"That's a wrap on the one-piece."
Marge's hand that had been on her side dropped. "That was it?"
"Yeah." He tipped the camera at her in a small approving gesture. "You did great. Really."
"Oh. That felt easier than the astronaut one."
"That's because you're a pro now."
"Don't say that."
She pressed her lips together to flatten the smile. She was smiling in spite of herself.
"Why not?" Leo laughed. "It's the truth."
He set the camera down on the side table, picked up the small box again, and walked it over.
"So. I think you're ready for the two-piece."
Marge took the box with both hands and ran her fingers over the lid.
"Black bikini. Behind-the-back tie, no shoulder strap." Leo paused. "There's one other thing though… the brand on this one is doing a co-promo with a drink company. They make margaritas. They want their drink in the frame for the shots. But the drink isn't actually in production yet though. They sent me the bottle prototype two weeks ago and the ingredients, and they expect me to make it and include it in the photos."
"Make?" Marge looked up at him.
"Yes. Make. Luckily it won't be hard. I have a home bar, in the other room. And honestly, I was thinking… if I'm gonna be making some for the prop anyway, I might as well make some for us. I think you've earned it."
She glanced toward the side table and then back.
"…I shouldn't."
"It's only a margarita, Marge. Besides, this'll get you in the right mindset for the shoot. Have you heard of method acting? This is basically the same thing." Leo rubbed his chin. "…method posing, maybe."
She huffed out a small laugh.
"Mmm, that's not really the same thing. But… well. Just one."
"Perfect," Leo celebrated.
She glanced down at herself. The tight one-piece swimsuit was still on. Nice and tight.
"Do I need to stay in this though?"
"In whatever you want. The bikini's right there in the box if you'd rather get into that. Your old clothes also work, but the bar is just one room over. I think it'd be a waste of time since it'll be so quick."
She looked at the box, at the navy on her body, back at the changing room, and shook her head.
"I'll stay in this. You're right. It's just us in the house anyway."
"Follow me." He led her out.
…
"Oh wow."
She paused two steps inside the new room. Her eyes went up over the back wall. She was impressed with the wide variety of liqueur behind the bar.
She sat on the middle stool. She crossed her ankles under it and held the seat with both hands the way she had held the box. Her knees pressed together over the edge of the navy.
Leo watched her thighs as they spread across the seat of the stool. They looked one size on her standing up and another entirely sitting down — the soft flesh of them flattening out under her own weight, doubling in width where they pressed against the leather, the inner halves mashed flush together from knee to hip. Her thighs were the perfect thickness.
He went behind the bar and pulled out the ingredients, the silver shaker, two salted glasses, a fresh lime, and the bag of ice. He shook two margaritas, salted the rims, dropped the lime wedges, and set hers down in front of her. He took the stool one over from hers.
She picked the glass up with both hands and took a small sip. Her eyebrows went up.
"Oh. That is good."
She turned the glass once on the coaster.
"Since when are you good at bartending?"
He shrugged the one shoulder that did not hurt to shrug. "I had some practice."
"Mm." She continued to sip. "Better than what we had at our wedding."
"What did you have?" Leo raised a curious eyebrow.
She tilted her head and thought about it for a second.
"I don't know. Probably whatever was on sale. Homer was in charge."
She took another sip, longer this time. The blush, which had been beginning to settle for the first time all afternoon, picked back up at the bottom of her throat from the alcohol now instead of from him.
Leo chose light topics. "So. How have you been liking the job?"
She set her glass down.
"…Honestly, this is the longest job I have ever had."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm. Good. But I wonder. I had a pretzel franchise for a little while a few years ago — the Pretzel Wagon. That was actually doing great until some men in suits caused some problems and I had to walk away. I sold houses for a little while at Red Blazer Realty, but my boss told me I was too honest with buyers, and that wasn't really a good thing. I worked at the nuclear plant for a couple of weeks once. I ended up quitting. I was even a cop for a few days. That didn't work out either. That's how things usually go."
Leo lifted his glass at her, slowly. "Oh yeah? Well either way… that's quite the résumé."
She gave him a flat-mouthed look that already had a smile leaking out the side of it.
"It is not."
Leo leaned into her. He put his hand gently on her thigh, the same one he had been watching earlier. His thumb traced one slow line back and forth across her kneecap.
Marge took a sip that went a little longer than she meant it to.
Leo continued. "It is. And although those ended fast. This one is going to be different. Nice and long and very fulfilling. I promise."
