#so i kept pronouncing it. as leesh.

[autistic-beshelar]

Curious how you are liking dungeon meshi so far, or wondering if you’ve continued reading it, as per your post about it! I actually noticed how it can be very mean how people have treated laios even his own team mates. If you’re interested in sharing your thoughts on the themes surrounding Laios getting bullied and misunderstood I want to hear them!! Well, except by his sister who he will kill and slay a dragon and more to get her back… anyways, i was happy to see your post since that same thing stood out to me when I read it. I ended up deeply loving the story /laios / his struggles with socialization. but of course mileage may vary! Very interested in this line of criticism especially if you continued to read/finished the manga. Sorry for the long windy blarble, and thanks for your time!

hey! don't apologise for the blarble, this is a great message to wake up to!

i will be continuing to read the manga yeah, i really love laios, and i'm enjoying the story so far. the thought put into the ecosystem in the dungeon is something that's quite refreshing, i don't see it a lot in fantasy!

laios... he reminds me of a younger me. convinced that people are friendly and like him (even if subconsciously he knows they don't), unaware of how awkward he is (even if he knows he is awkward, just can't pinpoint why), immersed in a fantasy world and a little bit too obsessed with the 'other' because you can't relate to normal people...

what i find refreshing is that he is frustrated not at himself but with other people. and he's right! it's the other people who are being judgemental, and rude, and atrocious at communicating.

i'm still early in the manga, i only just got to the cat girl, and i'm not sure how long it is, but i'm sure i'll have more thoughts on laios! feel free to pop into my askbox again :)

[xxxthe-grammar-nazixxx]

Shoot

This is a Robert Sheehan fanfic.  All liberties taken are mine alone. Medium level sex scene.  Based on a photo shoot that was very inspiring!  

‘OMG it’s him!’

‘Who him?’ I was too busy going through the last batch of prints at my desk to pay much attention to what my two off-siders were whispering about. They’d been giggling by the water cooler like Beavis and Butthead for the last five minutes, staring at someone in the foyer, no doubt. It never failed to amuse me how, no matter how many celebrities we met and photographed for our online entertainment magazine, my makeup artist and hairstylist could still turn into a couple of total fangirls at the sight of a pretty, famous man.

They either didn’t hear me or weren’t brave enough to say the name out loud for fear of him – whoever he was – overhearing, so I let it go and walked the prints over to reception. ‘Stella these have the name and contact details on them, can you mail them off for me?’

Stella nodded. ‘Of course. Standard post or express?’

‘It’s pretty urgent.’

‘Express post then.’

‘So, who’s my next lamb to the slaughter?’ I asked her.

‘Robert Sheehan.’

‘Who?’

Stella’s brown, perfectly made-up eyes widened. ‘Are you actually kidding me? The guy’s show is one of the biggest things on Netflix at the moment! The Umbrella Academy?’

‘Haven’t had time. Seriously, how do you people manage to binge-watch TV all day with full-time jobs?’

‘Because we’re not workaholics like you.’ Stella replied, with a laugh. ‘Seriously, you should watch it.’

I screwed up my nose. ‘Superheroes, right? Doesn’t really sound like my kind of thing.’

‘How do you know it’s not your kind of thing unless you watch it?’ Stella said, reproachfully.

‘She’s got a point, you know.’

I sighed. ‘He’s right behind me, isn’t he?’

Stella exploded into giggles. I shook my head at her and turned to find my next subject indeed right behind me.  

He smiled. ‘Not a fan, I take it?’

Hm. Roughly six foot or over, lean but not too skinny, nice green eyes, dimple – okay, I had to admit, I could sort of see what all the fuss was about. His curly dark hair could do with a comb and some product though. I knew I was thinking like a photographer but that was my default setting.

‘It’s not that,’ I told him. ‘I just … haven’t seen your show. I could be a fan.’ I winced. ‘Don’t go over to the competition, please. My boss will kill me.’

He laughed. ‘I don’t even know who the competition is, so I think you’re safe there.’

 I liked his accent too. ‘What part of Ireland are you from?’

‘Port-Laoise,’ (He pronounced it Port Leesh).  ‘I know… practically nobody’s heard of it. It’s not well-known like County Cork or Dublin. It’s a little country town.’

‘Nice. Well, Stu gave me a bit of a heads-up on where to go with this, so are you ready?’

‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘Great.’ I turned to Britt and Ella. ‘You two want to stop standing over there like props and get organized?’

Britt’s jaw dropped. ‘Can we watch?’

‘That would be up to Mr. Sheehan.’

