Work Text:
Your alarm clock, as usual, blared at 8:30. The morning sun peered through your blinds, and lay on your eyes. You put a hand to your face to shield from the rays, before a dark cloud made its way over. Before you moved to Algiers, you were always told of its shimmering sea and warm sun. But all you’ve experienced thus far was rain, thunder, and more rain. It was nothing like what the brochures showed.
At any rate, it was time to go to work. Plays won’t act themselves, you said to yourself for some reason, as you brushed your teeth and got dressed. Simple slacks and a white shirt with a grey sweater vest would do- it was simple, and you looked damn good in it. The director, Mr. Camus, complimented you and your various tastes in fashion, so you put in a little more effort in what you wore. People started to say that you were beginning to look a little more like him everyday. You studied your forehead in the mirror.
Jumping on a streetcar, you stared up at the broken sky. Blue peeked vibrantly in the thin cracks of last night’s rain clouds. Every now and then, God rays would shine magnificently in the distant sea, only to be snuffed out a second later. The streetcar was packed, so you hung onto the back, your coat flowing behind you. Breathing in the fresh Algerian breeze, you smelt coffee and tobacco on the wind, reminding you of Mr. Camus. You felt a bit of excitement for the day to come.
You collected yourself, before pushing open the doors to the theater. The smell of tobacco was lighter than usual, as most of the other producers and actors came a bit later. Hanging up your coat backstage, you saw Mr. Camus sitting on a crate, marking what you assumed were scripts with a pen. He was accompanied by the co-producer. Not wanting to interrupt, you grab your own script to memorize.
Before you sat down, Mr. Camus called you over. “I think I should recast you, Y/N,” he said, scratching his head with the end of his pen, “I think you’d suit another role better.” Confused, you ask if you performed your role correctly. He looked up at you and smiled, saying, “You did wonderfully.” He moved over so that you could sit with him, and the co-producer wandered away to smoke. It was just you and him.
The two of you discussed the script. He thought that you were too good to be a one-off character, and that you should be a prominent side character, or main character at most.
“You’re flattering me,” you tell him lightheartedly.
“I don’t flatter,” he said, “I only speak the truth.” He looked into your eyes, and gave a smile. You both stared at each other, studying each other’s features and beauty. His eyes were soft with a sort of aiming and focused look in them. You couldn’t help but notice how symmetrical his face was. Thinking you stared for too long, you look away, and steer the conversation back to the script. He decided that you’d be suited for a more prominent character. Trusting his judgment, you agree, and began scanning your new character’s lines.
Mr. Camus, or Albert as he wants you to call him, produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Taking one from his offering, he lit his own, and offered again to give you a light. When you agreed, he leans in close to you, and lights your cigarette with his own. It was dramatic, unexpected, but nothing short of sexy. You take a long drag, and you both let out a breath at the same time. He puts both his palms behind him and leans back, crossing his feet and gazing at you. You couldn’t focus on the script, so you gaze back at him.
“You’re really good looking,” you say. Ballsy.
“You’re flattering me.”
“If you can speak the truth, so can I.”
He looks forward and gives a big gin, biting on his cigarette. “Touché.”
He hops off the crate, and puts his hands in his pockets. He suggests that since you have a new role, that constitutes a new costume. He jerks his thumb in the direction of the dressing rooms, and you get the idea. You doubt he cares about costumes and the like when there's someone hired specifically to manage that. He fancies you. And, in turn, you fancy him also.
Anxiously, you walk alongside him, and reach the dressing rooms down a long and dimly lit hallway. He holds the door open for you, and you walk inside. Flipping a switch, the lights illuminate the room. You ash your cigarette in an ashtray by the mirror, and turn around to look at Albert. Eyes low and hands in pockets, he walks towards you.
“I love seeing you on the stage,” he said, “I don’t think I could’ve hired anyone better than you.”
“There’s plenty of others.”
He laughs, “don’t be humble, Y/N. You really do look great on that stage. You look even better in here.”
Taking the cigarette out his mouth, his lips connect with yours, as he grabs your hips and pulls you closer. Adrenaline and nervousness courses through you. To be doing this with the director who you’ve admired for so long… it was unreal to you. It was happening all too fast yet so slow.
