Hey guys, sorry it's late, but this chapter (and one scene in particular) was really difficult to write. I hope I've gotten it right...
Before I knew it, Monday had arrived, bright and early. I had spent all of Sunday sweating away my woes in the gym and preventing Jace from procrastinating instead of doing his homework. He had met a girl called Carrie (or was it Clair? Clary?) and just would not stop talking about her, how she was an amazing artist and how she was so brave to have a dick for a father, or something like that. She had also slapped Jace for flirting with her (which I mentally applauded) and that only seemed to encourage Jace in his devious endeavour to seduce her into being his girlfriend.
I had woken up at six to go for a quick run, then returned to the apartment to shower and prepare myself for the day ahead. I couldn't wait to get the scene over and done with, because then I would see Magnus again. I was now thinking about getting a different job and quitting the porn industry more often since I met Magnus, as now there was someone I felt I wanted to be with. A reason for why I didn't have to suffer anymore. Because it would hurt him if I did.
As I approached the building where I did most of my scenes (including the one I was about to do) it was about ha past eight. I looked up at the tall, ugly building with mild interest. I had seen it so many times, and then was the first time it had looked so DISGUSTING. It looked the same as it has always done, but something inside me was determined to hate every little bit about that building, about my job, about my life. But I didn't let myself look at that building for too long, or I'd end up hating it so much that I would forget why I was doing this in the first place, which was for Jace, to pay for his college fees. At least, that's what I originally did it for.
The set was buzzing with people, all with their tasks to do to complete the setting for my scene with "the High Warlock of Brooklyn". People were fiddling with the brightness and colour of the lights and adding the finishing touches to the bed in the middle of the room. The blanket covering the thick duvet was a dark claret colour, with patterns and swirls of other reds mixed into it. The lights were dim and shone a pale red hue on the scene that was much akin to evening sunlight. It was, if I dare say so, romantic.
Seeing me enter the set, one of the designers bounced up to me excitedly and she handed me a small bag with what I presumed was my costume inside. "Here, Mr. Creighton, go put this on, then go to hair 'n' make-up." I obliged without hesitation, already accustomed to the menial rituals of getting prepared for a scene. The clothes she had given me were not at all what I was expecting. Usually I had to wear something tight-fitting and kinky, most commonly made of brightly coloured fake leather and had at least a few sequins or something. However, the clothes that I put on were simple and normal-looking, and covered up most of my skin. There was a pair of dark blue jeans and a button-down white shirt. I knew that once the filming got started I wouldn't be wearing the clothes for long, but I couldn't help but be grateful for the decency of the plain clothes. I did also know that the reason for my unembellished outfit was probably caused by the outrageous complexity of my partner's. After all, the "High Warlock" was the star of this thing. He was going to need some contrast to play off, and who better than plain old me.
Hair and make-up was similarly simple, just a bit of hair-spray and some finishing touches to my complexion. I then made my way back to the set, the familiar fluttering of nerves coiling in my stomach. I then thought of Magnus, which made me smile a bit. At least I had my date with him to look forward to after the scene.
Standing on set were a group of men, all dressed rather plainly apart from one who was facing away from me, his dark hair gelled in spikes and sprinkled with silver glitter. He was wearing incredibly tight leather pants and a loose tank-top that revealed a strip of caramel skin. He, I assumed, was the High-Warlock of Brooklyn. The director, who I recognised, realised I was here and waved me over joyously. "Ah, yes, you're here!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Brooklyn, I'd like you to meet Ryder Creighton..."
And then he turned around.
I stared, gobsmacked, at the person I knew all to well. My stomach had dropped and my eyes were watering from being wide open. I could barely bring myself to think his name. My mind could barely recognise what was happening, while my body seemed to realise instantly. I was frozen where I stood, unable to piece together enough information to know how I felt. He looked just as horrified as I was, his eyes wide with panic. He was wearing more make-up than I was used to, his amber-green eyes lined with thick lines of black and gold. His ears were rimmed with many piercings, ring and studs.
