meninvogue:

Augusta Alexander photographed by Kosmas Pavlos

“Just, fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t get the offer. They were even making it sound like I did. Maybe I’m already burning out.”
“Hjorn.” I sat across from him on the window seat, my back to the window over looking 5th Avenue.
“What?” he grumps.
“We spoke about this before. It’s probably a good thing. Like your manager said, when you’re a new model you need to be everywhere, but as you get more of a profile going, you need to start crafting an image and niche of what you fill. This gives you value and helps clients find you. That company didn’t fit your image at all. You’re sexy and sophisticated. Cutesy isn’t your thing, and it’s better you didn’t get it. You need to focus on your shoot for the cologne today and on landing Balmain. That’s perfect for you.”
“And I love their style more,” Hjorn agrees. “That’s me.”
“Yes. Exactly. So don’t be too upset. Disappointed, fine, but not upset. You’re going to be huge. Especially if you get called back for that HBO show.”

Hjorn puts an arm on the back of the chair and leans back. With his knees spread, I can see up his robe a little. Just a little. He knows. “You know, Sylvie keeps asking me who you are to me. I guess as my manager she’s worried about people exploiting me as I get more well known. But I just couldn’t explain to her why exactly I like you around. And that’s why.” He points. “Right there. Because you tell me just what I need to hear, just like it is – not because you want my approval or for me to like you, but because I need to hear it. You don’t have secret intentions. You’re just my friend looking out for me. And even though we’ve been fucking since college, you’ve never tried to make it anything else. Which I don’t want right now. And I don’t have time for. And I never have to worry about your intentions. Cause you’d tell me.” Hjorn stands up and walks over to the bed in the other room. I stare at him for a stunned moment as my ears turn red.

I get up and follow him. “That’s…thank you? I mean, you are my friend. I just want things to turn out well for you.”
Hjorn sits on the bed. The corner of his perfect mouth comes up a little. “You are. Thank you. Now are you going to come over here and fuck me before Sylvie gets here or what? I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin from stress.”
“Oh absolutely,” I groan. I walk over to him and slide my hand up his robe. “Been wanting this all day.”
”You can have it.”
I pull the tie apart with my other hand. My mouth goes to his neck.
Hjorn whimpers and puts an arm around me. “Fuck, your hand…”
The robe falls open. I push him to the bed and kneel sprawled over his legs. His chest is a curved hill of barley, pale and dotted with freckles. I continue with his neck as I stroke him. His leg muscles tense and jump under me, and feeling his body squirm makes me so painfully hard.
“In me,” Hjorn begs with reedy gasps. “In me. Now.”
I have to detach myself from him to fumble for the lube under the pillow. I fumble to get myself out of my slacks. I fumble with the lid. It’s impossible to use lube without making a mess. I let the mess happen. I’m between his parted legs now. One finger goes in easily. The noise he makes sends goosebumps down my back. Hjorn fists the sheets. “More!”

I push in a second, but the third takes a moment. “You’re so taut today…you need to relax a little…”
“I can’t! I’m under so much goddamn stress it feels like I’ll never relax!”
“You poor thing. You’re gonna snap if you keep this up.”
“In!” he demands, louder and more angry. I love it. The fire in me is stoked white hot.
I guide myself inside him without giving him time to adjust. The sensation of him enveloped around me is exquisite. I bend over and return to tasting his neck. His thighs slam against my hips and I push past his point of resistance until my cock is against his prostate.
“Oh FUCK!” he roars. “Yeah just – there! Oh god, harder, do it harder!”
I obey him, thinking if I can just fuck him fast enough and deeply enough that for a moment he won’t be thinking of his modeling career or his life or that account he didn’t get. That maybe I can push all that stress up to the surface and it’ll be washed away when the orgasm breaks and the hormones flood. His body is wired tight, his nerves a tight bunch. He needs this, and not from anyone else but me.
I place one hand on the bed to steady myself, and the other curls around his cock. I’d forgotten about it. He moans my name and arches his back. “I’m close!”
Sometimes, when he says that, I like to stop and torment him a while with slow trusts and ghostly touches to his glans… but I think if I tried that today, he may actually murder me. I dig my toes into the floor and drive into him hard. “Take it!”
“FUCK!” he yells. We rut for an impossible moment until my lungs are burning and I’m sure he’s going to outlast me. “Fuck!” he wails again. Cum fouts all over his chest. He fists the sheets, pulling the flat out from where it’s tucked under the mattress. I heave breath against his shoulder as I empty inside him. All of it. The one place that the adoring public can’t see or get to. That spot is mine. It is marked.

Hjorn looks at me through half slit eyes but not really seeing me. His lips are so full and pink that I can’t help but kiss him. He lazily throws is arms over me and shares it. “Mnnn…” His knees fall to the side. My cock is too soft to stay in now and slides out. I rub it against where it’s been in him anyway. It’s warm and familiar and I don’t want to be far from it.
“Fuck…” Hjorn whispers.
I nuzzle his cheek. His scent is different. The acrid aura of stress is gone. I run my fingers over his chest. “You spilled all yourself out…”
Hjorn looks down, almost in surprise. “I did, didn’t I?”
“You did.” I rest down next to him to recover. I feel a bit dizzy.
Hjorn’s phone makes a noise. It’s been charging on the nightstand. He reaches for it. Fumbles it. Then holds it. “Sylvie wants to make sure I’m ready,” he groans. “She’s gonna be here in fifteen minutes.”
“She’s early,” I remarked.
Hjorn looks at his phone again. “…No, she’s actually running late.”
I look at my watch. “Jesus.”
That makes Hjorn laugh. It’s a beautiful sound. If bells could echo off wood, that’s what it would sound like. Soon I’m laughing too, just for the joy of seeing him smile. The furrow in his brow is gone too.

We get out of the shower just in time for Sylvie to walk through the door. She eyes me suspiciously as I help Hjorn with his belt as he works the buttons on his shirt. When she notices the hickie, she loses it, and I’m trying not to die of smothering laughter as she escorts him out, Hjorn waving off her concerns with a casual air of dismissal. God, that lad. Absolutely precious. He’s going to be famous one day.

I stay behind to recover and clean up the mess we hid under the duvet. Later that night, Hjorn calls me and tells me the director loved the hickie and kept it in the shoot, despite Sylvie’s objections. When the photos came out, we sure did have had a fun time reading the Instagram comments about them. Everyone thought they were from a woman.

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Captions are fictional. Not intended to portray the original model or his identity.