Fic: Shutterbug

Hey, I'm new here but I've got a story I wrote as my flist's Christmas present that I thought I'd share. 6000 words, 12 perfect drabbles inclusive.

Title: Shutterbug
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13

Summary: Every photographer needs a muse. Sebastian just gets more than he bargained for.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the author, anyotherknight; it is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event. Please do not archive without permission.

This story is also archived at my Skyehawke account.




Shutterbug

"Nearly four years after entering the metropolitan art circle, photographer Sebastian Carlow, 26, has
finally gained the respect of his critics. His soft lighting, unique compositions and subtle plays on
fetishism first gained public interest in November 2002. Though last night's show comprised many artists'
work, Carlow's Do, a sassy satire on high-class holiday functions, was the clear focus.

'I have no idea why people like my work,' the fresh-faced artist says. 'I'm just glad
they do, because I like to eat.'

His work is available..."

Scowling, he threw the faded article into the trash. The phone needed answering, anyway.

---

"Sebastian?" a warm voice asked as he raised the receiver to his ear.

"Yes?"

"It's Danika. Your art dealer."

"I know."

"I was just making sure, because, you see, you haven't given me anything to work with. When are you going to send me some new stuff?"

He rolled his eyes at the needling tone. "I sent you those landscapes last week."

"People aren't buying landscapes." Sebastian could practically see her pacing back and forth, ringed fingers gesturing broadly. "They want an authentic Carlow portrait. They want the low-lights, the emotion, the provocative edge." She paused. "They want sex."

"I want sex," he muttered, scratching at the back of his neck.

She hummed noncommittally. "So you'll get me more portraits? Emotive, preferably, but if you're on a fashion kick I'm all right with that too. Remember, lots of glitz."

Brown eyes clamped shut in frustration. "I don't have a model."

"Hire one."

"You've just dutifully pointed out that my work is shit. I'm broke."

"You're young. And an artist. Seduce one."

---

If nothing else, Sebastian was confident that he appeared more confident than he was in actuality. Freshly showered, ruddy brown hair tousled in a manner that took entirely too much effort, and dressed in the shabby chic of les bohèmes, he fitted in reasonably well among the other twenty-somethings in the dimly lit club. All he had to do was speak as little as possible and pray for limited screw-ups.

He withdrew a business card from his worn leather wallet and slid it across the wood to the pretty woman behind the bar, smiling broadly. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in modelling for me. You have great features."

"For free?" She studied the card, frowning at the signs of wear along the edges.

"Well," Sebastian chuckled nervously. "Yes."

"No dinner?"

"I'm afraid not."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder in annoyance. "You just expect me to take off my clothes for every pervert claiming to have a telephoto lens?"

"I'm not a –" he paused abruptly, changing tactics. "Look, I gave you my card. And your clothes would stay on."

"You're saying I'm not attractive?"

"No! You're just not," he gestured frantically, "not really my type."

That got a nod, at least. "Aren't models usually paid?"

"Only professionals."

She raised a brow. "And you want an amateur."

"Well, yes." His palms began to sweat. "I'm a little low on funds."

"Then you mustn't be a very good photographer, hmm? Just another artiste."

Sebastian's mouth snapped shut with a click. The bartender smiled and sauntered down the bar to the other customers. When she came back, he ordered a bourbon and drank it in one.

Dancers were easier to work with, anyway.

---

The tips of Sebastian's fingers tingled. Across the floor pale skin glimmered and dark cotton pulled tight; slim hips in tight jeans swaying to the pulsing beat. The boy was alone on the dance floor and Sebastian wondered, as he watched the scene from his bar stool, if anyone else even saw him. Bright light flashed off dark hair. He didn't slow as the song changed, didn't look up as Sebastian approached him.

"Dance with me," Sebastian said, trailing his fingers down the other's arm.

The boy shook his head. "Some other time," he replied before slipping into the crowd.

