Destroyer - Chris Evans

Photoshoot, a first and a realization

Chris' POV:

Even though I have been looking forward to this day, it's impossible to ignore how nervous I am. Why? I have no idea. I shouldn't be this uneasy, it's just a photo-shoot and ad filming, and it is with Iris. After all, she's the person I am the most comfortable around. Though we have never done a shoot before. Especially not this kind of shoot.

I've already put on the boxers for the shoot, but I'm still wearing the robe they gave us. Iris is changing.

"You ready for today, Chris?" Josh, the main photographer and director of today's advertisement, asks me.

"Sure am!" I smile.

"I'm really glad Iris said yes to this." He continues. "Some of the crew thought she wouldn't, that's why we didn't think of her until you suggested it."

I furrow my brows. Sensing my confusion, Josh quickly explains, "Well, she doesn't typically do underwear shoots, you know. She usually declines them, even though they pay well, and she's had plenty of offers."

"Oh, I see," I nod, realization sinking in. I didn't know that. Iris is a highly sought-after model, yet I never realized she turned down many underwear shoot opportunities. It does dawn on me though, that she has mentioned that she feels uncomfortable doing underwear and bikini shoots. Just as I'm processing this, Iris emerges from the changing area, wearing a robe that matches mine. Our eyes meet, and I can't help but respond with a soft smile, which she reciprocates.

"Okay, whenever you two are ready." Josh smiles.

"Okay," I say, raising an eyebrow playfully in Iris' direction. "Who's first?"

She tilts her head and replies, "I can go first, if you promise not to drool."

She's starting off strong... I laugh. "I won't drool, and yes, you can go first. That way, you'll have some time to prepare, so you won't jump me as soon as my robe hits the floor."

"Chris!" She chuckles, punching my arm.

"Go ahead," I urge, nudging her.

She looks up at me again, and for a moment, her smile fades, replaced by a challenging frown. I hold her gaze, determined not to let my eyes waver as she drops her robe to the floor. But it's impossible.

My gaze involuntarily traces every contour of her body, leaving me breathless. She looks stunning, and the Calvin Klein set suits her perfectly. I'm definitely checking her out, something she doesn't let slip unnoticed.

"My eyes are up here, Evans... You lost that one," she teases me, her voice filled with amusement.

Quickly, I redirect my gaze upward, feeling a rush of blood warming my face. "I... yeah."

She chuckles before turning around to go do the solo part of the photo-shoot. I'm left standing there, simply watching her. It's impossible to look away. How does anyone look that good? How come I haven't noticed this all these years that we've been friends? I've seen her in bikinis time and time again. It amazes me that I've never once thought about how beautiful her athletic legs are. They are perfect, delicately stretching up, from her claves to her knees to her thighs. Fuck. I have to take a deep breath, hoping nobody notices how captivated I am. Those thighs... the way they gracefully curve and meld into her hips... And those hip bones, God, those hip bones. This is driving me insane; I need to pull myself together. She's my best friend. Having these thoughts... It's not appropriate, it's strange.

Now it's my turn to do the solo-shoot. I drop my robe to the floor in a quick motion, and confidently make my way towards her. I catch her eyes lingering on my bare chest and upper body, gradually trailing down, her face turning a soft pink colour. Irrationally, although I know it's foolish, I find myself enjoying it. It gives me a sense of self-satisfaction, a smugness that would be nauseating if it weren't my own. But I choose not to comment on it, acknowledging that she knows I noticed.