One Direction Preferences

~ You Dont React The Way You Think You Should ~

~ Tumblr ~

Harry: You could feel their stares on you, all of them. Every person apart from the photographer and model had their eyes glued on you. You remain in your chair behind the scenes as the model hands over her robe, revealing absolutely nothing underneath. The key to a Saint Laurent shoot: naked models. She had an amazing body, better than yours; and you credited her that. As she is instructed to drape herself across the velvet couch, Harry is called to set. He emerges from wardrobe, and you can’t help but allow your eyes to travel down his body. He looked incredible. He was in his tightest black jeans yet, a sheer button down (no need for the buttons really; it was wide open), skull printed scarf draping down either side of his neck to his toned stomach, and signature boots. And his long hair was down, resting on his shoulders. God, he looked good. He stops immediately once his eyes fall on the model in front of the camera. He turns to you, concern in his eyes. You nod towards set, assuring him you weren’t going to be upset. Again, you could feel stares on you. You looked around slowly meeting the gaze of each of them, confusion in their eyes. This was her job, so how else were you supposed to react? There wasn’t much else you could do. If you didn’t want to see her climbing him like a tree (which she was bound to do) you could leave, but that would mean missing your boyfriend looking this incredible. And that wasn’t going to happen. “I’m impressed,” you hear from behind you. You turn to see his assistant coming up, taking the seat beside you. “What?” You question, trying to hide your smirk. “You haven’t launched across the room yet,” she answers. “I’ve decided to give this one a chance,” you add, thinking back to previous shoots where the models hadn’t been as lucky as this one. “Yeah,” she chuckles, “we’ll see about that.” You turn from her with a smile to see Harry sitting on the ground, one knee up, his arm resting on top. You couldn’t take your eyes from him, even when the model draped her arms down his chest, her hands resting on the inside of his unbuttoned shirt. Again, she was only doing her job. The lights flash a few times as Harry stares into the lens, the smolder wasn’t really his look. The deer in the headlights look worked for him though, after all; he could pull off most anything. “Right, now,” the photographer begins as Harry is free of the model’s arms. “I want you up on the couch, legs open.” Harry gets up from his spot on the floor and moves to the lush couch. You tilt your head, eager to see what else the photographer was going to come up with. “Okay, babe, if you could get down where he was and rest your head on his leg there.” Interesting. “Harry make sure your feet are pointed in so we can see the shoes for these shots.” The pictures were classy so far, the raunch level a bare minimum. Not a lot of brands could say that, especially when using someone like Harry in their campaign. They would do whatever it took to get their clothing sold. Saint Laurent didn’t have to do that. They had one of their prime customers sitting across from the camera while a naked woman sat in between his legs. Artistic and classy. You kept telling yourself this as the shoot proceeded. Reminding yourself of how great these shots were, trying to forget that the male on set just wasn’t any other male model. You look on, along with everyone else behind the scenes as Harry now stands face to face with the model, their mouths centimeters apart. “Still sitting?” His assistant whispers. “It’s fine,” you assure her, still concentrating on what was happening in front of the camera. For the last shots they had been told to work off one another and this is where it led. Harry’s arms were loosely resting on her shoulders as her hands were dug deep into the waist of his jeans, her thumbs barely in sight. It was a great way to show off the shirt you had to admit. The lights begin to flash as they continue to move in the moment. Her hands traveling all across his body, the shirt he was wearing now barely hanging on his arms as they rest by his side while she grazes her lips across his neck. “Perfect,” the photographer praises, the lights continuing to flash. His shirt soon ends up on the floor by his boots (the set designer couldn’t have set it up more perfectly if he tried), as she begins to bite at his neck, her white teeth shining even from where you were seated. “Okay,” the photographer calls out, “that’s a wrap.” The model takes a step back from Harry as someone hands her the robe she had taken off a little over an hour ago. Harry immediately grabs his shirt from the floor, slipping it back on before shaking the photographer’s hand and walking behind the lights to greet you. You slide down from your chair, a smirk on your face as you lean up to his ear. “Keep these on and I promise I can give you a better show than that.” He pulls back to look at you, and you wink at him. You had stayed quiet for the last hour while you watched another woman put her nakedness all over his Saint Laurent clad body. It was your turn now.