She took another long sip.
"I hope so. This is the longest I've had a job already. And I'm getting paid to take pictures and now I'm sitting here with a margarita in my hand. Is this even a job?"
"I'm signing the checks. It's a job, Marge."
She laughed at the ceiling.
They continued to talk and laugh. Very quickly they ended up drinking another glass each while they continued to talk in their close proximity.
When they finally decided it was time to get back to work, Leo and Marge were holding a combined count of four drinks in their hands. Two were what was needed for the shoot, while the other two they agreed to drink while continuing their work.
…
Back in the studio they set two special margarita bottles on a small prop table and lit them with a soft side fill so the salt rims caught the light. They kept the other two to themselves.
"You can change in there. And I have a surprise to tell you also." Leo grinned. "You're not going to be the only model in this shoot."
The box was halfway out of his hand into hers. Her hands stopped.
"What!" Marge's reactions were much more animated after two margaritas.
"Mm-hmm." He waited.
"Leo, you didn't say anything about — Leo, I'm not — I haven't met them — I thought I was always going to be alone?"
Her eyes had gone wide.
"Marge."
"Is it a woman? Goodness, Leo, I am —"
Leo put his hand onto her shoulder. Her bare skin was warm and soft under his palm, the smooth give of it yielding gently when his fingers settled into the curve where her shoulder met her neck. He squeezed, feeling the soft press of her flesh under his hand, then worked his thumb in a small circle into the muscle at the top of her shoulder.
"You can relax. The other one's going to be me. But seeing you get scared is cute. Sorry."
"…You?"
"Yeah. The brand offered extra if we got photos taken separately with a man too, so I'm in trunks. Lucky me. Are you going to be okay with that?"
She let out a long breath that was half relief and half something else. She covered her mouth with one hand for a second and dropped it.
"Oh. Oh, I — Leo. You can't do that to me."
"I just did."
She swatted lightly at the air.
"That was mean."
"Mm-hmm."
She pursed her mouth and looked at the ceiling for a second.
"Well. Yes. I am okay with it to answer your question."
She laughed and carried the box into the changing room. The relief mixed with all the alcohol inside of her didn't make her think much while she put on the very exposing outfit.
The door opened a few minutes later. She stepped out.
The black two-piece was exactly what he wanted. The top was two small black panels barely wide enough to do their actual job, tied behind her back with a narrow band that ran around her ribs. There was no shoulder strap of any kind. Her entire chest was held up by the thin band and absolutely nothing else, the heavy weight of her tits pressing the panels outward in a way that made the fabric strain. The cleavage pushed deep between them, the inner halves of her breasts squeezing together, the skin spilling out around the edges of the cups on every side.
Below the top, her waist did the rest of the work the suit needed her to do. Her waist pulling in tight at the middle in a sharp inward curve before flaring back out into the wideness of her hips. Her ribs tapered down into a waist so slim he could have spanned it with both hands, and the suit knew it, the bottoms sitting low and tied with small loose bows on each hip that drew the eye straight to the deep dip of her waistline.
He looked at her. He kept looking.
"…Leo? You're staring."
She had one hand half-up by her stomach, unsure where to put it.
"I am."
The margaritas did the thinking for Marge. She put one hand on her hip, deliberate this time, and shifted her weight to her back foot. She tipped her chin up. She held the pose for a full three seconds and then a small laugh broke through it.
"At least let me pose before you do."
Leo licked his lips.
"I'll make sure to do that. You look sexy, Marge."
"You can't say things like that, Leo."
"Mmm… Marge Simpson. Posing in a black bikini in my house just for me."
"Stop." The previous thoughts about this man in front of her came flooding back. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready too? Go change."
She flapped one hand toward the changing room.
Leo listened. He went into the changing room and hurriedly took off his shirt. He stepped into the navy trunks, tied the drawstring, rolled his shoulders once, and came out shirtless. He never glanced at the mirror.
Marge had been sipping on the drink she had brought with her. The glass was halfway to her mouth when she saw him, and it stopped there.
"Leo. Your side."
She set the glass down without looking at it.
He looked down. "Oops," was mumbled.
The right side of his torso, from the bottom of the ribs to just under the armpit, was a long uneven bloom of dark purple going to yellow at the edges. There was a smaller bruise low on the same side near his hip and a long pale scrape down his left thigh.
"Oh. That."
"Leo, what happened."