‘Just Robert’s fine. I’m no Mister,’ he joked. ‘I … okay … sure, I guess.’

‘Girls, he’s probably sick to death of being ogled at from all angles,’ I told them. ‘Ten minutes, and then you’re out.’

                                                          ****

 To their credit, Britt and Ella did an amazing job. Not that this guy needed much of anything in the way of makeup or what Britt liked to call “floofing”.  But they’d taken one look and decided on the theme. His hair had been straightened and worked into a kind of punk rock bouffant. Like Elvis, but more extreme. Black kohl liner exaggerated the olive green of his eyes. Ella had decided on a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons unfastened to mid-torso. The black and white striped stretch pants looked like something Freddie Mercury would wear in the 70’s – or Michael Hutchence might have worn now, if he’d been alive. Had to admit, for all their fangirling, my employees knew how to dress a man so that you’d want to undress him!

‘Is this okay?’ He walked out of the dressing room patting down the back of his hair, self-consciously. ‘Leave it alone,’ Britt laughed, ‘You’ll wreck all my good work.’

‘It looks great. Suits you.’

‘Thanks. So um … what’s the plan?’

We worked steadily for the next ten minutes while Britt and Ella stood watching from the doorway of the dressing room. After that I gave them permission to buzz off for the day, but I hardly believed they’d take me at my word. Either way it didn’t matter – the door stayed closed. Even Stella left as she had to catch an early train.  I was on my own with a client – not something I regularly planned for as it bent the rules a little bit – but you had to see this guy to understand. I’d photographed male models before, guys whose natural beauty gave me goosebumps in all the right places. But the trouble with them was they knew it and played on it.  I’m not saying Robert didn’t fully realize the effect he had on women.  He knew. He just wasn’t arrogant about it.  In fact, if anything it was the opposite. He was hilarious. He had me in stitches in minutes. It was a good thing the camera was on a tripod because I would have dropped it for sure!

It was when I asked him to improvise a bit that things took a turn for the … well, strange. No, that’s not the word. Let’s just say that I wouldn’t have been surprised if the narrow, horizontal windows near the ceiling of my basement studio were a little bit steamed up …

 He walked toward the camera, slowly, like a tiger biding his time, waiting to pounce. I zoomed in on that face and was glad I did. His grin was like a slow burn, working its way from the pit of your stomach to your thighs. That was when I realized I was holding my breath.  He narrowed those hypnotic green eyes slightly and lifted a finger to his mouth, biting down on it seductively.  My camera kept taking pictures, but I barely noticed my role in their creation. Later I’d go back over the shots and struggle to remember taking some of them. But I never forget the video. I always film a photo shoot, especially if it’s just me in the room with a male client, which doesn’t happen all that often. I always ask permission but it’s more for my protection than theirs. Anyhow, when I returned to the video to make sure I wasn’t running out of battery or flash drive space, I watched Robert in the monitor. He was staring down at his feet, and I wondered what he was thinking about. He lifted his head slowly and glanced at something slightly to the right of the camera, letting out a shaky breath. There was a vulnerability in that one little movement where I kind of felt sorry for the guy, even though there was nothing to pity him for. He was rich, he was incredibly talented, and drop-dead gorgeous. What’s to feel bad about?

‘Are you okay?’ I asked him. ‘Do you need a break?’

He smiled as if the previous moment hadn’t even occurred. ‘No, I’m fine! Honestly, let’s keep going, I’ve got my second wind.’

‘Robert … you would tell me if you felt … objectified, right?’  

He blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I’m just saying … you must have people taking your picture all the damn time. Does it ever get old?’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But that’s the job, you know. Why?’

‘I just … how can I explain this. so it makes sense …’ I bit my lip. ‘You’re a good-looking guy.’

He grinned. ‘Thank you.’

‘And you don’t even fish for compliments. That’s rare. Even when you’re telling some celebrities how great they are, they want to hear more.’

‘Yeah, I’ve met some like that. Quite a few actually.’ He motioned to the sofa under the window. ‘Come to think of it, I might take you up on that quick break, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not.’

I went back to reviewing some of the photos until he cleared his throat. I glanced up.

‘You’re not taking a break?’

‘Um … I wasn’t going to …’

‘Come on. Sit down for a bit. Put your feet up. I heard your receptionist say you’re a workaholic. You can relax for five minutes, you know.’

