Sebastian Stan Photoshoots | Behind the Scenes

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@hailprodigalson
Sebastian Stan Photoshoots | Behind the Scenes

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themousebombsā:
Her laugh is freer, nothing quite so manufactured as those of the upper crustĀ if such a thing existed within the Walls (though she knows it does, sheās on her knees before one of them), and as warm as the sun when the pen switches hands.
Now, sheās never been ambidextrous, but necessity has dictated that she be able to use both hands as well as possible.Ā The next heart, right where he dictated, is clean and clear.Ā It does require her to press her forehead to his stomach instead of her chin, needing her eyes on his skin to keep the little drawing recognizable.Ā To the wrong eyes on the right camera, the scene would look remarkably inappropriate.
āLike that?ā Cass smiles.Ā The pen taps against her bottom lip.Ā She canāt quite keep herself from nudging it against the tip of her tongue, either - Itās one of those foolishly fancy metal types, cool to the touch but starting to warm the longer she holds it.Ā Ā
Apollo doesnāt actually look very closely at the new heartālikely canāt, with his focus compromised as it isābefore he nods approvingly.Ā āYeah, thatās perfect.ā He thinks again of all the people heāll piss off if he canāt get this ink off by the time he has his next shoot, and the mental picture he conjures makes him giddy. (He leaned into his role as resident problem child years and yearsĀ ago, has since reveled in every opportunity to push the boundaries of what he was allowed to do.)
His attention shifts back to her, and he takes her in with darkening eyes, his pupils widening (though whether from interest or the drugs is anyoneās guess).Ā āYou must be a real heartbreaker out there.ā
themousebombsā:
Her chin props itself just over his waistband as she looks up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling.Ā Ā āOh, no,ā she teases, voice ever so light.
Itās the champagne, the real champagne, with alcohol that isnāt more alcoholĀ than drink, that keeps her knees on the floor and the pen in her hand.Ā More than that, itās the champagne that has her keeping the pen to his skin, slowly starting to trace a heart onto his skin.Ā Ā
āItāll come off, Iām sure.āĀ Cass fills in the heart, adding the outline of another to its company.Ā Ā āBut it would be terribleĀ if it didnāt.Ā I would feel horrible.āĀ One glass, and sheās already being a fool.Ā Ā āProbably.ā
Apollo laughs, but has the presence of mind to try to keep... relatively still. It wouldnāt do to ruin her masterpiece, after all. If it doesnāt come off, he doesnāt reallyĀ care. Heāll get a lecture from the coordinator, maybe the photographer, but theyāll find a way to work around it. Makeup, or lighting and camera angles. For all that his behaviors are often frowned upon, heās still allowed more leeway than they seem to like to admit.
āProbably,ā he echoes, his smirk widening to a grin.
āYou should do one over here,ā he decides, tapping at the skin closer to his other hip.Ā āItās so empty. I feel lopsided.ā
themousebombsā:
āMmhm.ā
She sets the flute down, then, committed to the train of thought and the fun that comes with it as she turns away from him.Ā Her back stays turned just long enough for her to pluck a pen - a marker, maybe?Ā They all look the same - from a stylishly utilitarian container.Ā Itās three-four-five steps to Apollo where he leans against the door, and a sly smile.
The way Cass sinks to her knees would be, in any other situationā¦Ā Well.
But, tugging his shirt up and baring the soft, City-smooth skin of his stomach, she can for the moment only see a perfect canvas.Ā Yeah, she thinks.Ā This will work.
Itās there that she writes the coordinates, and blows softly across the ink to dry it that much faster.Ā It wouldnāt do to stain his shirt.
āOh.ā The sound Apollo makes sits right between amused and surprised. Heās curious, and entertained, and he doesnāt make any effort to move, uncrossing his ankles or otherwise. Heās not assumingĀ anything (something something assumptions something something ass out of you and me) so he doesnāt point out that she has tits and not the equipment heās into. And, okay, even if it didĀ start to go the way of what heās... definitely tryingĀ not to assume, it wouldnāt be the first time heād done something like this with a woman.
But when she lifts his shirt and brings the pen tip to his bare skin, understanding sinks in. He smirks down at her, more impish amusement, even as the muscles in his stomach ripple in response to the rush of breath across drying ink.
āI really hope I donāt have a shoot tomorrow that I have to take my shirt off for,ā he muses airily. Teasing. Mostly.
themousebombsā:
āMmm, I might.āĀ The threat of a ticking clock has her heart beating a little faster, anticipation for a potential sprint down the stairs with stolen heels left behind - She can run, but not in those.Ā Maybe sheāll keep them, when all is said and done.Ā Certainly thereās someone out there whoād enjoy playing aroundā¦
Briefly, the flat of her tongue flicks up the fluteās side.Ā How can something taste clean, she wonders, blinking and baffled at her own surprise.
āā¦Of course I do,ā is finally said.Ā Ā āI could give you the coordinates, if youāll remember them?Ā I could write them down, tooā¦Ā Not that paper is all that safe, but I could always improviseā¦ā
If heād remember them. Apollo laughs, loud and bright. Heās farĀ too high to be expected to retain a set of numbers.Ā āI wouldnāt even trust me with a street address right now.ā Hell, he wouldnāt even trust himself to find his way home on foot, as high as he is now. Heād get distracted, forget he was going home at all. Find himself a nice piece of ass instead, maybe. Heās already getting distracted.
āImprovise, huh?ā He likes where this is going already.

