First fanfiction for my OTP :D. I apologize for not finishing the last story I wrote, but I sort of lost motivation. I'm not really a fan of the pairing anymore, so trying to finish it up was pretty difficult. Anyway, here goes this one! I apologize if it's sort of stupid and cliché and just flat out rushed sounding :3. Please review ;-; Reviewing means so much, you don't even know O3O
Also, I apologize if there are any mistakes, but it I went through this again, I probably would never publish it since I'm so critical about what I write ;^;
Warnings: Boy x Boy, Cursing, Sexual Themes, Not just mindless sex (this fanfiction will actually have a plot, so if you're looking for smut, you should leave eue;;)
Rating: M for cursing and perhaps some later chapters
Alfred Foster Jones—unlike the other squirming, sheepish boys around him—had no qualms about standing there in the lineup. He stood there indifferently, not caring if customers walked along and undressed him in their heads. Their eyes usually lingered on him more than other's but that was to be expected.
Alfred had been told more often than not, that he was a real looker. And hell, he'd caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror before, he wasn't blind. His skin was golden and tan—how he'd managed to pull that off was beyond him, he spent most of his time inside—and his eyes popped out in contrast, two deep sky-blue irises. He had light pink Cupid's bow lips just screaming to be kissed and perfectly arched brows. Both his brows and messy, bed head hair were a dark shade of honey blonde, a single strand straying up from the rest.
His body was a whole other story in itself—while soft (arguably even a little chubby)—he was pretty toned. He had abs, guns, the whole package—it was safe to say that most found him pretty manly. Though if you really examined him closely, he could be awfully girly as well.
He had a pretty full, round backside (earning him quite a few cat calls and squeezes every now and again) and a good figure on him, curves and all.
Though as soon as someone might've settled on him, they were immediately flashed a wink by the Frenchman to his right and all bets were off.
Francis—that French-hailing bastard who occupied the room just next to his—was oddly attractive to most. He had a certain "je ne sais quoi"—some sort of charm to him that reeled in customers left and right. Of course he was a bit shorter than Alfred… which in itself could attribute to something he supposed—he could catch and receive, if you caught his drift. His blonde hair curled at the ends and bounced just above his shoulders. He had small stubble on his chin—a joke of a goatee—and bright lavender eyes. Alfred chalked it up to being some sort of special contacts. Half these bastards here had odd colored eyes. He figured they probably all used the same brand.
Ah, but yeah. There was a good chance the customer today wouldn't be any different when it came to choosing Francis, so Alfred didn't even bother looking up as he entered, instead absorbing himself in picking at his fingernails.
"I assure you, Mr. Kirkland, they're all top quality!" the boss assured to whatever sorry bastard had pranced in today. Oh, rich, he forgot to mention that. Sorry, filthy rich bastard.
They were nearly all filthy rich. I mean, for all these fine ass men lined up, Alfred would've assumed these customers were paying good money. He may have signed away his pride and dignity his first day, but he still had enough of it in him to hope these men were paying big bucks for him.
He'd have to be trimming his nails soon, he thought dully, in distraction to the two chatting men's conversation.
That Kirkland must've just nodded or something because Alfred hadn't heard a reply and he could already see a fuzzy image of him out of the corner of his eye beginning to walk along and examine them all slowly.
Perfect time to start his game, he thought with a shit-eating grin, beginning to imagine the age and appearance of the mysterious customer. It was something he'd only started doing recently, now that he'd gotten comfortable with this whole thing.
(He'd even gotten so good at it that he'd even come up with the "Alfred Jones Guarantee!" But in Alfred's mind, being 75% right 75% of the time counted as being darn near perfect.)
Kirkland, he threw the name around curiously in his head, trying to match it up with a description. Fat, probably, he assumed. Fat, old…how old? He was probably mid forties…early fifties maybe at the latest. Probably with a comb over, he decided. A CEO.
Kirkland must've passed them all faster than he'd anticipated because before he knew it he could see the outline of the man's profile standing to his left, looking up and down curiously at Mathew. Alfred looked up finally, and he was thankful he wasn't drinking any water because he had a bad enough time nearly choking on air he breathed in.
There went the Alfred Jones Guarantee.