I laughed. ‘I know … All right.’ It wasn’t taking a break, in itself, that made me nervous.  I might have been driven but as far as I knew, I didn’t suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It was having to sit so close to one of the most attractive men I’d ever met, and not allowing myself to get flustered or unprofessional.  All I could think about was whether I had lipstick on my teeth or bad breath.  I ran a hand through my short blonde hair, which had recently been chopped to resemble Gwyneth Paltrow’s ‘do in Sliding Doors (thank you, Britt, you’re a doll) and wondered if he thought I looked too butch.

‘I like your hair,’ he said. ‘Is that a new cut?’

‘Yeah … I mean, thanks. How did you know?’

‘I didn’t. You just have that look of someone who had their hair cut recently but isn’t sure of it yet.’

I chuckled. ‘That’s awfully specific.’

He shrugged. ‘I like to read people. I think I’m pretty good at it.’

‘Really? What am I thinking now?’

Robert settled into the vintage chesterfield sofa and crossed one long, lean leg over the other, in my direction. He tilted his head, speculatively. ‘You’re on edge. Nervous. I have no idea why. I’m a fun guy. Not intimidating at all.’

You’re half right, I wanted to say, but that would beg the question – what was he wrong about?

‘Okay, I’ll try to remember that,’ I told him. Relaxing back against the sofa I added, ‘Better?’

‘Marginally, but you still have that tense little line between your eyes.’  He reached over and before I knew what was happening, stroked the skin between my eyebrows with his thumb. It had the odd effect of making me feel sleepy.  ‘There, that’s better.’

I managed a smile despite the tension that still sat in my neck and shoulders. ‘Is that Reiki or something?’

‘No. Just something I picked up somewhere. I forget where. I think they do it to newborn babies who are stressed. It puts them to sleep.’

‘Nearly put me to sleep,’ I admitted, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks.

‘Ah well, then, it worked.’  God, that smirk. That dimple. The confidence, along with the complete lack of arrogance, was undeniably hot. I suddenly wanted to remove my blazer, even though it was roughly 10 degrees outside and not much warmer in my studio.

‘Okay well, we’ve … we’ve had a long enough break. Let’s get back to it …’

Robert laughed. ‘It’s your shoot. What do you want me to do now?’

My face grew warmer. I could think of a few things, but they weren’t appropriate at the time and certainly aren’t printable!  ‘Well first off, a wardrobe change. Why don’t you go and have a look at what’s there?’  While he did that, I took off to the bathroom in the hallway, just outside the studio.  Splashing some water on my face, I managed to dial down the red.  Breath, check, I thought, going through the drill. Pits, check. Heart rate … going a mile a minute. Need to get that down!  Think of something totally not hot. Rupert Murdoch. Dead … anything. Warts. Yeah, that’ll do it. Rotten big carbunkles!

No matter what I did, though, when I walked back into the studio and saw him in a pair of black leather pants and a patterned black and silver shirt open all the way down, with nothing underneath but bare skin, my heart-rate spiked!  I’m going to have a bloody stroke, I realized. He’s gonna make me stroke out, the gorgeous bastard!  

Shucking off my blazer because it was now far too hot in that claustrophobic little studio, I complimented him on his choice. ‘You look like Michael Hutchence,’ I admitted. ‘If he was into wearing guyliner.’

Robert laughed. ‘Well, I’m flattered cos he was one hot piece … am I allowed to say that?’

‘Of course! I’m not about to stop you.’ Damn, I thought. He’s gay. Just my luck!

‘I’m not gay, though, not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ he added, quickly. ‘Not that you care, either, I just …’ he shot me a sideways glance. ‘I just wanted you to know.’

‘Okay.’ I think my heart stopped beating altogether somewhere amongst his garbled confession. If in fact it was a confession. I felt a bit like Forrest Gump – too slow to figure out something that should have been obvious.  Wait, I thought. Does he want me to know he’s straight because he’s into me? Or because he’s worried I’ll go to the ‘zine and spill my guts?  Inside I knew the answer to that but my self-esteem, little destroyer that it was, wouldn’t allow me to gloat.

I’m not sure how it happened. I don’t remember how I got from A to B; I just knew that I had to be kissing him right now, before I lost my nerve. He tasted like coffee and pistachios.  His cologne was something altogether fantastic: citrusy and woody and musky all at the same time. Or maybe the musk part was all him, I don’t know.  