She took a step toward him without realizing she had taken it.
"There was a little accident. Got hit by something."
"Oh, Leo."
"It looks worse than it is. Honestly. I can't even really feel it right now."
Leo was a liar. But the pain had at least gone down since after his shower.
Marge's hand lowered an inch closer to his skin. Her hand was millimeters away from resting on it.
"Leo —"
"I promise. And the brand actually wanted a rugged look on this set for the man. So if anything, this helps."
She frowned.
"Leo, that is not — that is not what rugged means —"
"Sure it is."
"Rugged is like —" She gestured vaguely at the air with her free hand. "a — a —"
"A man with a black-and-blue bruised rib."
She looked at him for a long second. The margarita was sitting in the warmth of her cheeks now, and the worry had spread through her whole expression, leaving her face slightly slow and slightly soft and very close to his.
Leo wanted very much to kiss her. He did not. It was time to begin the next part of the shoot.
…
Two streets over, in the upstairs of the Simpson house, Bart was facedown on his bedroom carpet doing pushups.
"Fifteen — sixteen — I am extremely strong — seventeen — Leo can — eat a — eighteen —"
His arms were shaking on the way up. The Krusty poster on the wall above his desk watched him with its usual unimpressed plastic grin.
Downstairs at the kitchen table, Lisa was sorting her flashcards into the colored bands she had set up at the start of the week, when her hand stopped over the green band.
"Oh no."
The variance worksheet from Tuesday was not in the stack. She had used it to follow along with the new questions Mr. Leo had given her, checked the second-to-last problem in pencil, set it down when her mom had come in. She had zipped her bag.
She had not zipped the worksheet inside the bag.
She needed it. There were three more extra problems on the back that Mr. Leo had given her as a bonus. She didn't want to lose them.
Lisa remembered her mom had said earlier they were maybe doing paperwork first before driving out. Mr. Leo kept his car in the garage, so the driveway would tell her nothing. The only way to know was to go back.
She slid off the chair, called up the stairs that she was running over to Leo's for one minute, and went out the front door.
…
Back at Leo's, the shoot had picked up.
The current pose they were doing was of her side profile.
Leo had her standing dead center of the setup, weight even on both legs, both legs straight, her hands resting easy at her sides, her chin lifted a quarter-inch the way he'd asked. He took the angle from her right.
Marge held the pose. She held it well. The margaritas in her had really loosened her shoulders by a huge amount, and the smile that kept trying to come out at the corner of her mouth was the kind of smile a woman who was not entirely sober wore when she was being looked at and was, for once in her life, not minding being looked at.
Leo lowered the camera between frames and let himself look.
From the side, the suit did even more than it had done from the front. The triangle top barely contained her breasts. They were bowling balls that demanded every second of attention. The flat plane of her stomach ran clean down from her ribs to the low cut of the bottom piece. Her ass pushed the bottom piece from the small of her back in one heavy round arc and ran straight down into the long tan line of her standing thigh.
"Goodness," he said, lowering the camera. "Look at that line."
"…What line?"
"From your shoulder all the way down. That whole shape."
Leo decided it was fine to begin talking like this.
Marge let out a small huff of laugh through her nose and tried not to break the pose.
"That is just my body, Leo —"
"That is the body. Hold still."
"You're being silly."
"I'm being accurate."
The smile snuck out at the corner of her mouth again. She bit the inside of her lip to put it back.
He took six photos.
…
The second setup was the prop table.
He had her step over to the oak table prop. She was in a forward lean against the edge.
She bent forward at the waist with both palms flat on the surface, fingers spread, weight pushed forward through her arms, the long line of her back arched down to the rise of her hips, the bikini bottoms pulled tight across the curve because of the angle.
'What a fat juicy ass.'
He stepped behind her.
The flat of one palm went against the small of her back to fold her down deeper into the lean. His other hand came around in front of her to lift her chin back up with two fingers under her jaw, and as his arm came around the side of his bare chest pressed flat against the bare skin of her upper back. He stayed like that for longer than any of the directing required.
"Umm, Le —"
"You bend over for me so beautifully, Marge."
"Mmm"
"Mm-hmm. Just like that."
The protest was supposed to come out next and did not. The third margarita was working overtime. What came out instead was a small huff of breath against the wood, half nervous laugh, half something else, that she was not going to be able to defend in court later.
"You are doing so well for me."
"…I'm just standing, Leo —"
"You're not just standing. Look at this shape. Look at what you're doing for the lens."
