressing room, was far more important. This-he thought as he slammed Arthur up against the closed door, staring at him intently and found out how he was breathing hard, how their hand were scrambling at each other’s clothes, how they seemed unable to break free fro each other-was far more important.
Then Arthur was kissing him and all thoughts cleared up from his mind.
“You don’t know,” Arthur whispered against his lips. “How long have I waited for this.”
Alfred’s hands were busy trying to undo the buttons of Arthur’s overcoat, but he was still able to nip at Arthur’s jaw before kissing it fondly.
“Almost as long as the time I spent wanting you?” he whispered to Arthur’s ear.
Arthur’s hand slipped under Alfred’s jeans and it was everything Alfred could do to hold himself back from moaning. Those jeans were tight but somehow Arthur could maneuver his hand expertly, could touch him just so until he felt like he was on fire, could tease him so much until he felt like he was going mad.
“I jerked off to your picture,” Arthur admitted as his hand delved deeper, making Alfred shiver. “Staring at those spreads of you in my magazine, feeling so ridiculous like a schoolboy having his first crush but I can’t stop.”
“I jerked off to the image of you just this morning,” Alfred said huskily. He finally-fucking finally-managed to unbuttoned Arthur’s overcoat. His shirt afterward was easy and when he spread his hand on Arthur’s naked stomach, feeling his skin so hot and soft and alive under his hand, he whispered urgently to his ear. “I imagined you, in this room, bent over my chair as I pound into you from behind. I dreamed of you, screaming and moaning and so fucking hot, Arthur.”
“God,” Arthur said, though it sounded more like a wheeze of breath. “God, Alfred…”
Then Arthur latched on to his neck, biting, sucking, making love to it and Alfred doubted that thirty minutes would be enough for them.
*
There were many things happened to Alfred following his photo shoot that day.
The first one was that Elizaveta promptly came up to him and demanded for some reward because she was the one who scheduled that photo shoot for him and thus she had had a hand in the whole ‘making Alfred and Arthur realize they were so into each other’ business. Alfred couldn’t find anything to dispute her claim. But he still refused to give her a new car for it.
The second one was that their picture that was taken that day ended up on the front page of some fashion magazine and they looked so hot Alfred believed many people saved a copy for their masturbation material. That was okay with him. He was all for doing people good. And, surely, helping them release sexual tension could be considered good, right?
The third one was that he got together with Arthur.
Oh, they got varied responses when they announced their relationship. Some supported them. Some scorned them. Some stayed indifferent toward them. But Alfred was happy, the happiest he had ever been. And he could hardly care what people thought of them, because it was his life and if he wanted to spend it with Arthur, it was no one’s business.
So that night, he clinked his champagne glass with Arthur’s, smiling at him from across the table where they had had their romantic dinner just a moment ago. He knew that once they were out of the restaurant, there would be many people with their cameras eager to snap their pictures. He knew that when he got home, he would find a couple of hate mails delivered to his front door. He knew that during the near future, he wouldn’t open a tabloid and not finding any news about them-either fabricated or not-adorning the pages.
But then Arthur was smiling back at him in a smile so full of love and Alfred knew that all was well with the world.
End
(A/N: wtf, two fics in a day?! I must be going mental >___>)