FUCK…FUCK… FUCK. That was definitely not what he was expecting. It's not like he'd even slipped up on a couple things—he could bear it if this Kirkland didn't have a comb over or perhaps had been leaning more on the thin side—but just bend him over right now and fuck him because this man was effing gorgeous. What on Earth was he doing here at a whorehouse?! He could be easily out there with any man or woman he wanted!
To say this man was attractive was a gross understatement. Alfred let his eyes trail up and down that fine piece of eye candy and found that their positions should've been reversed. He was doing all the checking out so far.
Mr. Kirkland had a fair, light complexion; his skin—oh hot damn, his skin—was more like porcelain than anything else. (Alfred couldn't find a single blemish or flaw on it.) His bright, piercing green eyes were narrowed and his black bushy brows knit as he ran along the Canadian next to him. (A Frenchman, a Canadian—Alfred couldn't help but roll his eyes. If he didn't know any better he would've believed this place was a global melting pot or the United Nations or something. Honestly.)
Contrasting his brows was a mop of disheveled, golden blonde hair.
It was when he turned to Alfred though that the big blue-eyed American thought his heart had come to a stop.
Alfred had never felt so coy in his life. He must've looked like an idiot as he shuffled around awkwardly; ripping his eyes shyly away from the customer as soon as they'd met. He suddenly felt so self-conscious. He was a little chubby after all. He'd known that. Fuck it all, why had he stopped doing those ten daily pushups? Did he really need those two orders of fries the other day? Did he even bother to floss today? Pfft. That one was an obvious no. He never flossed.
He felt a firm but gentle grip on his chin and felt his face being turned toward Mr. Kirkland. He looked up longingly for a second before realizing what it was for. Kirkland was simply examining his face, nothing more. He couldn't help but fall just slightly at that.
Get a hold of yourself you idiot, this isn't like you!
The green-eyed man opened his mouth to speak only to be interrupted by the sound of the Frenchman beside him calling him over.
Oh hell. What had Alfred been thinking?! Of course he'd go for Francis. How stupid was he to forget something like that? He couldn't help the audible sigh escape his lips as he realized he might as well give up now.
"Oh, monsieur~" the French voice called seductively, popping loose one of his buttons to reveal more of his sculpted chest to the customer. "I'd show you the time of your life~" he whispered, giving a wink and beckoning the man over with his finger. This was a bit more effort than he usually showed. Under normal circumstances—circumstances under which Alfred Jones' Guarantee would've fit nicely: the man being bald, fat, and sporting a rather sexy comb over and double chin—all it would've taken was a smile or perhaps just a wink. Francis must've noticed how attractive he was as well because he'd upped the ante tenfold. This made Alfred just about double screwed. No. Alfred thought he spotted the Frenchie lick his lips as well.
Triple screwed. Alfred was most definitely triple screwed. Francis would without a doubt take this customer and when he did Alfred would be left with what he'd assumed Kirkland to be in the first place…Well, unless today was "Sexy Blonde Bushy Browed Customer" Day. But Alfred wouldn't bet on it.
Alfred watched dejectedly as the man's eyes trailed over to him for a minute.
But then he did the unthinkable. "Shut it, frog." The customer snapped, stunning Alfred in more ways than one.
For starters, not only was this man undeniably attractive, now he was British as well. That level of sex appeal might as well have been illegal. And then there was the whole denying Francis. Alfred had been here for quite some time and he'd never seen someone just out-and-out deny this shaggy-blonde prince-type character a go. In fact, he had customers begging for him out the rear end. So the fact that this man just flat out told him to shut up was startling.
Francis wasn't taking it well either. From the corner of Alfred's eye he could see him practically having a mini heart attack, his eyes bulging and blinking as if he hadn't quite caught that. He darted them left to right as if trying to translate those words he just heard in his head. Alfred had to stifle a small chuckle, knowing something like that must've never been said to him before.
The customer returned his focus to Alfred, granting him a small smirk.
"Name?" he asked, breaking the awkward or rather stunned silence in the room.
Alfred blinked, finding himself struggling to come up with it himself. Not once had he been like this with a customer and he felt the growing number of eyes on him as the seconds counted on. Damn it! Had he forgotten his own name?! How pathetic!
"A-Alfred." he said finally, clearing his throat.
"Well Alfred. I think I'll be booking you for the next year."
And with that, the shocked silence returned.
Welp, that was that :D I hope you sorta liked it ^^ Please review and tell me what you think. Once again, I can't begin to tell you how much I love reviews.