Oh my, thank you so much for all the nice feedback I got :D I'm sorry this chapter needed a bit longer, but I'm pretty busy with school at the moment *sigh*
Anyways, hope you enjoy! :)
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Chapter 4
It's only a few sessions later that they fuck on the couch because Francois is not a bad man, but sometimes wanting something gets stronger than the good side of his personality and he wants, wants so much and cannot understand why. Alfred says nothing and doesn't mind; he just smiles and spreads his legs for him, giving him the merciful illusion of wanting him too. They don't kiss lips on lips- of course they do not; it is an illusion after all and an illusion always contains a little detail that separates it from reality-, but Alfred makes up by littering hot, open-mouthed kisses on his neck and shoulders, moaning and gasping his name oh so loud and it stings and burns and aches in Francois' chest. He traces his fingertips along Alfred's jaw and wants him to look at him, but Alfred's eyes are closed, his eyelids fluttering slightly, and he is pretty, so pretty when Francois touches his face and body, trying to smooth the almost invisible trembling in Alfred's thighs and wonders how old he is because he looks young and painfully spent when his glasses are askew, dangling from one ear as Francois thrusts into his pliant body. He smiles when Alfred wraps his arms around his neck in an almost endearing way, much too shy to not startle Francois a bit and then Alfred reaches up and does that wicked thing with his tongue and-
"It's half price for you," Alfred tells him when he comes back from the shower and finds Francois waiting with his usual payment. "This can stay between us, righ'?"
"Right," Francois agrees and wonders whether to appreciate this gesture or hate it.
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"It's just bad luck, I guess," Alfred says. He sits on a bright, red armchair this time, fully clothed albeit a bit wrinkled and messy, but it's fine like that and Francois loves his natural, relaxed position. "Ending living as I do, I mean. Depends on where you're born and what kind of family, of back-up you have, you know? And sometimes things just go downhill an' you can't do nothin' 'bout it."
Francois listens, cigarette dangling from his lips while he works, slow, sure sketches of Alfred on his couch. Eventually he has given up on bringing Alfred to hold still; instead he lets him move and fidget around, smiles when he sees how much Alfred tries to stop his movements and behave properly so he can draw him only to fail every time again. He doesn't mind too much; he is talented enough to imagine the shades and if he can't, he orders Alfred around until he sits as optimal as possible. "Do you think you would be somewhere else, doing something else if you were born differently?"
"Yeah, definitively," Alfred answers without thinking twice and is quiet while he thinks. "I would have finished High School, first of all. Would've probably studied Astrophysics then."
"Physics?" Francois asks a little surprised and drowns the stump of his cigarette in his glass of water while he starts coloring.
"Yeah," Alfred says and laughs a little awkwardly, putting his hands in his lap. "I always wanted to become a teacher, you know." He sighs a little and there is a little frown on his face, a mournful expression around his lips when he shrugs his shoulder in what should be a nonchalant way. "Ah well, sometimes it just doesn't work that way, righ'? Maybe I'll become a teacher, but I guess…" He trails off and laughs a little too loud. "Sorry for blabbering away like that, I'm pretty sure you're not even interested in-"
"Ah, but I am," Francois interrupts him and sends him a gentle smile and he is surprised when he finds that he means it. Alfred has become some sort of fascination to him; he is not only a pretty motif anymore but a young man with a story he has yet to get to know. "How old are you, mon cher?"
"I'm legal, if that's what you mean," Alfred says with a smile and adds after a moment: "At least in Europe. I'm nineteen."
Francois nearly chokes and lets the pencil sink, clearing his throat when Alfred stares at him with wide eyes. "Nineteen," He repeats and successfully suppresses a horrified shudder when he realizes that he is attracted to a man so painfully young. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Prostitution? Started with fifteen," Alfred answers and watches him carefully. "That's pretty normal, actually, most people I know started around that age."
"Fifteen," Francois repeats and feels a bit lost, so he just lits another cigarette and looks out of the window. He wonders who would even want to sleep with a fifteen-year-old boy who has no idea of what he is doing, who is still awkward und unsure of his body, lanky and growing and in need of someone guiding him and lending him a hand even when he rejects it in a fit of adolescent tantrum. He wonders how Alfred's first time has been, wonders if he was afraid, if there was somebody comforting him, but no, and this time he laughs a bit hysterically- probably not. Fifteen. Boys should have their first love with fifteen, should go to school and complain about when they come home, watch TV and play games. They should not, of all things, have to sell their bodies, worry about whether to catch some disease or not, should not have to fear abusive behavior from the persons they sleep with. "Why?"
