Note: I wanted to finish TSFMS before I ever started anything new but it seems that inspiration always comes with bad timing, so while I'm still updating TSFMS, I will also be posting Negative and With Every Heart Beat, both short multichaptered.
This is by no means a funny fic, even if there is some humour here and there in this chapter. It's pretty much the opposite.
Enjoy (or not XD)

Matt groaned as he heard the familiar sound of an incoming email. He had hoped that the possible work Ken had said he might send him today would stay an impossible possibility, but his associate obviously had no idea of how much Matt needed this day off.

Ken wore the name perfectly. If Barbie's plastic boyfriend came to life, it would definitely be his associate. Blond, hair always cut and combed in a 'out-of-the-hairdresser' perfection, tanned skin, toned body, tall and always a flash of white teeth eating his face. Matt looked even more like the short, dishevelled redhead that he was compared to mister America. Perfection never hit his hair, it just sat on top of his head like some too long and untamed jungle, falling into eyes that at least he had of a more vibrant blue than Ken. Somehow it seemed enough to bring some ass back to his apartment when he felt like getting laid.

The redhead rolled on his back, and groaned again just out of annoyance. He'd been up all night partying at the launch of a new bar in town since him and Ken had been hired to shoot the event, but soon it had been Ken shooting and Matt getting a bit too drunk to his associate's likings.
The shoot over, Ken had left and Matt had officially left the photographer's role to transform the lens-through contact by some physical one.

Whatever cutie had been in his bed last night had left, and it took Matt a moment to remember if it had been male or female. As he sat, stirring and groaning a third time for good mesure, the slight pain in his ass gave away the gender of his one night stand.
"Damn, I overdid it this time..." he yawned, half complaining now that his temples started on boombox mode, dragging his feet to the kitchen to fetch some painkillers. He probably had drunk way too much considering the hammering in his head, but he had been drunk too fast to remember exactly how much he had downed last night.

Two Advils and a cup of coffee later, he was sat at his desk, browsing through the batch of pictures Ken had sent him for retouching. Do what you can, you're the specialist, the blond had written.

Ken and Matt had started their collaboration eight months ago. Both were employed in a photographers agency at the same exact task as what they were doing now, wondering why they were working for the minimal wage when their boss was driving a Bentley and eating at the Ritz, and had both simply resigned to get the full benefits of their works within their own society.
Ken was a very good photographer, just like Matt, but Matt had better skills at editing, which often came in handy for shoots like what Matt had under his eyes at the moment.

Ken had told him, when coming back from the studio that day, that no matter the angle, the lightning and the filters, he was almost positive that the pictures weren't exploitable. The model was perfect for the theme, he said, but he had a scar that partly showed even with back and opposite profile poses, and he wanted Matt to edit that.
"Why couldn't they hire a model without a scar?" had asked Matt in response.

Now, he could only understand why. Indeed, the model was perfect for the role. A LGBT rights campaign with the motto Dare to call me a fag?
The model screamed gay without a single doubt, and yet, Matt had to admit that you surely wouldn't want to call that guy a fag, or any other colourful name. The model was pulling out dangerous so well that Matt averted his eyes from the cold look on the screen.

Matt chuckled. He was getting intimidated by a picture.
Focusing his eyes on anywhere else than the face of the long haired model, it was a totally different reaction, unexpected, that had him light a cigarette to cool down.
"Damn, that body..." Matt mumbled to himself, blowing smoke on the side from the corner of his mouth to prevent it to alter his sight, even for a second. The lean torso, bare, the leather pants' waistline way too low not to let the beginning of curves moulded in the garment appear...

Matt surprised himself when, a few minutes later, he masturbated under the shower. And to think that he had gotten a good shag last night, that was saying a lot about the model's hotness.

After some more coffee, some more cigarettes and badly cooked scrambled eggs on toasts, Matt decided to take the request a bit more seriously, but a few hours later, he could only come to the same conclusion than Ken: the shoot was unusable.
Ken had taken the job because his cousin was at the head of a modest model agency and could only get one of his models on the spot because he had promised to the guy in charge of the promotion for the campaign that he could get him a discount on one of the best photographers in town if his model agency was chosen. Matt hadn't been particularly enthralled to lower their prices since they had been on the market for a short amount of time but Ken could hardly refuse and had gone alone with minimal gear to lessen the cost of the operation. Thus the fact that, even if the pictures were professional, quality-wise, they could have been better. Matt was slightly mad at Ken on that one: better use the same material as usual and get the job done correctly, they have a business to run and it doesn't matter if the job is paid less, the result has to be up to their standards for the society to rank among the bests.