You wrap your arms around his neck. He inserts a tongue into your mouth, and trails his hand down to grope your ass. Your teeth clack with his from how deeply you're kissing each other. Your pelvis flat against his, you feel his erection pressing against you through his pants. You disconnect, breathing heavily, and he kisses your chin. Tender gropes and rubs from his hands on your thighs and ass send shocks through your body, and you can’t help but to moan softly. His kisses trail down your neck, where he unbuttons your shirt and begins to kiss your collarbones. Deciding to get a little brave, you rub the tight strain in his slacks. You hear a sharp intake of breath from him, and he gives you a grin.
He put the cigarette back in his mouth, and looks down at your hand, then back up at you. You obliged his wordless command, and dropped to your knees. You give the outline a few kisses. Before you can do anything, however, he quickly locks the door, and undoes his belt and zipper. He stands in front of you, a hand behind your head, as you pull down his briefs. You weren’t sure how you were going to take all of his length, but you had no time to mull it over, so you started at the head. Giving the pink tip a kiss, you slowly slide your mouth over his cock, hearing him breathe in deeply. One hand was behind your head, his other hand lifted up his shirt and sweater slightly. He took a drag from his cigarette, and breathed out smoke from the corner of his mouth.
You didn’t think you were very good at pleasing him like this, but his unsteady breathing and low groans proved you wrong. Every now and then, a quiet “fuck” , or “God” would escape his lips, and he’d push your head deeper onto his cock. You took his full length into your mouth, tears welling in your eyes. As a reward, he extended a foot, rubbing against you and pleasuring you while you sucked. Sliding your mouth off his cock to breathe and swallow the precum, you look up at him with your eyes. Taking a drag of his cigarette, he takes your chin to lift your face up. A hungry look in his eyes told you exactly what he wanted.
Turning around, you put your hands down on the makeup counter in front of the mirror. His large hands grabbing your sides, he grinded his cock on your pants, precum dripping and making wet spots on the fabric. He slid his hands over to your front, and undid your belt. Dropping your pants to your ankles, he lifted your shirt up your lower back. You move from your hands to your elbows, and arch your back in anticipation. He took a few strokes, pulled back, inserted himself slowly into you. A gasp escaped your lips. In the mirror, you could see sweat on his forehead, and a cigarette dangling out his mouth. His black hair was still neat, and he was still unbelievably handsome.
He fucked slowly, but hard. He would pull all the way out, and thrust right back in, making you gasp every time. You couldn’t help but stare at him in the mirror. He looked up and met your stare, a smile biting on his cigarette, and he began to thrust faster and harder. You bite on your sleeve to keep you quiet, moans rising audibly through your throat. He leaned forward, his chin over your shoulder blades, and thrust deeper into you.
“Let me hear you, Y/N,” he groaned, “I need to hear you.”
You couldn’t help but to moan his name over and over. The thick smell of his cigarette and the various beauty products on the counter made your head spin. All you could think about was his cock in you, fucking you against the counter. Unable to hold yourself up on your elbows any longer, you lay your face against the counter, and he trails his hand up to hold your wrist. He quickly ashes his cigarette on the tray next to you, and leans down to kiss your nape. The products on the counter shook with every thrust, his pace not letting up.
You hear his breathing and yours grow more and more desperate and ragged. His biting and sucking on your neck became more languid as his breathing became more uneven. The moaning of your name became louder as well, and you realized you were practically shouting his. In a last exasperation of energy, he began to thrust even harder and wilder, before pulling out of your warmth completely and orgasming onto your back. Groans of your name and cussing escaped his mouth. He collapsed onto your back, sweat dripping down his face and nose.
After a moment of heavy breathing and stillness, he separated from you, and went to retrieve the cigarettes from his pants. You got up also, leaning against the counter. He lit a cigarette and checked his watch. Pulling a wad of tissues from the box, he handed you some, and cleaned himself up as well. Neither of you spoke, and instead communicated through tired smiles of satisfaction.
You sprayed some cologne from the counter and collected yourself, and took an offered cigarette. He gave your thigh a pat and your cheek a kiss, before turning off the lights and leaving the dressing room.
The rest of the crew had arrived and started their work. To avoid any suspicion, he approached them first and told you to wait before coming on stage. You obliged. You couldn’t help but stare at the handsome man, smiling and talking amongst the crew. Everyone looked at him in a sort of awe, like the man before them was unreal in a way. He looked back at you for a moment, and gave a big grin, before returning to his stacks of scripts.