A/N: Aw guys thanks for all the reviews, favorites, alerts, etc. I have a bunch of these stockpiled so I hope you continue to like them! They vary in length by the way, but they're pretty much all around 1,000 words.

Title: Lights, Camera, Action

Warnings: None

Summary: Alfred just cannot seem to get this scene right, and the director is not impressed.

"Cut!"

Oh God, again? This is the 23rd time we've done this scene, and still he doesn't like it.

"Jones," he calls to me. I put down the bouquet of fake flowers and walk over to him.

"Yeah?"

"What the hell was that?"

He makes a motion with his hand up and down my body but I'm not really sure what it means. I'm caught up staring at his turtleneck sweater and long khaki pants. Isn't he hot? All the set lights shining down make it absolutely sweltering in the stage building, and the fact that we have no AC running adds insult to injury.

"Did you hear anything I just said, Jones?" he speaks through the megaphone, and I have to cover my ears from the sound.

"Dude, Arthur! Alright, alright, sorry I wasn't paying attention."

I send him a pout and he seems satisfied with himself as he puts the megaphone down. He glances at me momentarily and then leans forward to adjust my tie. I can feel myself heat up at his touch, not that there's a reason behind it mind you! Superstar Alfred F. Jones is forever sexy and single; at least that's what my French agent tells me. If I had a special someone I would ruin the hopes of a good 90% of my hormonal teenage girl fan base.

He leans back and puts his hands on his hips. I'm given a once over, and when he's satisfied, he heads back over to his hot-shot directors chair and takes a seat.

"Ready on the set!" he calls, and we all take our positions. I pick up the flowers. "Action!"

I walk up the steps to my fake-girlfriend's fake-house and I ring the bell. She answers, and a moment later is swimming in fake-tears.

"Wayne!" she exclaims pitifully and throws her arms around me. "They said you were dead!"

"I know, I know," I whisper quietly in her ear. "But I'm not. I'm here, flesh and blood. And now we can be together."

My fake-girlfriend leans back with teary eyes. I smile gently and lean in to kiss her. Our lips meet slowly and then-

"CUT!"

I pull back in a frenzy and sigh at the director. He's walking over to me again, with his hoighty toighty strut, and those really tight khaki trousers. Someone seriously needs to turn on the AC in here.

"Jones!" he's standing right in front of me now, and I glance down since I'm just a teensy bit taller than him.

"Yeah?"

"That was absolutely horrible! I said passion! I don't know what the hell that rubbish you just put on was, but it certainly wasn't passion!"

My cheeks heat under his intense gaze and I honestly don't know what to say.

"I- Well it's just-"

"Must I do everything round here?" he says rather indignantly and grabs my collar. "I'll just have to show you myself."

He pulls me down and kisses me.

His lips are slightly chapped, as opposed to mine which are moist from a hundred different varieties of lip makeup I have on. His kiss is sweet and gentle, but it's also harsh and needy. I feel myself pushing back against his lips as he wraps an arm around my neck. I kind of want to stay like that forever, but gosh it just got really hot in here, and I need to breath. I pull away hesitantly and start panting like a dog. I want more, expect more, but when I lean again all I get from the director is a sly smile.

"Great. Now if you could only do that in front of the camera."

He walks away but I'm caught up staring at his turtleneck sweater and the way his ass looks tight in those khaki pants.

"Quiet on the set!" he calls and we make eye contact one last time. He reaches for the megaphone and I'm ready for him call action.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

"Everybody take five," he says out of nowhere. "Jones needs to take a cold shower."

I look down at my own pair of khakis and suddenly realize they're way too tight.

Shit.

Someone really ought to turn the AC on.