"I cannot look, my face is at the table —"
"Then take my word for it."
He stepped to her side. His hand slid down off the small of her back, around the curve of her hip, and settled on the bow of the bottoms just above the bone. His thumb hooked under the bow strap and ran along the inside of it where the string sat against the bare skin once again.
"The bow's twisted. Hold still."
"Mm-hmm."
"Hold still, Marge."
"I am holding still —"
He fixed the bow. The pad of his thumb stayed against the skin under the string for the whole of it.
"There. Good."
"…Thank you."
"Push back into it for me. There."
She pushed back into it for him. Her ass pushed up a half-inch further into the frame. Leo dropped down into a lower angle and clicked off three frames before she could overthink any of it.
"That's the shot, Marge."
"Mmm."
"Look at me over your shoulder. Slow."
She did. The shoulder lift pulled the cleavage up at the top and the side knot rode up a half-inch on her hip.
"God. That's the one."
"You always say that."
"Because you keep doing it."
A small breath of laugh out her nose. She turned her face back to the table for a second to hide her face. Her cheeks were a deep pink along the line of her jaw.
"Good girl."
She made a tiny sound against the wood that was definitely not a sentence.
"Eyes back on the lens, Marge."
She turned her face back to the camera. Her eyes were bright. The wobble at the corner of her mouth had become an outright smile she was no longer trying to put away.
He took six more pictures.
…
The third setup was on the floor.
He pulled the seamless backdrop forward across the floor a few feet, knelt down himself and rolled it flat with his palm, and walked her to the spot on the smooth white. He had her lower herself down in stages. Hand under her elbow on the way to her knees. Hand on her shoulder on the way down to her hip. Hand on her ribs to ease her onto the seamless. His knuckles brushed the side of her breast on the way past on that one. He ignored any pain he felt.
He posed her sitting upright on the white, both knees pulled up in front of her with her bare feet flat on the seamless about shoulder-width apart, her hands placed behind her with the palms flat on the floor. The angle pushed her chest forward, arched her back, and lifted her behind a half-inch off the floor.
"Now look to your right. Slow. Like you've heard somebody say your name from across a room."
She looked to her right. Slow. Lips parted slightly. Eyes half-lidded. Her being drunk made it harder for her to keep her eyes wide open. But it was better this way.
He lowered the camera for one second.
"…God, Marge."
"What now?"
"You don't even know what your face is doing, do you."
"My face is just my face —"
"Hold the look. Don't move."
She held the look. She did not move.
The triangle top was barely keeping up. The press of her arched back had the heavy weight of her chest pushed forward and out, the cleavage now a deep shadowed line running from her collarbone down to where the triangles tied between, the edges of her breasts spilling visibly out around the small black panels on every side. Her stomach was flat and toned in the arch, the inward dip of her waist a sharp curve before it flared back out into the wide cradle of her hips on the floor. Her thighs were spread by the bend of her knees, the bare inner skin of them on display. Her bare feet on the floor pointed forward, toes spread soft against the white, each nail catching the camera light.
"Your toes are perfect, Marge."
"…My toes?"
"Your toes."
"That is — Leo, that is genuinely the strangest compliment I have ever —"
"It's not a compliment. It's an observation."
"It is both —"
"You have very pretty feet, Marge."
She covered the bottom half of her face with one hand for a second and dropped it. Her cheeks were a deep red. The smile had not left her face.
"I think the margaritas are working for the Method posing."
"I think they might be."
"I think they are very much working, Marge."
"Mm-hmm."
"Eyes back to the right for me. Slow. Same look."
She did it. The same slow seductive turn of her face. The same parted lips. Her eyes had gone a little glassy at the edges from the drinks and from being looked at this way for many minutes by a man who kept saying things like 'good girl' and 'you bend over so beautifully.'
"That's the shot. Hold that. Don't move."
He took six more photos.
The whole bare line of her body felt lit up where he had touched it, like he had drawn lines on her with his hands and the lines were still warm.
She held the pose and let him take the picture.
…
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to either of them, Lisa was at the front door.
...
...
...
[A/N]: I thought I would finish this story in like 60 chapters but damn it's not looking that good. So many characters still so so many. Like just even this with Marge takes so long but if I made it shorter then basically everyone just instantly would be doing things with Leo with no build up. But now these things take so much time.
[A/N]: Extra Photos in discord (check fanfic bio)