---

It was early morning by the time Sebastian returned from the bar, dejected, soaking wet after encountering a cloud burst on the walk home, and very, very drunk. Three minutes were spent unlocking the door – then another two remembering he'd left the keys in the door – before he stumbled into the loft, tripping over a groove in the hardwood and knocking over the coat stand with a crash. Drunk was, he thought, the only way to be when one was low on funds and out of ideas. Passed out was good, too, he noted before collapsing into bed fully clothed.

---

Sebastian groaned as his throbbing skull drove him from sleep. Or maybe it was the needles behind his eyes. Or the insistent pounding at the door. He cursed, stumbling across the flat to answer it while rubbing crusts of sleep from his eyes. He opened the door a crack, squinting at the light and preparing to chew out whoever had chosen to invade his misery, only to have the door forced open against him and a lithe, dark-haired boy, possibly in his late-teens, breezed through. He wore a battered wool coat, brightly-coloured scarf, and carried a dripping umbrella.

"Thanks, man, weather's a bitch today."

Sebastian blinked hard and attempted to slow the room's spin. The boy shrugged off his coat at the door, shucked his shoes and stood his umbrella in the corner before ambling into the kitchen. He took down a glass from the first cabinet and filled it with tap water before taking a wander around the loft in his woolen socks. He paused at a Doisneau by the makeshift bedroom and tapped the frame, "Print?"

Sebastian scratched at his stubbled jaw. "Er, yeah. Who are you?"

"I'm Jesse." He glanced at Sebastian across the brim of the class and smiled. "Your next paycheck."

Sebastian chewed the inside of his lip. "Did Danika send you?"

He took a sip of water before answering. "I came on my own."

"And what exactly are you doing here?" Sebastian asked, moving to stand beside him.

Jesse shrugged. "Right now, I'm taking you for lunch."

"Lunch?"

He set the glass aside and turned to face Sebastian. A smirk played on his lips. "Of course," he said. He drew his index finger down Sebastian's chest, then hooked it around his belt buckle and stood on tip toe to whisper, "We can't work on an empty stomach."

Sebastian wasn't quite sure why he followed the boy to the door, only that not following wasn't really in the cards.

---

The restaurant was nearly empty, but the surroundings lavish enough to make Sebastian feel underdressed. He sighed and tugged at the collar of his sweater, opening his menu and trying not to grimace at the prices beside each item.

"Relax," Jesse muttered, "it's really my treat." He leaned over the table and tapped a spot on Sebastian's menu. "Try the scampi with the arugola sauce - you'll love it."

Sebastian glanced up, another question on his lips. Jesse sat staring out the window, flawless skin glowing as rain splattered against the glass. Dark hair fell into his eyes, fluttering across his cheekbone. He had one knee drawn to chest, his chin resting on top. Puffs of his breath fogged the window and Sebastian's own caught in his throat. Various thoughts of shutter speed and reflective properties were running through Sebastian's head when a waiter appeared, solemnly took Sebastian's order, and swept away immediately.

They sat in silence until the waiter returned a few minutes later, carrying a steaming plate of pasta and scampi and a glass of wine that he placed before Sebastian. The other half of the table, however, remained empty.

Jesse took a sip of his water. "I can't afford to pig out before a shoot," he said.

Sebastian nodded and picked up his fork. He ate quickly, but in silence, hoping that the strange boy wouldn't decide to stick him with the bill. The waiter appeared the moment he set his fork down and whisked his plate away, swapping it with a bill that Sebastian was in no hurry to pick up.

Jesse smiled and reached for the paper, nodding as he read the total. He withdrew a slim wallet from his jacket and placed several bills on the table after counting them twice. Sebastian wondered briefly just where he'd seen the butter-soft leather before, then quickly decided that leather and this boy weren't a good line of thinking, especially not when he stood and stretched like that.

"Coming?" Jesse asked placidly.

"In a minute." Sebastian shook his head to clear it. He excused himself and walked slowly to the bathroom, where he locked himself in the far stall and calmly emptied the entire contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl.

The shaking in his hands and buzzing in his ears weren't quite so calm as he would've liked.