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themousebombsā:
She finishes off the flute, brazen and warm from the thrill of the entire damn night.Ā Itās a moment of personal enjoyment that has her tongue held just soĀ to the rim - Smooth glass, chilled, almost tasting like ice - until the whole point of her excursion returns.
The desk she leans against (thoughĀ āsits onā would be more appropriate, one leg crossing over the other as fabric shifts, and she is enjoying every flicker of sensations) is sturdy, not tilting for a moment.Ā She takes a moment to rock against it; not so much as a wobble.Ā Oh, what she wouldnāt giveā¦Ā Ā
The point,Ā remember?
The need to get her words out drags up a sigh.Ā Ā āThereās a party coming up in three weeks.Ā Itās hush-hush, no one but the big names are supposed to know until night-of.Ā Butā¦āĀ Itās a distraction, to mouth against the side of the glass and feel the cold pressing against her cheek.Ā Ā āA few gearheads got some Rigs up and running again.Ā Thereās going to be a brawl.Ā One night only, winner take all.ā
Apolloās content to wait for her words, riding the renewed buzz of his high, now that he has the extra edge of impish enjoyment. He leans his weight back on his shoulder against the door, crosses one leg over the other, casual as can be. Heās starting to wonder if he could focus hard enough and hear Carlise and her not-a-boytoy boytoy going at it from here, confirm the rumor, when Cass finally speaks.
āA party,ā he echoes, eyebrows lifting a little. Heās always one for a good time, though it isnāt until she mentions Rigs that he really seems genuinely interested. Now thatĀ is a party. āThree weeks,ā he repeats, checking that he heard the date right. Three weeks.... yeah, he can probably swing that.Ā āI donāt suppose you know where, specifically?ā
themousebombsā:
āI thought it was,ā she muses.Ā A small sip nearly rocks her, so sharp in its sudden taste and bubblesĀ that she has to take a heartbeat to process the change.Ā Her tongue fizzes.Ā Fizzes.Ā How long has that gone unfelt?Ā Ā āOr Iād be incredibly rude.ā
She Cass, here, in an identity unused for over half a decade smiles again, sly and conspiratorial in the small space between them.Ā It takes only a slight turn, her head tilting toward his and her shoulder (bare, for once, pale in a way that speaks of purposeful cover, hiding from the sun even as it warms her face) blocking out more of the crowd.Ā Thereās limited time, she knows, but she wants to keep this one to herself for as long as she can, uninterrupted.
And how long has it been, really?Ā More than a few years, she can remember that much.Ā So much has changed since her lastĀ āvisitā to the City.Ā She saw, on her jaunt through the quarters, skyscrapers where once there had only been construction sites.
āThereās some rumors brewing outside.Ā Something I think you might like.Ā Butā¦āĀ Ā āCassā takes another sip, savoring the flavors with a hitched breath.Ā Ā āI donāt think I should say it here.ā
The promise of gossip from the other side of the City wall is tantalizing, and Apollo is all too willing to find a less public space to hear it. He boldly slides an arm around her waist, ducking in closer to murmur a mirth-filled,Ā āRight this way,ā before heās drawing her after him, through the crowd of the party to the rooms not meant for guests. Though itās hardly a secret now to the good citizens of Battery City that heās as straight as a horseshoe, he treats their slinking away more like he would a quick tryst, than a trading of secrets. Let them all wonder for a bit.
Apollo draws them into an office of some sort that looks far more decorative than functional, urging the door shut behind them.Ā āThis is about as private as it gets in a place like this,ā he offers finally, flashing her a cheeky grin.
themousebombsā:
Good~Ā Ā
~~
Nowā¦
She doesnāt quite feel right, being up this high.Ā Height is hard to come by when your world is ocean-level at best and your home is a cave.Ā And yet, there she walks, slipping through a gathered crowd of the local too-rich in a stolen dress, smelling of heavy sunshine and enjoying the feeling of soft, clean fabric against her skin.
Those slits do wonders for sands-strong muscles, all things considered.Ā Add in a little bit of makeup, also stolen, and the scars become only the faintest of suggestions.Ā She could be anyone.Ā Specifically, sheās no one.
Still wonāt be able to stay long, for as welcome a change as this dress-up will be.Ā She knows sheās on camera.Ā Ā
She has an advantage - His face was plastered to some of the papers she spotted on the way up.Ā Ā
Itās a simple matter to step to the side, letting a small group stagger past, brush up to the shoulder of Apollo St. Peters, and pluck the flute from his hand.
She offers only a sly smile over the rim in greeting.Ā Let him guess at her, first.Ā Oh, the gall.
Though he now has the expectation of meeting someone, Apollo continues to drift through the party, made more interesting than it really is by the something lavender heād taken two of just half an hour ago, and chat with the other guests. Their host is nowhere to be found, which he suspects has everything to do with the gossip regarding Carlise and the member of herĀ āsecurity detailā sheād brought along with her.
Heās not really paying attention to to his side, scanning the party for someone interesting, when the second champagne flute leaves his fingers.Ā āOh, thatāsāā His gaze slides over to the woman. Sheās not familiar in the way even the strangers here are.
Women donāt do it for him, but if they did, heād make more than an idle pass at her. Sheās pretty, and in a way different than the other woman here. He fixes one of his signature smiles to his face, offers her a,Ā āHi,ā plays the part of equally charmed and charming.Ā āI donāt think weāve...ā met.
The thought sparks another, critical thinking easing through the clouds of his high. His expression shifts, still warm, but amused, now. Knowing.Ā āI think,ā he steps closer, a little to the side, like theyāre sharing gossip,Ā āthatās for you.ā
themousebombsā:
There you are!
Youāll want to hear this.
Here I am. And I am all ears.
themousebombsā:
If Iām right, and I like to be, Iām guessing youāre about⦠Oh, thirty floors up?Ā Maybe forty?
I can hear the champagne bottles from here.
Ah. [pleased laugh] Thirty seven.

