haikyuu snippets

model ;; haiba l.

inspiration - okay lev as a model in the time-skip is so fucking powerful.

warning: mentions of public sex (modeling agency/workplace), ripping open clothes.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Dating a model is one thing. Being said model's photographer is another thing.

"Please, tiger? Just one more photo, and then we can wrap it up!" You didn't bother looking up from the screen of your camera, knowing that Lev's face held the cheeky grin that may as well have belonged to a child, an immature expression that, when exposed to the right person, revealed either innocence or mischief.

"That's what you said about the last one." You said quietly, half to yourself; a part of you knew how he would respond to this comment.

"I mean it this time!" His tone feigned offense, though he wasn't really affected by your words.

He was sitting backwards in a chair with his arms crossed over the backboard with his chin resting on his wrist, facing you and the camera. With his hair slicked back and an enamel-shade backdrop to contrast the black-on-black suit of your model, this was a photoshoot that was born to be wild. Of course, Lev had no problem with a little bit of seduction-- so long as you allowed it.

Lev made it well known that he was taken and insisted that any suggestive shoots required your permission, announcing his love-life throughout the establishment as if it were a genuine emergency. The agency, not only relatively laid-back but also unwilling to lose their greatest star over such a demand, reluctantly agreed. They even let you continue your work as the main photographer, so long as the two of you kept your interactions civil in the workplace.

Though not completely common, Lev would break the one rule placed upon your relationship at work. About once every full- and half-moon, he would drag you into the dressing room or the closest empty room after getting frisky from letting his mind wander on the set. How the two of you always managed to get away with this (though sometimes, by just barely), neither of you had a clue. All your co-workers saw was a compliant model and his photographer with the occasional limp.

After adjusting your watch-- cell phones weren't allowed during photoshoots, deemed distractions to the set --you only took a simple glance down to remind yourself that it was somewhere past midnight, well beyond the hours of any staff at the agency. By now, the only two that remained were you and your canvas.

As time went on, photo after photo, the scene started getting more and more intense, the growing sexual tension adding figurative shades of deep red to the monochromatic shoot. Like a horror game where each image grew to be more horrifying than the last, a minimal change that would easily be overlooked by anyone who didn't offer a second glance, only that fear was replaced with something else, something that you both were aware of but didn't bother to address. Something that would probably be mistaken for a natural element in this photoshoot.

Click. Another photo taken. This shot still kept your massive model straddling the chair. One hand was draped over the back, the other buried in his silver locks, messing up its tamed style in just the right way, his work thankfully not enough to ruin it (the hair stylist already clocked out, damn it). The very tip of his tongue was stuck out to seem like he were licking his lips as he had his picture taken, but you hadn't noticed that little detail until after you pressed the button to capture the moment forever. Almost as if he did that just for you, an inside joke between the two of you that was meant to be suggestive rather than comedic.

Your left hand dropped from the camera to give him a thumbs-up, letting him know that he was okay to shift to a different pose. He stood up, for once not magically tripping over the chair, and he lifted the seat up with a single hand. Effortless, like a feather in his grasp, not an ounce of struggle. Being a former high school athlete did him justice, or maybe it was just the natural, untrained muscle of a titan. It felt like an eternity in the mere seconds that it took for Lev to turn the chair around to face you as it normally would.

As he sat down in the chair once more, you watched, waiting for him to become one with his inner statue so you could actually take a decent picture.

"What now?" You asked. You wondered if he would take this pose seriously or not. He had a reputation of immaturity on the set. Between shoots, he would often make weird faces or stupid jokes, so every moment after a photo was a harmless game of Russian roulette.

Just like how he raised the chair, it took little to nothing for him to use both hands and rip his ebony button-up wide open. The fabric didn't tear, thank god, but buttons flew in every direction as tiny projectiles. Recovering from a flinch when a stray button was launched your way, your eyes returned to your model. Leaning back in his seat, arms now resting on the back of the chair. His long legs were spread just enough to emphasize the natural bulge in his dress pants. Now with his entire torso on full display, this model may as well have been the inspiration towards the creation of a Greek god. A hungry lion was poised before you, with an even hungrier look in his eye.

"How about I give you a few exclusive photos for yourself, tiger?" As immature as he may sometimes be on the set, this question was no jest.