He washed his hands and checked his reflection in the mirror before slipping back outside to find his benefactor.

---

Sebastian was rather proud that he'd only fumbled with the keys twice when trying to re-enter the loft. Jesse slid in as soon as the door opened, a rucksack Sebastian hadn't noticed earlier slung over his left shoulder.

"Thanks again for lunch," Sebastian said, tugging at his shoe. Jesse simply nodded and disappeared down the hall while Sebastian hung his coat in the closet. By the time he'd caught up, Jesse was in the bedroom, having flung both his bag and himself onto the mattress, his muddy shoes leaving streaks on the comforter.

Sebastian raked a hand through his hair. "What are you doing?"

"Taking a nap," the boy said, faking a yawn.

Sebastian crossed his arms and sighed. "On my bed."

"I didn't see another one," Jesse replied, closing his eyes and pushing his shoes off with his heels.

"What if I wanted to sleep?"

"You've got work to do. The Vangelli shoot is still on your hard drive, right? Clean it, send it to the printers, then we'll talk about a nap."

"Are you sure Danika didn't send you?" Sebastian asked.

"Positive."

"Exactly how long are you going to be staying here?"

Jesse stretched so that his shirt rode up his abdomen and smirked. "Oh, as long as you need me."

Unable to think of a response, Sebastian turned and went to start his computer.

Angela Vangelli's headshots were nothing more than a complete assault on Sebastian's artistic sensibilities. There was far too much contrast in the lighting; the budding actress had wanted them to be dramatic, with very little midtones – something Sebastian felt any angst-ridden teenager could accomplish with a disposable camera. Her lips were pale, swollen from collagen injections; her smallish eyes were heavily lined in black, her pout annoyingly coy. Not at all like his.

Sebastian shook his head and grimaced at a buzzing in his ears. "Must've been the wine," he muttered.

---

A whistling kettle pierced his dreams sometime later. He stood slowly, wincing at both the crick in his neck and the imprints left in his cheek by the keyboard.

"Good," Jesse said, glancing up as Sebastian shuffled into the kitchen. "Dinner's ready."

Sebastian stifled a yawn and rubbed his cheek with the heel of his hand. "Cup ramen?"

"I'm not known for my skills in the culinary arts."

"Evidently so," Sebastian agreed. "They're soggy. You're known for?"

"You'll see."

"Right," Sebastian said. "So, I was thinking that I'd set up the studio for some long exposures. A few low-light shots for a sort of dream sequence series, maybe, or–"

"I'm afraid not," Jesse cut him off, crossing his arms and smirking.

Sebastian set his fork down. "You don't want to shoot?"

"Sure." Jesse nodded. "Tomorrow."

"And tonight?"

"Tonight we're going to have fun. Get inspired."

Sebastian raised a brow. "Plastered?"

The smirk grew wider. "Exactly."

---

Sebastian leant with his elbows against the bar watching Jesse writhe under the lights on the dance floor again. He had an unholy penchant for exposing his throat, then smirking at the bar's occupants over his shoulder. Lost in thought, Sebastian jumped at the tap to his shoulder.

"Hey, artiste," the bartender shouted over the music. "Back so soon?"

Sebastian nodded, not taking his eyes from Jesse's hips.

"Still need a model?"

"Got one."

"I saw your work featured in the paper today," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry that you saw my work?"

She laughed and poured him a double.

---

They stumbled up the stairs in a drunken heap, giggling at Sebastian's attempts to remember the melody to mediocre pop songs he hadn't heard in years. Jesse collapsed against Sebastian when they reached the door, nuzzling his neck while Sebastian fumbled for the keys. He was snuffling softly by the time Sebastian unlocked the flat, too sleepy to stand straight; Sebastian was forced to wrap one arm under Jesse's ribcage and drag him down the hall. Jesse snickered when he walked them both into the doorframe.

Sebastian laid him on the bed, pulled of his shoes, and tucked him in. "Just for tonight," he groused and turned for the door.

Jesse's hand shot out from under the covers, wrapping round Sebastian's wrist. "It's just until your work is done," he said sleepily.

