Beastly Beauty 3

A model. A model? Where in the bloody name of the queen was Arthur going to find a model? He wasn't the most sociable of characters and despite the fact he had been living in New York for a year he was rather friendless. The only people he really conversed with were the various people in his work place and shop employees like the cashier at the grocery shop and the boy at the art store. Arthur was a man who rather liked his privacy and alone time and valued it greatly and therefore had no friends or even connections for that matter.   
Arthur looked down into his mug of tea and at his reflection in its steaming, sepia surface. The familiar, varying voices of the mall murmured around him. It was his top place for inspiration and this drink bar happened to serve half decent tea for an American shop.
What was he to do? The Briton had never been fond of designing for the male form what with its thick limbs, straight sides, and, well, a certain part of anatomy a designer always had to be wary of. Clothes for men always had to be designed in such a specific way since you didn't want them to appear too feminine. With women it was much easier since you could put them in something feminine or masculine and they would still look fantastic. With women the possibilities were endless; with men they were limited.
"Bloody fucking… stupid boss… Francis… git face… arsehole…" He mumbled a string of curses to himself. Cursing was a horrible habit he picked up, but was never decent enough to stop. It was like smoking (Which he, admittedly, did as well).
"Jeeze, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" A voice interrupted him mid stream. Arthur's gazes flitted up to have his green eyes clash with those of a bright azure hue. Arthur recognized the face and struggled a moment to place the face with a name even though he knew no name to go with it. It was merely the boy who worked in the art shop only… well he was working here too.
Arthur sent the young boy as frown, "What does it matter to you if I curse or not?" He snapped.
"Hey, no worries, no worries," He said, dismissing Arthur with a little wave of his hand. "I curse too; I just try not to in places where small kids are." He laughed that annoying laugh of his; that kind of laugh that just scream 'Not a single care in the world'.  
Suddenly the boy gave Arthur a good long look, a serious expression washing over his bold, square cut features. Arthur nervously looked back and forth; a little perturbed as to why the stranger was staring at him with such a horrible intensity. Was there something on his face?
"W-what…? What are you gawking at?" He asked feeling his cheeks burn a light shade of red at the unwanted attention.
"You seem very familiar…" The younger blonde mused as he stroked his square chin despite the fact it was clean shaven. He gave Arthur another good long stare. Goodness, was it really this difficult to figure out? Thought Arthur supposed he had to give the boy at least a little bit of slack, a lot of people went in and out of stores and he probably saw dozens of different customers. But you think one would remember a cursing, forgetful, British man with a set of thick black brows despite the fact his hair was golden blonde.  "Oh!" He suddenly exclaimed as the memory seemed to hit him. "You're that guy with the funny accent from the art store! Hey, did you put that marker to good use?"
Arthur didn't answer the boy's question, but merely looked at him with a good bit of a ticked off expression in his eyes. Was that the younger man could do to remember him? "I do have a name, I hope you realize, and my accent is not funny." The Briton snapped.
"Well duh, I'm sure you have name, but I don't know it." The boy said in his defense. "Alfred F. Jones, hero extraordinaire." He said, offering a friendly hand to the Briton, a wide grin, and a bright shine in his eyes.
The elder man would have rolled his eyes and maybe even laughed at the younger's introductions, but he was a gentleman and gentlemen had to be courtly to all IQ levels, "Arthur Kirkland." He introduced himself as he gingerly took, the newly introduced, Alfred's hand.
"Nice to meet you, Artie!" Alfred grinned broadly, giving Arthur's hand a vigorous shake. That boy had one hell of grip. Arthur nearly had to get a crowbar in order to pry his hand away from the American's grip.
"Arthur is fine." He corrected, finding the marred version of his name distasteful. Alfred didn't seem to be concerned with Arthur's correction. He seemed like the type to have selective hearing.
"Hang tight a minute, Artie, let me go take care of these customers." Just like the ADD prone child he appeared to be, he went off to the group of giggly girls that had appeared by the cash register. Arthur sipped thoughtfully at his tea and gave the American bartender a glance over. He was of a good a build. Tall, maybe around five foot ten. Muscular yet not in an over bearing way, the result of balanced exercise and indulgence. His limbs were long, but not gangly and he seemed to have an element of unique grace as he moved. One of Arthur's thick brows rose. His face wasn't bad either. Not bad at all.
