Title: Fifty Shades of Fuck Up
“I’m accustomed to toxicity and can’t control myself when I’m near it.”
— Dominic Riccitello
Warning: Mature Content/ Discretion advised
Their fingertips and the rim of their nostrils were specked with the same white powder that covered the expanse of the glass-topped coffee table like a fresh layer of snow. Shattered bits of beer bottles glinted amongst the dark coloured furs of the carpet like stars in the night sky—their twinkling constellations detorted only by the two bodies that laid limp amongst them.
Tenten’s breathing was ragged as she came down from her high. “Sasuke—”
Black eyes followed the rapid rise and fall of her bare bust almost reverently. There was no such thing as modesty between them, after all that was what relationships were about—letting down your defences, taking them off. And in some way he suppose Tenten had always worn clothes as a form of defense.
To defend her brand.
It was through her work with that particular modelling agency that Sasuke found her. His brother, Uchiha Itachi had approximately fifty-five percent shares in the company, twenty percent of which was silently owned by Sasuke. And well, let’s just say it gave him entitlement to a lot more than hefty dividends.
He didn’t mind relinquishing his rights to be associated with The Akatsuki. After all he wasn’t a very reputable man—having previously been incriminated for affiliation with Orochimaru’s drug cartel. Any association with him could possibly hurt their brand and Pein would not have that. As long as they kept him happy Sasuke saw no need to expose them for accepting his dirty money as investment.
And it wasn’t just that, The Akatsuki was also guilty of forcing its models to seduce potential clients—namely the big names—into signing big contracts with them. It was partly how they landed this supposedly big deal with Konoha.
Sasuke rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbows. His eyes were red and puffy from the joint they had taken turns smoking earlier. However, the moisture in them was owing to the cataclysmic release he just had. Tenten really was thrice as good as she was down the runway under the covers.
“You have a shoot in an hour,” he reminded her, lowering his head to flicker his tongue over the tip of her breast. It was spotted with chalky substance—as was his own chest.
He groaned when she mimicked his ministrations.
“Hard work and no play—” Tenten started to protest, raking her teeth over the flesh of his neck.
“—is what pays the bills,” Sasuke countered tightly. “We really need to be more careful with the cocaine. What do I tell the housekeeper when she sees this?”
She giggled hysterically, “You tell her to clean it. That’s what she’s paid to do right?”
He frowned at her.
She was arguably Akatsuki’s leading lady—the cash cow. And having slept with her, he now understood why.
“Forget the shoot,” she sat up suddenly. “I need a hit.”
Sasuke stared at her naked back.
She really was exquisite, in every possible way. Tall and slender, voluptuous in all the right places. There was not a single curve out of place.
“I can’t have you turning up stoned, Deidara will throw a fit,” he reasoned.
Deidara was her agent and arguably moodier than a pregnant woman on her cycle—doubly bitchy.
Her pretty shoulders stiffened with irritation, “Have you forgotten how this works Uchiha? I fuck you, you fix me.”
Something cold settled in his stomach.
Of course he knew how this worked, the problem was, he didn’t even think she was fixable—didn’t want her fixed either.
Because if that was to happen, who would fix him?
Nervous sweat trickled down the side of Naruto’s temple as he did his routine check of the set. His fingers twisted idly in the straps of the camera around his neck, neither he nor his gaze could stop fidgeting.
As grateful as he was that Jiraiya believed in him enough to give him his first solo shoot, this was a much too important gig for him to be in charge. What if he made a complete mess of things? Fucking up was something he did as easy as passing air. And he did them both quite frequently.
He couldn’t deny however that Jiraiya had chosen well. The three girls really were exquisite. He stopped his pacing for a moment, looking them over.
The blonde caught his eye first, but despite her remarkable beauty she was too thin for his taste, her pose too tense. He had very little patience with neurotic women, and figured that she would require the most frames during the photo shoot.