"Whatever. I want my fucking bed back in the morning," Sebastian muttered.

---

It was twenty past ten, fifteen minutes after Sebastian had crawled into the shower and he still wasn't quite conscious. His stomach was churning and his head was pounding, but he'd noticed that his bed was empty on the way to the bathroom. Maybe he'd be able to go back to it as soon as the hot steam cleared away his ails. It wasn't likely; the best he could hope for was that the boy had taken only his own belongings with him when he'd gone and –

Jesse ripped back the shower curtain, still clothed from the night before and grinning like a cat in a cloud of canary feathers.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sebastian spluttered.

"Taking a shower."

Sebastian's jaw dropped as he was pushed out of the spray and the shower was suddenly occupied by one more.

"Everything's set up," Jesse said, unmindful of the wet denim clinging to his legs or the rivulets of water feeding into his eyes. He slid one hand up Sebastian's neck to tangle in his hair. "Let's just get you loosened up and then get to work."

Sebastian eyed the youthful flush to Jesse's cheeks, the way his lower lip was caught between his teeth, the peculiar gleam in his blue eyes, and shivered. "How old are you?"

Jesse glanced up, smirking. "Old enough," he replied, and covered Sebastian's lips with his own.

---

Jesse's hair was still wet from the shower when he led Sebastian down the hall half an hour later.

Sebastian hoped he was only waddling because the jeans he'd been lent were several sizes too big.

"You did this?" Sebastian asked, eyeing the bedroom-cum-studio.

"Who else?"

Sebastian eyed the tripod set in the middle of the room. His laptop was already turned on and ready to receive images transmitted from the camera. His favourite lenses were lined up on the window sill at the east wall; the reflectors and diffusers he most often chose were propped against the wall. A muslin backdrop had been pulled off the rollers at the north wall and – oddly enough – his bed was made.

It was exactly the way he would have set it up himself, he thought while muttering his thanks. He settled himself behind the camera and slipped his fingers around the aperture ring.

"Yeah, yeah," Jesse muttered, stretching his arms upward and hissing as his shoulders popped. "Just get to work, Shutterbug."

---

"Sorry, I don't speak flying noodle."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but swallowed before repeating, "So how old are you, really?"

"Old enough."

Sebastian, trying not to panic, scratched at the spot on the side of his nose. "I'm asking for a number. Preferably one that won't land me in prison if your mother decides to come knocking at my door."

"Well," Jesse mumbled around his own noodles, "You've known me for about two days. How's that, then? Two."

Sebastian pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and groaned.

"Look, it's not polite to ask," Jesse smiled. "But you don't need to worry."

"What's your last name, then?"

"Of no consequence." Jesse said on his way to the cabinet. He took down his favourite polka dot-covered glass from the back and filled it with tap water.

"And you're sure Danika didn't send you?" Jesse nodded, then choked on his water. Sebastian frowned. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Yes, but not until we're done here," Jesse rasped then wiped his lips with the back of his hand and began clearing the dishes. "Come on, Shutterbug, back to work."

---

Click.

Beams of light streamed through the window, illuminating the planes of Jesse's side. He had his elbow cradled in his left hand, a cigarette between his lips. The jeans Sebastian had loaned him had proven to be indecently loose, hanging off one hipbone at an angle, trailing down to rest several inches below the other hip; a thin trail of hair intersecting the denim below his navel. The cigarette glowed amber as he drew on it, his abdomen tensing as he held his breath, turning to stare out the glass.

"Beautiful."

Jesse blew smoke at the camera. "Of course."

---

Click.

"That's it," Sebastian murmured, "Nice and calm. Candid, like."

His hand slid along the lens to adjust the focal point of the frame. Jesse kept his eyes downcast, tongue tracing his lower lip, concentrating on the small, plump strawberry he had pinched between two fingers at chin level. The frame centred on the sharp eyelashes laying against cheekbones, fading quickly to a soft blur around his lips and brows, then losing definition altogether. Sebastian's finger was just releasing the shutter release when Jesse raised his eyes to lock on his and, smirking, raised the berry to his lips.