The redhead was good with Photoshop, but there was always something wrong with the pictures no matter how much he worked on them. He couldn't place his finger on the problem, but even if the skin looked perfectly smooth, it didn't feel right. He insisted a bit longer, using brushes and filters but no, it wouldn't do. It was not that it didn't look natural, he didn't know, really... oh well. He had to call Ken.

Sighing, he hung up.
Ken and him fought on a regular basis so it was no surprise that the verbal exchange that had just ended had been a bit animated. It never threatened their collaboration, it was always quite childish and in a challenging way, but this time Mail, even if he wasn't mad at Ken to the slightest, was pretty annoyed.
Ken was all appearances, he wanted to run his own society at first because he could brag about being his own boss, and already saw himself as a renowned photographer that everyone would tear away from each other. Matt on the other hand was a perfectionist, and wanted each and every job done the best they could. Being good at retouching pictures didn't mean he'd have to do it for Ken all the time, they'd better be good without edition.

The call had ended in his disfavour, and now he had to prove to his associate that himself could do better pictures with the same equipment. Put two machos together and see what happens? This, obviously.

Matt called the agency to settle an appointment with the long haired model. He was a bit surprised to hear the secretary tell him that she would come back to him as soon as she would have located the model so they could agree on a date for the shooting. Since when did the models decide for their appointments? It was usually the agency that had a hand on their timetable, not the opposite.
And... located? Was he some kind of wisp? Didn't he have a phone?

He informed Ken quickly by email, and since he could now benefit from the rest of his day off, which wasn't much unfortunately, he lit his computer off and settled on his couch, in front of the TV with a beer in hand.

Matt was dozing off when his phone rang.
"Mr Jeevas, hello again, this is Kim from Lowell Models, I have Mello, the model you requested, with me here. You're lucky he visited us today, now, when do you want to shoot him? We can plan..." She was cut off.
The redhead heard some shuffling and the secretary protest in the background before a male voice resounded in the phone.
"Thursday 7pm, same studio as the first time, and I hope that you're better than your damn associate because you're making me lose my fucking time."
The call came to an end abruptly before Matt could even reply.
When did he want to shoot the model? Right now. And not with a camera. The guy sure had some nerve, but the redhead was used to capricious pretty faces, and this one would walk along the right track just like the others once Matt would have showed him who was in charge. Especially when said model's name was Mellow. What is that for a name?

Thursday, 7pm? Matt almost wished he had had something else planned that day just so he could shove it down this Mellow's throat. Who said the model could decide, damnit?
But well, he didn't have anything planned, and apparently, getting a hold of Mellow seemed difficult for the agency. That was pretty strange, he would have to ask Ken so the latter could ask his brother.

It was only Sunday and the campaign was waiting for those pictures, Matt was a bit annoyed since it would only leave him one day after the shoot to retouch the pictures since they were due for the next Saturday. He had to do better than Ken, they were already losing money on this contract.

So on Thursday, Matt arrived at the studio with the cameras and accessories that Ken had used for the first shoot, but had also brought with him some more effective gear with which he would shoot after using the first equipment, just so he had something to use, should his bet with Ken produce unusable pictures once again. That wouldn't change anything for the model, but at least he could honour the contract. They had a reputation to hold after all.

He was early, so he could have time to adjust everything and start shooting as soon as the model would be here.
The more time passed, the more nervous Matt became, though. He did know why: the model was apparently full of himself, but still, he was really hot, and Matt had spent every evening since Sunday watching the untouched pictures, detailing the scar, the face, the toned abs and sexy curves, and those eyes... The lightning was such that he couldn't say which colour they were, but the look was cold, direct, making him uneasy each time he looked at it.
He had jerked off so much looking at those pictures, although he wasn't obsessed by sex in any way - even if he liked a good fuck from time to time – that he wondered if he could eventually invite said model for a drink after the shoot.

It made him nervous that it made him nervous. He wasn't nervous usually. So why was he nervous now? Oh fuck.
The model was just a pretentious brat, he'd have him eating in his hand in no time, they always did.
Then he'd bring him home, would realise the fantasy and would stop thinking about it, and that was all, nothing to get worked up about.

The door suddenly clicked open and closed and Matt turned around.