"Alec?" he whispered in disbelief, a ringed hand over his mouth. We spent a few moments taking in the information, his hand still over his mouth. "My God, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I am so, so sorry..."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I just stood there, unmoving, trying to slow down my breathing and my thumping pulse. The director was long gone, instructing the camera men on the other side of the room.
He took a step towards me. "Alec?" I blinked. "I'm sorry-"
"You've already said that," I snapped suddenly as I looked away, running both hands through my hair in exasperation. I took a deep breath that shook my lungs and I let it out in a fast huff. I bowed my head, scrunching my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. I just wanted him to go away- hell, I wanted all of it to go away. Why isn't there anything in my life that doesn't have a fundamental flaw? Why can't something be perfect for a change?
I felt a light hand on my shoulder and I tensed under it. I turned my head to see Magnus, his expression pained and sorrowful. The tears shining in his eyes (but not falling) only infuriated me more. What right did he have to be upset? Why was he the victim while I had never been more humiliated in my life?
And why did I have to have sex with him in front of all these people? In front of a camera? Why, when he was the only person I had considered having sex with in a long time, did I hate the idea of doing the scene with him? Was it because he had lied to me? Even though my actions matched his exactly, was a still angry because he had lied?
Or did I resent him purely because he was a porn star, and a famous one at that.
"I'm sorry too," I replied weakly as I turned to face him. His hand fell to his side and he bowed his head, not meeting my gaze. Tears stung behind my eyes. "I'm so sorry."
I refused to look at Magnus as the director talked through the scene, but out of my periphery, I could see him constantly glancing up at me worriedly. It didn't take long for the director to explain the scene; me, pretend to be a blushing virgin, completely overcome by the sexual awe of the High Warlock of Brooklyn, and he had to be the powerful, but seductive and honourable gentleman who had to "show me the ropes", so to speak. It was pretty simple.
At last, the dreaded word that I had been anticipating for the past hour was yelled from the other side of the set. "And... Action!"
For the first few seconds were empty, neither of us made a move towards each other. Clearly, neither of us wanted this. But we had to.
Magnus made the first movement, stepping forward to touch my cheek with an embellished hand. I did my best not to wince and move away, instead I looked up at him nervously, seeing his eyes analysing my movements and reactions, as if to figure out what was OK or not, as if he could be so gentle that our relationship could be salvaged from the tangled mess it was currently in. Surely, he knew that "we" wasn't possible anymore. I understood that perfectly. We were never going to see each other again after this, for as long as I could help it. I knew that I wouldn't be able to take seeing his face again.
His face now, differing from the more natural look that I had become accustomed to, was undeniably beautiful, even under the make-up. His eyes were their usual golden-green shade which was brought out with the Arabian-style eyeliner that outlined his lashes.
He grew closer and closer, his head tilted so that he could access my lips. God, I really did not want to do this. I didn't want to kiss him, I didn't want to touch him, and most of all, I didn't want him to touch me. But we had to, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, so I tilted my head, reluctantly allowing his lips to touch mine. As they did, tingles were sent through my nervous-system, screaming at me to stop, to stop kissing him in front of all these people.
Instead of pulling away, which was what my body wanted me to do, I deepened the kiss, losing myself in the haze and heady feeling of his lips against mine. My eyes were squeezed shut, blocking out the outside world so that we could stay in our little world of just us. Of course, this little world was flawed in that in reality, we wouldn't be having sex now. We would have waited until it felt right, rather than forcing it, which was exactly what we were doing.
He leaned into me, causing me to stumble back against the bed. The soft caresses with his lips were nervous and tender, just like the hand against my cheek that was now sliding up the back of my neck and into my hair. He sighed, more for the cameras, I suspected, and pushed me down gently so that he was standing above me, moving his slow kisses from my lips and down my neck. His hands stroked down my clothed chest and undid the first few buttons down to my stomach and pulled the shirt apart, exposing my pale skin. He hesitated, as if he were considering stopping, but then realised that he couldn't. The rest of the buttons were then undone and I looked away as he slid the shirt from my shoulders. Warm hands stroked down my arms and then returned to my chest, trailing down my torso and reaching my abdominal muscles.