Click.

---

Steam clouds filled the small bathroom. Sebastian had to open the door to keep his lens from fogging up. He'd drawn the curtain back. Jesse stood beneath the spray, leaning against the wall as sheets of water sluiced down his body. Sebastian gave up trying to avoid a fogged lens. At his word, Jesse scrunched his eyes shut, turned his face to the spray.

"Hey, Shutterbug," he called out.

Sebastian glanced up. Jesse slid one hand down his front.

"Are you just going to stand there and take pictures, or are you going to join in on the fun?"

Click.
---

Despite Jesse's pointed lack of assistance, post-shoot clean up had only taken half an hour. The tripod was collapsed and propped in the corner and the muslin rolled back into place. The lenses were packed away in their padded cases, the reflectors stashed in the back of the closet; although the bed was unmade, the loft was otherwise clear. Finally. Sweating slightly, Sebastian sat on the bed beside Jesse.

"So you're satisfied then?"

Jesse's hair was still slightly damp from the shower, and left a wet mark in the comforter when he sat up to reach for a shirt. "Oh, yes."

Sebastian nodded, ejecting the memory card from his camera and setting them both carefully on the bedside table. "You don't think it's weird?"

Jesse paused, his shirt halfway over his head. "What's weird?"

Sebastian gestured broadly. "This. It. Stuff." Jesse raised a brow. Sebastian sighed heavily. "I see you from the corner of my eye in a club one night, then you follow me home and –- Jesus, what sort of self-respecting city dweller actually lets a strange boy waltz into their loft one afternoon?"

"A hungover photographer?"

"I guess. It's just..." He scratched a bit of dry skin near his temple. "It's only been two days and I've forgotten what it was like before all this–"

"Fifty-six hours," Jesse said, moving to straddle Sebastian's lap, "and I didn't follow you home." Sebastian laughed as Jesse pressed his lips to his collar bone. "So why the sentimentality, old man?" he whispered.

"You've got me working again. I'm starting to think things might turn out. You're exhilarating." Sebastian inhaled sharply, "And absolutely terrifying."

Jesse made a face and pulled away. "Hungry, actually. Are there any noodles left?"

Sebastian nodded and followed him to the kitchen.

---

Jesse finished his half of the noodles in under four minutes and swept away both their bowls while Sebastian's fork was halfway to his mouth. Sebastian frowned, slurping up what he'd managed to nab, and watched as the rest of his meal was poured down the drain. The bowls were quickly soaped, rinsed, then whisked to the drying rack. They winked dully in the late afternoon sunlight and before he'd realized it Sebastian found himself being halfway to his bedroom-cum-studio, Jesse leading him by the collar.

"Just what's going –" His protests were cut off with a squeak as Jesse shoved him onto the mattress and grabbed the camera off the bedside table. It was large in his hands, too bulky for the smooth bones, Sebastian noted as Jesse towered over him, eyes alight with mischief.

"I thought we might try something a little different, this time."

Sebastian chuckled weakly. "Different?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe a self portrait."

"But you're holding the camera, Sebastian pointed out. It really wouldn't do to waste space and time on his bony, freckled frame. Besides, weren't photographers supposed to stand behind the lens?

"Minor detail. Quit being so nervous."

"Make me," Sebastian spat, immediately wishing he hadn't, as Jesse's eyes developed a predatory gleam.

Jesse licked his lips, raised the camera to his eye. "I can do that."

---

A series of clicks needled the otherwise silent loft. He watched as Jesse groaned, stretched ever so slowly, then turned to face the source of the noise. The sheets were tangled around his ankles; faded blue cotton in stark contrast to Jesse's pale skin. And the pink tongue that flicked out to moisten his lips. He peeked over the pillow at Sebastian, who was perched on a chair beside the bed, the camera cradled in his palm.

"Good morning," Jesse rasped, pushing his hair back out of his eyes.

Sebastian felt his mouth go dry. "It is, isn't it?"