"Huh?"
Francois realizes that Alfred probably has no idea what he is talking about. "Why did you start with this?"
"Prostitution? Well, isn't it kinda obvious?" Alfred says and blinks a bit, before righting the position of his glasses and smiling at him. "I needed the money."
"And there was no other way besides selling your body?" Francois asks and hears the tension in his own voice, but he simply cannot understand, even though he tries to.
Alfred shakes his head, his face wearing a strangely solemn expression. "I was in-trouble. Yao helped me and I happened to be handsome." He shrugs and smiles again his broad Hollywood-smile. "Yao's not the worst pimp, you know. He allows me to work on times I myself can decide and he doesn't get that physical when he wants you to do something." For a moment, a strange expression flickers over his face, but it's gone in an instant, masked by a yawn. "True, I would make more money without him, but, well-" He hesitates a bit and shrugs again. "I owe him. Hah, uh, well, are you finished? 'Cause I need to go soon, y'know, but I don't want to ruin your picture, so…"
Francois frowns when he notices how nervous Alfred suddenly has become, but he slowly nods and puts his pencil aside. "It wasn't a picture, mon cher," He gently replies, "Only a few sketches to get an idea for the real painting."
"Oh, peachy, cool, uh, I gotta go now, we can continue tomorrow if you want," Alfred says and grabs for the old, worn bomber jacket he has worn the last few times they have worked together and Francois would find it horrible if it wasn't so wonderfully vintage. He watches him slip into it and leaves his chair to open the door.
"Try not to wriggle so much next time, alright?" He says and is surprised when Alfred laughs without looking at him and presses a sloppy kiss on his cheek before he dashes into the staircase, quickly disappearing from Francois' field of view. With a sigh Francois closes his door and goes into the kitchen, only to open the door again only a few minutes later. He is pleasantly surprised to see his sister who steps into his flat without asking, kissing his right and left cheek and placing her newest bag from Louis Vuitton on his settee before she settles down beside it and checks her appearance in a small mirror.
"I just escaped an assault," She says and puts the mirror away with a sigh, sorting out the frills of her dark-blue dress. "Some pretty boy nearly overran me in the staircase!"
"Oh mon dieu!" Francois grins and slips fully into his native language as he always does when talking to his sister. He sits beside her after offering her a cup of coffee which she gladly accepted. "Was he blonde and blue eyed?"
"Yes," Monique agrees and takes a sip from her coffee. "One of yours?"
"The hooker I told you from," Francois says and notices the interest of his sister grow. "I started to draw him."
"I can see why," Monique answers thoughtfully. "As far as I've seen he was really pretty, even though he seemed to be in a hurry, which is probably no wonder."
"What do you mean?" Francois asks a bit confused.
"Oh, he was bleeding from his nose," Monique answers with a dismissive gesture of her slender, right hand. "I wanted to offer him a tissue but he was away before I could open my mouth. Are you still sleeping with him?"
"Ah, yes," Francois answers a bit distracted and lits a cigarette before he reconsiders his answer. "I mean, I didn't intend to, but…" He doesn't know what to say to get Monique to understand what he wants to tell her without sounding like someone he doesn't want to be, someone sleeping with an oh so young boy without considering his feelings and wants and just takes, so he tells her of their sessions and how admirably cheerful Alfred is, how much he likes the few true smiles he gives him every now and then. However, somehow Monique seems to understand because she sighs deeply and takes his hand to squeeze it gently.
"It's fine," She says solemnly, "You appreciate pretty things. He is pretty and used to people wanting to sleep with him because of that."
"But-"
"I don't think you treat him badly, so I don't see a problem for him in this because if he didn't sleep with you, he would sleep with somebody else," She continues while sufficiently ignoring his tried input, absently patting his hand while speaking. "I won't lie to you. I know how much you love falling in and out of love, Francois, and don't deny it! Taking this into consideration, getting involved with him further than sleeping with him for one night was one of the worst ideas you have ever had."
"Thank you," Francois says drily and tries to ignore the quiet voice in his head telling him that Monique is perfectly right.
"I am not here to pity you, you have your friends for that," Monique says with pursed lips and crosses her arms. "I am just…Well, it is your life, Francois, and I won't tell you what to do of course. I just think that falling for a hooker is probably not the wisest idea, but on the other side- when have you ever measured your actions on what is wise and what not?"
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