I made this gifset a while ago that to this day goes to the party places. And it got me thinking how an average, non-actor mortal would act in a given situation. Say you’re a model and you won a casting for a fragrance ad…
This is my cleanest (and shortest) work yet. Barely a mild reference to some alleged sexual things. I still wouldn’t read it in church though, just to be on the safe side.
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One more bounce of the beauty blender on your skin and your make-up is done – mask in place, you are a sparkling monster, a goddess in the rain-drenched night.
You almost don’t feel your body anymore, not even the biting pain in your soles and ankles as your feet are bent to cartilage breaking point in shoes that cost more than your first car.
Soon, the first scene is done, and now the second one is being prepared.
It’s going to be easy – you’ll have nothing on besides your co-star… and a dab of highlighter on your collarbones.
As they lead you onto the set and your silk robe is taken away, arms are encircling you, and you’re pulled close into a hard chest. A brief touch to it lets you feel his heart, beating at a heightened pace.
Your fingers explore avidly and glide over smooth skin, card through surprisingly soft chest fuzz, moving up over neck tendons and skating over the shorn hairs on his head.
How is this so heady and surreal, like you’re starring in an acid trip, even though you aven’t taken anything to alter your perception – not even your anti-anxiety pills.
Next, you become aware of his touches, fingers splaying and gently digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, skimming your hips and guiding you through the scripted motions.
His eyes meet yours briefly and he looks just as affected as you, his pupils blown, his gaze distant, but clear and with a flicker in it that only actors can summon intentionally.
What is he thinking of? Who occupies his thoughts as he pretend grinds into you? That’s not what gets to you. It’s the small things he scatters through the whole performance, the things that were never in the script – fingers lacing with yours, caressing your palm, nose tip tracing your chin and lips before… oh God, there it is, the kiss, this ad’s money shot.
Buy this fragrance. This perfume will get you laid by Chris Evans.
If only you remembered not to push your tongue to touch his, and for fuck’s sake, don’t try and nip at that lip. Vade retro, Satana.
But the devil is not behind you, he’s right there on top of you, his warm, chapstick-primed lips sucking on your lower one and pulling before they release it.
Once the director yells “cut!”, you’re ready to bounce. Except he’s not and instead pulls a sheet from nearby, wrapping it around the two of you and curling up against your side, caressing the hair away from your face. Hiding his in your shoulder and just waiting for his breath to come back to normal.
You only start to feel naked when his arms are no longer around you.
Then, one area at a time, you start to reinhabit your body. Taking in all its little reponses – shivers, tingles, deep rolling spasms, breath coming in inaudible gasps.
Your assistant hands you your robe and the make-up girlsstart taking off the layers.
Once you’re outside the building, you’re back to your usual self – the uncoordinated, struggling to be graceful girl in worn jeans and a Target shirt. Then your friend comes and picks you up in her car and you’re off to the beach for disco and cocktails.
“So how was work today boo?” She asks. “What DOES Chris Evans smell like?”
“Fire and brimstone.”
“Girl – yes.”
It’s going to be a while before you stop being the very definition of SHOOK on the inside. And people who say acting is easy can STFU.