---

"You didn't answer the door when I dropped by."

Sebastian flicked his eyes to Jesse, who was draped over the sofa, channel surfing with great intent. "I was working."

"You mean you were in bed with your muse."

"Probably," Sebastian said. "Depends what time you came by." Jesse snickered in the background.

"Late enough to trip over your mail. When's the last time you left the house?"

Sebastian hesitated. "Uhh..." Jesse held up his fingers. "Maybe a week."

"It's not normal to have to think on it, you know." She laughed suddenly. "When's the last time you ate anything other than instant noodles?" Sebastian turned to Jesse, who shook his head. "When's the last time you ate?"

"I had my model for lunch, actually." Jesse snickered and flicked the television off, turning to face Sebastian.

"I don't doubt it." There was a slight pause. "I got the head shots you sent me."

"And?"

"They're crap. Same as every other head shot. If she makes it big I'll reconsider."

Jesse slowly pried himself off the couch, head cocked. No luck? he mouthed. Sebastian shook his head. "I figured."

"Yeah," Danika said, "but I haven't seen you work like this in a while."

Jesse smiled from where he stood and motioned for Sebastian to hang up while unbuttoning his shirt with his left hand.

"I think I like it," Danika continued. There was a crunching noise as she bit into what sounded like an apple.

"So do I."

"Good." Her lips smacked. Sebastian took the phone away from his ear, grimacing. "Call me when you're done a-hermitting."

Jesse's shirt slid to the floor. Sebastian nodded. "I can do that."

"I look forward to it."

Sebastian unplugged the phone from the wall.

---

The air was hazy and his muscles sluggish with satiation, but Sebastian really wanted to take some shots before the warmth in the light faded. Jesse's pants were tangled around his ankles, his jaw resting in his left palm while he attempted to tame his hair with his right, wincing at the tangles. A purple bruise was blossoming at the junction of his neck and shoulder, but his smile was slow, his blue eyes warm as he peered over the arm of the couch. Sebastian raised a brow. Jesse blew a cheeky kiss.

He looked happy. And so Sebastian was.

---

Jesse had insisted that Sebastian process at least some of the shots while he took a nap, and so it was that Sebastian found himself before the computer wearing nothing but an old pair of boxers and two days of stubble. The cord from the card reader hadn't, for once, tangled with that of the portable hard drive, which Sebastian decided to take as a good omen as he struggled to answer the phone before the ringing woke Jesse.

"Still haven't left the loft, huh?" Danika asked by way of greeting.

Sebastian smiled. "No, nothing's changed."

"Sure." Sebastian heard the hiss-click of a pop can being opened before she continued. "I saw the RAW files you sent me."

"And?"

There was a beat before she answered. "I like them."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh, and I've had some inquiries. How soon can you be ready for a show?"

Sebastian scratched at his jaw. "I don't know, I'd have to see who else –"

"I'm talking about a solo gallery exhibition," she cut in.

"Seriously?"

"Hmm. Loved the mood. Very interesting model you chose."

"Yeah," Sebastian smiled. "I know."

"Okay, babe," Danika said after a series of gulps, "then get those printed up for me – say, your best two dozen – and call me. I told you I'd make you famous."

"Thanks."

"No problem - but for chrissakes, clean up your fucking mail."

---

Sebastian hung up the phone and managed three shallow breaths before sprinting to the bedroom. The sheets were rumpled, but the mattress empty. He checked the bathroom and studio before finally finding Jesse in the kitchen, staring out the window, his polka dot glass half full and hugged to his chest. Sebastian barely slowed down before barrelling into the smaller body, grabbing Jesse by the forearms to pull him into a fierce kiss. Jesse hissed as cold water sloshed down his front.

"What the hell are–"

"I love you."

Jesse tilted his head to the side. "Of course." He smiled. "Everyone does."

"Danika called. We're going to be famous – rich, as rich as an artist ever will be – because you, my handsome muse, are going to be on display. Twenty-four facets in a solo exhibition."

