Page 57 of Sweet Thing

CHAPTER 28

After a Fashion

“Is that yours or mine?” Bastian grumbled, awoken by the frenetic buzzing of a phone on a timber surface. They had been dating for two months. The couple was staying at Bastian’s apartment. Both had put their devices on silent mode so that their lovemaking wouldn’t be disturbed. Bast groaned again and gave Sim a nudge in the ribs.

“Shiiit,” Simeon moaned. He’d been having such a lovely dream, and his body was boneless, warm, and comfortable after hours spent fucking. With what felt like a Herculean effort he rolled from where he’d been nesting, pressed to his partner’s warm, muscular back, and reached out a hand to catch the iphone before it jumped off the nightstand. “Mine,” he murmured and reluctantly opened an eye to glare at the screen. It was only 7 a.m on Monday, and the phone displayed that Dieter Koenig, his booker from Elementia Models, was calling. Sim let out a sleepy sigh of resignation and then pressed the call button.

“Simeon, are you bright and breezy this morning?” The German-accented voice sounded far too chipper for the early hour. Simeon groaned inwardly. He knew he would have to be up in an hour to meet Marcus for their daily run, and then spend an hour at the gym.

“Listen,” Dieter continued. “Did you get the email about today’s booking?”

Simeon sat up, suddenly awake with alarm. “What booking?”

“Scheisse! I told Anja to send the details before she left the office last night”, he said exasperatedly.

“You’ve been selected to walk the closing PREMIER show at Berlin Fashion Week… for Masculo.”

“You’re fucking kidding me?” Simeon was stunned. “And they don’t want me to audition?”

Four years earlier at the height of his fashion career, Simeon was on an international merry-go-round of editorial shoots, runway shows, and fashion industry events. He’d done his time, spent hours, and his own cash, traveling around the world then queuing with all of the other pretty boys hoping to be selected for shows. His look back then was starving-waif skinny, with long straight dark hair, and cheekbones that could have cut glass. The Goth/Emo-kid look was all the rage, and Simeon was popular, especially when paired with his best friend, Pieter Bayer. But when Sim’s addictions took hold, and he’d started to unravel, his reputation swiftly suffered and bookings dried up. Simeon lost the trust of many designers and photographers, and so he never believed he would be booked for a gig again without having to prove himself as clean and reliable every single time.

“He asked for you specifically,” Dieter relayed delightedly. “Do you know François Masculo?”

“Not really. I walked for him once before, like, years ago when I was a tadpole.”

“Well, it’s great he remembered you and asked for you personally.”

“I don’t get it?”

“It’s a gift, don’t question it,” Dieter said sagely.

“Can you tell me anything about the collection?”

“It’s very hush–hush. All I know is that it’s themed ‘Baby Daddy.'”

“Okaaay,” Sim was intrigued.

“Get your ass into gear. You have your first fitting at twelve. His atelier is at Labels 1, on the riverbank. I’ll send you a text message with the details, okay? Tschüss.”

The call ended without Simeon saying another word. He felt a bit shell-shocked by the honor of walking for Masculo, and at the closing show, too. This was huge. Why had the designer asked for him specifically? He couldn’t recall if he’d gotten on with the man when he worked for him. François Masculo was a serious designer—more of an architect of future fashion than a maker of pretty things. Masculo was always trying to find ways to reinvent garment structure and find other uses for them. Simeon had a lot of respect for his work.

Sim slumped back on a deep feather pillow, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stared fixedly at the ceiling.

“You got a gig yeah?” Bastian asked, now wide awake.

“I always get a few Berlin fashion week gigs for runway and trade shows, but this… I got the closing show. It’s a really big deal. Everyone wants to be in the final show.”

Bastian rolled over and wrapped his arms around Simeon, pulling him into a warm, musky embrace. “I’m so proud of you. I’ll have to get tickets and maybe have a banner made or t-shirts or something.”

Simeon snickered and rolled in a bit closer into the warmth of his lover’s arms. He kissed him on his stubbly cheek “Oh yeah, and what would the banner say?”

“Something like, ‘My boyfriend’s so hot,’ or ‘You can look at Simeon’s ass, but don’t touch',” Bastian teased. “I’ll try and get front row, and then you won’t miss me in the crowd wearing my T-shirt, and waving my banner.”

“You are such an idiot,” Sim snickered, and gave Bastian a weak slap on the ass. “The thought of you watching me walk would turn my knees to jelly.”

“Why? I watch you walk all the time. I watch you run, I watch you bend over, I watch you fuck, and I watch you come. I have never been so thoroughly entertained by a boyfriend.” He ran his hand down Simeon’s side and groped his bare arse, pulling him to press against his hips, chest, and semi-erect penis.

Whenever Bastian called him his boyfriend, Simeon’s chest expanded with a light, fluttery feeling. It was the same fluttery feeling of freedom and happiness he recalled from when he was ten and ran through fields of Lavender with the housekeeper’s son at his family’s summer chateau in Provence. Bastian made him feel young, carefree and loved. Not that they’d said the L word to one another yet. But that label, boyfriend, was Bastian laying claim to what belonged to him, and Simeon knew he well and truly belonged, at last.