"It's OK, just relax," he soothed as he used one hand to turn my chin to face him; our eyes met, and his were saying something different to the words that were mindlessly falling from his lips. 'I'm sorry,' they said, and I knew he was sorry, because I was sorry as well. However, both of us knew that neither of us could be forgiven.
He looked me in the eye as his hand travelled down the front of my body and reached the top of my jeans. My breath hitched in my throat as the hand groped and caressed my crotch slowly and I moaned, tossing my head back for the camera. He moved so that he now stood between my spread legs, bent over me so that his lips were softly grazing my neck and his hand continued to massage and grope my groin. His other hand decided to play with one of my hard nipples, rolling it between his finger-tips, causing me to give an involuntary groan. More mindless words were falling from his lips, but I ignored them, knowing that they were for the camera's sake.
Loosening the front of my jeans, he slid one hand down the front of my underwear, the thin material the only thing between my erection and his slender fingers. I moaned, squeezing my eyes shut and turning my head away in an attempt to hide my blushing face. He pulled my jeans down to my ankles before he then removed his own tight-fitting clothes. I stared in amazement at the sight of his perfect torso, the muscles slim but obvious, the skin a pure caramel colour, flawless and soft-looking. He was just so effortlessly beautiful, I thought, but a pang of longing and regret to ruin the moment.
He bent down over me so that his lips were by my ear, and he whispered ever so quietly, so that the microphones wouldn't be able to hear. "I'm sorry," he said tightly. "Please forgive me, I'm so, so sorry..."
Magnus' P.O.V.
Every move I made was painful and forced. Every breath I took was controlled and restricted. Every thought in my head was whirling round and round inside my mind, preventing me from creating one coherent train of thought. I was just so... sorry. I don't think I had ever felt so sorry in my entire life. Alec didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve me. He deserved better. So much better.
Lying beneath me was a dream come true- true in the most cruel and twisted kind of way. Nothing about this was right, not the time, place, or anything about the situation was the way I wanted it to be, the way it should have been, for Alec's sake.
His body was more perfect than I had ever imagined, with his defined muscles rippling beneath his flawless, porcelain skin. The bittersweet look of pleasure on his face as I stroked him made me even more reluctant to continue. The ocean-blue colour of his eyes as they flew open was truly breath-taking. Despite what we were doing, he still managed to keep the same look of innocence as the boy I met at the bookstore, blushing and humble. He was so pure and innocent that what I was doing to him sickened me. And to think of all the other people who had touched him in this way, in cruel, sick ways- I felt angry as well as sorry. There was no way he could deserve this, and that I was sure about.
I could feel the cameras shifting behind me as I removed the last of his clothing, leaving him completely bare and exposed. I moved my body to cover his, trying to shield him from view, shielding him from the millions of pairs of eyes that would possibly see this. All those people that would see Alec as nothing more than a sexual object- how could he do this to himself? Assuming everything else he told me was true, he probably did this because he needed the money as his parents didn't leave him any, but any other job would be better than this! This kind of job was only for people like me, people who had no purity left, with no self-worth, and Alec was worth so much more than me.
I was about to remove the rest of my clothes when I made a split decision which I would probably end up regretting, but at the time it seemed like my best option. Abruptly, I stood up straight, turning my back to Alec, refusing to make any more eye-contact with him. "Wait, cut!" I yelled over the set, seeing all the confused faces of the cameramen and the director.
"Brooklyn, what are you doing-" the director began.
"I can't do this," I said, looking away from the crowd. "I-I don't feel well." An assistant immediately came on set and handed me a robe which I snatched from her hands and hurriedly tied around my waist.
I strode out of the room, seeing Alec in my periphery and immediately wishing I had covered him up before I left.
I feel really bad for them... Is it just me, or is this fanfic a bit more gloomy than expected?
Let me know what you think, feel free to PM me about any questions or suggestions.
AllNightmareLong666