Behind the Lens

He checked the light, the reflection, and started shooting, fascinated by the way the cream backdrop made Mr. Narsing... Narshiper... Mr. Runner with the Longest Name on Earth's skin glow, made it rich.

"Okay, you look great. Can I get you to lean forward so that that light hits your shoulders? Yeah, there. Stop. Cool." Jordan walked around, tilted a light to mute the highlights, and started clicking again. He'd seen this one in the park -- well, okay, he hadn't seen him, but the camera had. Four days in a row, as a matter of fact.

Enough that Jordan knew to trust it.

He always trusted the lens; it had seen for him for fifteen years.

"Okay. Just tell me when you need a break, otherwise I'll just go and go."

Mr. Runner laughed. "I train for ten hours every day, I think I can handle a bit of posing."

"Ten hours? Every day? Shit, man, you're disciplined." The only time he ran that long was when the men with big guns were chasing him. "Bend a little to the left, would you?"

His model did, giving him a smile, teeth brilliant in the dark face. "Swimming, biking, running -- being on top of my game takes work." That warm, lilting accent was lovely.

He bent down, catching that smile. "Oh, yeah. Keep talking, would you? Your face lights up."

Fucking stunning.

Hot.

Gonna make a beautiful image.