The redhead next to her wasn’t as thin but for all her glorious swathe of rosy tresses her expression was vacant. She looked as if she would rather be anywhere else. Those types of models grated on Naruto’s nerves. They were the kind that liked to dictate how he was suppose to do his job.
His gaze moved on again to the final girl. And stopped. His eyes widened, taking in the picture that she was. The hair was the richest shade of chestnut, the skin was tanned. And smooth. And the eyes were brown, deep chocolate.
For reasons he didn’t understand, it was suddenly hard to draw a breath. He couldn’t help but gawk. She looked familiar. Especially that hesitant smile, as if the muscles in her face and her brain had to fight with each other before her peach lips curled upwards in defeat.
She obviously had nothing to smile about. Sakura was making a fuss over her makeup, Something about wanting to use a lighter foundation. Naruto wasn’t very familiar with the things females smeared on their faces to know what she was referring to. If something looked off in any of his pictures he simply photoshopped it.
Hinata was busy matching various patterned bikinis against the girl’s skin, to decide which would suit her best he supposed. She had an incredible eye for detail, he had to give the Hyuuga that.
It would’ve made his job a lot easier if Tsunade hadn’t involved her proteges. Sakura was often very impolite to the models, criticizing one thing or the other. It was to make herself feel better and less insecure, they all figured. Hinata was much too gullible and much too polite, often ending up allowing the models to do as they like, much to their egos’ satisfaction.
And they came with really huge egos. So huge that arrogant was an understatement when describing them, especially the ones from the Akatsuki.
But this girl was different.
Her laughter brought him out of his musing. The sound like the sweet chime of bells.
“Hey Lil’ Blondie,” she called out to him.
Naruto gulped, realizing that she was finished with her touch-ups and was heading in his direction.
“I hear you’re in charge here. Listen, my boyfriend over there isn’t too fond of male photographers.”
She pointed to a male figure, his back was turned and he was on the phone. Not that Naruto cared to see his face. He was probably another model or some spoilt rich kid, he thought grudgingly. And besides, he really couldn’t take his eyes off the woman.
Her strut was terribly familiar.
“So let’s make this quick. I have other plans, you know.”
He felt his heart take a leap as it suddenly dawned on him. Colour splashed against his cheeks.
He had to have at least half a dozen posters of her on the walls of his tiny apartment.
He mentally slapped himself in the face. How could it have slipped him?
After that small villain role she played in that blockbuster film last year, she became the fantasy of every man with working hormones. He wasn’t even going to touch on her work down the runway. He might embarrass himself, in the most unprofessional and indecent way possible.
Curse these tight jeans, he internally shrieked.
“Can I help you with something?” Tenten asked sweetly.
He mentally slapped himself once more for staring at her.
She obviously hadn’t missed the way his jaws dropped when their gaze held. It was like he had seen a ghost.
“No, I was just—”
“Staring?” she asked flatly, examining the fresh red polish on her finger nails—awaiting his response.
She was cocky and tough, Naruto thought, running a million different excuses taught to him by none other than the notorious peeper, Jiraiya. “Don’t feel so special, I always examine my subjects before a shoot,” he dismissed, motioning for her to get changed.
“Yeah, yeah. I bet you say that to all the girls you perv on,” she snickered and made her way pass the makeshift beach that was set up for her to flaunt herself in a new line of bikinis for the upcoming.
Artificial sand, artificial palm trees and an artificial sunset on an artificial horizon.
Was anything real about her world? She wondered.
It didn’t have to be, a voice in her head told her. Artificial did begin with the word “art” and being fake—putting up a facade was Tenten’s art.
She excused herself to the changing room and made do with the little time she had. Sasuke promised her a fix if they finished early.
And she could use a fix right now.
That pink-headed woman had just complained about her skin being too dark and that she needed to lay off the hamburgers.
Something was always wrong with her.
Except when she was high out of her mind, buckling beneath Sasuke.
Only then was she perfect.