"So tell me," Arthur inquired as Alfred made his way back to him once the customers were happy and served. "How many of these… glorious jobs do you have?"
"Three," He replied cheerily. Arthur wasn't entirely sure how he could. "I work at the art store Wednesdays and Thursday. Fridays and Sundays here, and then on Monday's and Tuesdays I'm at Mc Donald's." Arthur frowned softly. Gaia, how did this kid manage to look so happy when he was working nearly every day of the week? Arthur's line of work called for extreme amounts of time and dedications, but he would probably lose it if he didn't allow himself Sunday's to relax and run errands.
"Good lord, a bit of a workaholic, aren't you?" Arthur quipped as he took a sip of his tea.
"Oh yeah, something about working just turns me on." Arthur nearly choked on his tea, looking at the younger man with a perturbed expression. "… I was being sarcastic. Jeeze, don't they have sarcasm in Ireland or where ever it is you're from?"
Arthur scowled, "I'll have you know that I'm not Irish, you twit. My accent is obviously English and, yes, we do have sarcasm. We invented the bloody language." He gave a very manly 'Hmph' as he crossed his arms over his lithe chest.
"Well excuse me, Jonny English." Alfred replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Johnny English?" Arthur replied both in question and distaste.
"Johnny English. You know that movie with Rowan Atkinson and-!" Arthur cut the lad off before he had the chance to really babble.
"Yes, yes, whatever you say, but I've gotten off topic. Now look," Arthur leaned forward a bit. "See, I am a fashion designer and I have a large project to do that's completion holds the fate of my career and even my being in this country."
Alfred gazed at Arthur with one slightly arched brow from over the rim of his Styrofoam cup, "Yeah… and your point is?" Alfred seemed a little confused as to why Arthur was telling him all of this.
"… My point is that I am in need of an employee a model to be exact, that I can use to design and make my clothes and I do believe that your tall, muscular stature would be perfect for the themes that I have been assigned."
Alfred continued to give Arthur the same look, "… Are you hitting on me…?"
A furious blush blossomed over Arthur's cheeks, "A-Absolutely not!" He squeaked as he put his cup down and nearly spilled it in the process. "Look… I am only asking for you assistance in a job I am doing, nothing more, nothing less. You will be paid and I can guarantee you it's more than what you're making at all three of your jobs combined."
A hush settled over the duo as Alfred seemed to mull the over the job offer. He stroked his square jaw and chewed his inner cheek as he thought, "So… you're saying that all I'd have to do let you dress me up for a while and you'd pay me more money then what I'm making now?"
The Briton shrugged his shoulders softly, "… More or less, yes, that sums it up."
The young American gave it a bit more thought. His bright eyes looked around at his place of work, the steaming machines that spat out nothing, but caffeine ridden beverages and produced a mild source of social interaction with people who actually weren't mall hopping snobs. His other jobs, from what Arthur could tell, were just as glorious. Those blue eyes came back to Arthur's and the Briton arched on thick brow in a silent question, "… Y'know I hate this job…. The only good thing about it is all the free coffee. I'm, like, addicted to that shit." A smirk cracked across Arthur's lips. "You've got yourself a model."
Arthur extended a hand, "Then I do believe we have reached a deal." Alfred took Arthur's hand and gave a vigorous shake making the Briton resemble a ragdoll more than a man.
"Awesome! I promise I'll be the best model I can be! You won't regret your decision!" Arthur struggled to pull his hand away from the overly excited American, but finally managed and pulled his, somewhat maimed, hand away.
"Well I certainly hope so… after all my entire career depends heavily on this boy…" He muttered the last part to himself and the other man, luckily, didn't seem to hear. The Briton proceeded to reach into his bag, fishing out a business card and a ball point pen. "Now, I'll right my address on the back of this card. You can come anytime you'd like after four o' clock." The Briton explained, letting the pen flow with the dips and curves of his elegant script.
"Okay, that'd be cool. I've got classes until three."
Arthur arched one brow, "You're a student as well? Do you even have time to breathe?"
"Sometimes it feels like I don't." He replied cheerily. "But thank God for coffee! I don't know where I'd be without caffeine."
The Briton merely rolled his eyes, "… Well fantastic," He said, handing over the card to Alfred and rising from his seat now that his cup had been emptied. "Then I shall see you tomorrow. And please…" He trailed off looking Alfred up and down one last time. "Don't wear purple and brown together ever again. It does not go well with your skin tone."