Jesse's face fell. "I'm not much of an exhibitionist," he mumbled, extracting himself from Sebastian's arms to place his glass on the counter.

"Well, it's not really you," Sebastian laughed. "Just photographs that I took. Come on – dinner. My treat, but you'll owe me a dance."

Jesse chewed the inside of his lower lip and muttered, "Okay. Go get ready."

Sebastian nodded and hurried towards the bathroom, only to double back and pull Jesse into another kiss.

"I really love you," he murmured against Jesse's lips.

Jesse turned away. "Everyone does."

Sebastian thought he heard a crash while he was in the shower, but he could have been mistaken. Big, empty lofts made all sorts of strange noises.

On their way out the door, though, he had to tiptoe over a minefield of shattered polka dot glass. He looked pointedly at the mess but said nothing. Jesse shook his hair from his eyes and tugged his scarf tighter.

"It slipped."

---

The food tasted better than he'd ever hoped. The salad was crisp, the fettucine alfredo rich and smooth, and his glass of Pinot Bianco proved a refreshing wash against the cream. Sebastian forced himself to eat slowly, savouring every mouthful. He wanted to remember this, his meal with his beautifully pale paycheck, hoping this wouldn't be the last of either. Jesse spoke little, picking at his salad before excusing himself halfway through the meal. He was pale when he came back, and Sebastian thought he tasted a tang of vomit beneath the wine and after dinner mints on Jesse's tongue.

---

Music pulsed throughout the club; the bass line was rich and the people beautiful. Sebastian felt alive watching Jesse sway on the floor, alone in his thoughts. The bartender leaned her elbows on the wood, following his gaze.

"Back again?"

"So it would seem."

"You have a gallery show coming up, right? I hope to see you there." She slid him a glass of bourbon and smiled. "My treat."

"Sorry," Sebastian shook his head, eyes continuing to follow the flash of dark hair under dim lights. He pushed back from the bar, intent on collecting his promised dance. "I'm taken."

---

The sun was just beginning to peek through the downtown skyline, the commuters just entering the sidewalks several floor below Sebastian's loft by the time he and Jesse collapsed into a drunken, tangled heap on his mattress. Jesse snickered when Sebastian tried to remove his shirt before undoing the buttons, and only laughed harder when Sebastian growled in frustration, pulling him forward to nuzzle his neck.

"I need you," Sebastian rasped against Jesse's collar.

Jesse smirked, pulling away to tear at their belt buckles. "I know."

He attacked Sebastian's shoulder with his teeth, raked his nails raked down Sebastian's spine; Sebastian moaned at the soft pants ghosting against his earlobe. Jesse's possessive side, Sebastian decided, after pushing his hips upwards, only to be held down by Jesse's own, was something to be marvelled at. Not the only thing to marvel, as Jesse finally managed to get their belts undone and thrust one hand inside Sebastian's pants.

It was only after Sebastian's breathing slowed that he realised that he hadn't really gotten completely out of his shirt, really. His left sock was still half on, dangling from his toes at the end of the bed, and while Jesse's hair was only artfully mussed he was fairly sure his own was nearly torn out.

He was relaxed, thoroughly shagged and really – tired. He threw an arm across Jesse's shoulders and pulled his body flush against his own, intent on the cessation of all wiggles and mumblings about getting up for noodles.

"Stay," he mumbled sleepily. "I need you."

There was a pause before Jesse answered, "I know you do, Shutterbug." He licked a trail up Sebastian's cheek. "But not how you think."

---

It was late afternoon when Sebastian's head had finally stopped pounding and he was able to leave the sanctity of his bed. The loft was empty – Jesse had probably gotten tired of instant noodles and gone out for groceries. Hopefully he'd remember the Columbian dark roast, Sebastian mused as he scooped the last of the grounds into the coffee machine.

He slumped into his chair, steaming mug in hand. Prodding the power button by his knee incited a variety of whizzes and beeps, which were hopefully it was a good sign, but he was never really sure with computers. Sebastian simply planned to edit some files to send to Danika and avoid unmitigated technical disaster until Jesse got back, at which point he fully intended to go back to bed. With company.