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themousebombsā:
Well.
About that.
Oh?
themousebombsā:
@hailprodigalson
Hey, you.Ā Got a minute?
Thereās some gossip you might like.Ā Word by mouth only, though.
Well well, long time no chat. For you I do.
Word by mouth, she says. Well, you might have to come to me for that.
ex-agentcherriā:
Oh, I plan to.Ā Whatever happens will be one for the history books.Ā Or the gossip columns in town, at least.
Makes you wonder whether or not itāll go nuclear, orĀ ānuclear.ā
Ha!
ThatĀ would be one for the history books.
ex-agentcherriā:
Not quite, no.
Maybe a little⦠Closer than that.Ā Iām reminded of what happens when too much bleach gets on clothes.Ā It all goes white.
What a scandal in the making.
You should keep an ear on that one. Those always get really interesting when they go nuclear.
ex-agentcherriā:
Saying that one of them should know better would be a bit.. Inaccurate.Ā Youths make lapses in judgement all the time.
The starch hasnāt quite washed out of those slacks.
Oh. Well, I canāt say that side of it is surprising. They doĀ come out aiming high and eager to please.
But itās not just lunch breaks in a tinted office, you said?

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ex-agentcherriā:
Letās seeā¦
Word has it that thereās been a bit of stirring on the innermost rings.Ā A few certain someones playing house, if you catch my drift.
Oh really? I donāt suppose you have... identifying features, for me?
ex-agentcherriā:
Thatās how it is, sometimes.Ā Some secrets might stay as just that, for now.
.
.
I wouldnāt mind too terribly if you managed it.
If I get a definitiveĀ answer, youāll be the first to know.
So. Tit for tat?