He was a freakishly good kisser. Once the shock of my making the first move wore off, he took charge without overstating it. Which was easy for him because I’m less than five feet two in heels and he towered over me. In less than a minute he had managed to trigger every cliché in the romance writer’s arsenal: my knees were weak, my skin was covered in goosebumps and my heart was pounding like a jackhammer. I had to wind my arms around his neck to keep from dissolving into a puddle of lust on the floor, because his lips and hands were doing things to me that are illegal in some countries!  We kind of shuffle-walked back over to the sofa without breaking contact, and suddenly I was lying beside him, reaching into his shirt to hold my hand over his heart, to see if it was racing as fast as mine.  Not quite but close enough. He responded by slipping his hand beneath the hem of my shirt and running it up along my flank until it reached my bra. His lips left mine and started kissing their way down my throat.  My breath caught as his cool fingers grazed my nipple through the silk. He reached around and unfastened my bra with one hand. Hm, clever, I thought. Dexterous at the very least. How many times have you done that, I wonder? It should have been enough to put me off; to change my mind about this. But he started kissing me again and I lost all notion of caring how many women he’d been with or even what day it was.  His hand cupped my breast, this time free of the bra. He moved from my mouth to my collarbone, and pushing up my top, kissed the skin over my heart. I removed the shirt and bra in one, anxious to get as close to him as possible.  I wanted his shirt off as well. As good as it looked on him, this guy was born to not wear clothes!

He let me push it off his shoulders as his mouth made my nipples so hard they ached. My fingers delved into his thick dark hair, messing up the ‘do Britt had so carefully made look careless. His lips traced a path down the center of my torso, the short whiskers on his chin and upper lip alternating between scratching and tickling my skin. When he reached the waistband of my jeans, I had to stop him. ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Not that. I’m not … I’m not comfortable with it.’

He glanced up at me. ‘You mean, you don’t want me to go down on you?’

I nodded. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ He shuffled back up beside me. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘I don’t know … just … not today. Okay?’

‘Okay. That’s cool.’  He leaned in and kissed me. ‘I have other ways of making you squirm.’

I quivered at the thought. He unzipped my jeans and tugged them down a little, his hand disappeared between my thighs, cupping me and making its way beneath my underwear. ‘Actually,’ he said, in a husky voice, ‘this is almost better.’  I gasped as he started to stroke, and he grinned, and winked at me. ‘Better vantage point.’

When he had me as wet as I could possibly be, he finally let me move enough to unfasten his leather pants. Before that he’d been determined to make me ‘squirm’, as he put it, and squirm I most certainly did. I was still catching my breath when he produced a condom from a pocket I didn’t even know those pants had. ‘Should never leave me alone in the wardrobe room,’ he joked. ‘I get up to all kinds of hijinks.’

‘You brought that with you?’

‘I always have at least one with me,’ he explained. ‘In my position, I sort of have to. You have no idea how many girls throw themselves at me just because I’m famous. I do have a policy where I don’t shag my fans but … when it comes to women in general, sometimes I’m not as disciplined as I’d like to be. Like now, for instance.’

‘Oh good,’ I murmured, ‘Because I don’t have any.’  I looked up at him. He looked so beautiful lying there on his side, practically naked except for a pair of black jockey shorts and the leather pants around those knees. He kicked both off and hurriedly rolled on the rubber.

‘No rush,’ I said, with a giggle. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ I reached up and stroked his cheek. I could feel the bristle of new stubble growing through, even as Britt or Ella must have given him a shave in order to apply the makeup for the photo shoot. Those beautiful big green eyes were luminous even in the shadow from the photo-lighting. His skin was golden and his lips … suddenly I regretted my earlier reticence about oral sex. I’d experienced it before of course but it was always awkward, messy and felt almost like an obligation, on both sides. And it almost never, ever made me feel like he’d made me feel a moment ago, with his hand. I wanted to be able to explain that to him but felt stupid and almost prudish. Instead I took him in hand and fondled him until he closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lower lip. Taking that as a signal he was ready to go, I shucked my own pants off and pulled him close, sliding my leg over his hip. He was cautious at first, probably worried about blowing his load too early, but the feel of him inside me was almost too much, anyway. It reignited what had been simmering away for the last few minutes, with a pleasure so sharp it was almost pain.

‘Are you okay?’

I nodded. ‘Keep going.’

He did, but slowly, and we kissed as if we had all the time in the world. He raised himself up on his elbows over me, and I responded by wrapping my legs around his slim hips, holding him inside. His new position gave him leverage, and strength to go harder and faster. Pretty soon it was only a kiss every other thrust, and I don’t know about him, but I felt like I was about to burst out of my skin.

Suddenly, just as I arched my back with release, and he did the same seconds later, I heard a shrill beep, and remembered.

I hadn’t turned the camcorder off.

 THE END.