The login screen appeared. Sebastian hit the enter key, opened one of the image files under Jesse's name at random, and sighed heavily. Apparently the whizzes and beeps hadn't been for the better; he opened a file from another day of shooting and groaned as he got the same result. He opened a third – and froze. The coffee was set aside, forgotten for the moment as Sebastian opened another file, struggling to control his breathing. He opened another file. And another. And another. Three hundred files later, he tore the phone from its cradle, dialling frantically and ignoring the coffee he'd spilt in his haste.

"Danika?"

"Yes?"

"It's me."

"I know that, Sebastian. What's on your mind?"

"What exactly was it you liked about those shots?" he asked in a small voice.

"They're different," she said, "I adored your model."

"But there isn't one." He rubbed at his eyes with his left hand. "They're empty."

"I know. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Sebastian swallowed heavily. "Something like that. I have to go."

Stray droplets of icy shower water slid down Sebastian's spin as he wandered the apartment, naked and dazed.

A hazy blur on a crowded dance floor. Thin streams of sunlight filtering through a cloud of smoke. A half-eaten, overripe strawberry. Streams of water beating against the tiles of an empty shower. Rumpled, empty sheets. A suspiciously stained couch. His own gaunt features moulded into a manic grin for a solitary self portrait.

It was only when Sebastian came upon the polka dot glass – solid, a little less than half full – sitting on the kitchen counter that his composure cracked.

The crash echoed throughout the apartment. Blood and lukewarm water pooled in Sebastian's hands as he sank to his knees, mouth working soundlessly.

---

"When's the last time you left the apartment, kid?"

"I don't know."

"Since we last talked?"

"No."

"Sebastian," Danika sighed, "that's nearly two weeks.

"Oh."

"When did you last eat?"

Sebastian shook his head. "No idea."

She sighed again. "Look, the exhibition is tomorrow. You should be there."

"I know."

"Can you tell me what's bothering you?"

He picked at a scab in his palm. "My muse is gone."

---

"I can't believe you've gotten this far without knowing how to tie a tie," Danika groused the next evening.

Sebastian couldn't contain an eye-roll but remained still while she fussed with his collar.

"Well," she said finally, brushing a bit of lint from his shoulder, "at least the starving part fits. Ready to go?"

He nodded and shuffled after her, listening to her chatter with half an ear. He glanced up, began to grumble to muster a curse as she hurried him on, but found the breath had suddenly escaped his lungs.

A figure was blocking the doorway, several feet in front of Danika. His eyes were downcast. He wasn't wearing a coat and shivered uncontrollably. Sebastian swallowed heavily.

"Jesse?"

Jesse nodded, tangled fringe partially obscuring his eyes.

"You're back?"

Jesse bit his lip and tried to smile, slipping past Danika with a nod. He trailed a finger down Sebastian's tie and snorted. "You look like shit."

Sebastian raised a hand to comb his fingers through Jesse's hair, frowning when his fingers snagged. "You too."

Danika cleared her throat. "You okay kid?" She was leaning against the doorjamb, worrying her lips with her teeth.

Sebastian nodded. "Never better."

"I'll just tell them you'll be late, then," she said before closing the door behind her.

The click of the lock echoed above Sebastian's breathing.

Sebastian pulled him into a tight embrace. "You're really back?" he whispered, his chin resting atop Jesse's head.

"Yeah," Jesse snickered, "I got stuck with this moron who wanted to be the next Shakespeare – bored out of my skull by the eighteenth sonnet." He reached on tiptoe to brush his lips against Sebastian's. "Fuckin' poets."

"Shakespeare was a playwright."

Jesse nipped at his lower lip. "Shut up."

"I love you," Sebastian sighed. "And I really do need you."

"I know," Jesse said. "S'why I'm here. I'm remarkably loveable."

"So?"

Jesse licked a line along Sebastian's jaw and tucked one finger into the waistband of his pants. "Come to bed, Shutterbug."

–fin–