Jan 5, 2022
“Look at life with the eyes of a child.”
Henri Matisse
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“Look at life with the eyes of a child.”
Henri Matisse
A new view via /r/spaceporn https://ift.tt/30tDkxi
A New View, chapter 2
“Hi, excuse me. Are you … Miss Owen?”
The small receptionist from the hotel greeted me hesitantly, not knowing if she was addressing the right person. I nodded, thinking that I was probably easy to find. I kind of stood out at this place with its paintings, marble pillars and fancy decorations.
“Yes. That’s me. I’m supposed to meet … uh, a photographer here?”
“Yes, I’m aware, Miss Owen. Mr. Fassbender, yes?”
“Yes. Him.” I was stressing a bit at my unknown surroundings, making my voice come out a little bit too harsh. Thankfully, the receptionist’s calm demeanor helped a bit.
“He wanted me to tell you that he’s running a bit late. He says you can go to the room and get yourself readied, and he’ll be here as soon as possible. I have a key right over here, Miss Owen.”
“Please call me Lucy.”
She simply nodded and smiled in return before leading me to the large mahogany desk and almost disappearing behind it to retrieve my key. A moment later, I was on my way.
Ninety-five. Ninety-five storeys. That’s how many floors there are on the Shard of Glass. I was only on the 73rd floor, and the view was making my head spin. I almost didn’t dare to go near the windows or do anything but stand still and try to make the queasiness disappear. The receptionist had made sure I had gotten a drink, and I was downing it way too fast. Once again, I was asking myself why the hell I’d put myself in a situation like this.
“Breathtaking. Isn’t it?” I spun around at the sound of his voice. I hadn’t heard him come in, it was yet another detail to this extravagantly luxurious place. Everything opened and closed with a soft, almost inaudible click.
“It’s … really something.” I smiled nervously back at him and pretended to be awestruck. In fact, I was more terrified than anything.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I had a shoot that took a bit longer than expected.” He said and put down his equipment. He looked well, casually clad in a black jumper and light slacks, hair slicked back and that look of focus present on his face. Had it not been for his large bag of equipment, he would have looked like a businessman’s version of casual Friday.
“It’s alright. Gave me time to … uh … enjoy the view.” I turned my back to him and tried to will myself to look out the window again. Oh. Look. The Tower of London. It’s not THAT scary. It’s not -
He chuckled lightly from behind me while rustling with his photography equipment.
“You know, miss Owen - I had an idea for the motive but I think we’ll go with something else.”
“What do you mean?” I kept looking out the window and tried to stop the shaking I’d unwillingly begun. I heard him getting closer until he stood next to me. My eyes were fixed on the Tower of London.
“I had an idea to have you lean against the glass.” He said lowly from his place beside me, and immediately I looked at him, horrified. I didn’t care about the facade anymore. Hell no, I’m not doing THAT … “But I’d rather not have you look just as terrified as the first time we did it.” He chuckled again and sent me a smirk. His eyes looked so playfully happy that I almost … almost … managed to forget the fear I felt. He went back to the equipment and picked his camera from his bag.
“I’d … appreciate another motive very, very much. Thank you.” I replied and downed the last bit of my drink. Thankfully I had had a good meal and didn’t feel tipsy at all. Just slightly more courageous than usually.
“You’ve always been scared of heights?” He asked casually and set up a tripod in front of the large four-poster bed that stood in the middle of the room. I began to get nervous again, but it wasn’t as bad as the fear of the height we were in.
“Mm-hmm. Ever since I was a kid.” “I should have picked another venue, then.” He smiled apologetically at me and I shook my head.
“There’s no way you could know. And this place is beautiful, it’s just … really … high up. Like we’re at a hotel in the sky. How did you get it? It must be crazy expensive. Does my fee cover it?” I was suddenly a bit worried about the cost of it all. This was a decadently luxurious place, and I had already given Michael all the money I could spare. Jonathan was providing for me back home, like he’d always done, but I’d rather not ask him to pay for this … surprise? Gift? Way to salvage our crumbling relationship? I’d really rather not.
“I can borrow this room for free, whenever it’s available. No worries, miss Owen. Now, should we get started?”
“Um …?” I’d suddenly forgotten why we were here. We were not just two strangers chatting, there was actually a point to all of this.
“Get into the clothes we agreed for you to wear?”
“Oh. Sure. I’ll just be two seconds. I’ll be back.”
“I hope so. It’s a terribly long way down in the elevator if you’re planning to run away from me.” He shot me a wink and I felt my nervousness disappear.
“Not today I’m not.” I said and closed the bathroom door behind me.
( ... )
“Um … where is … where should I be?” I had changed into the clothes and was shuffling nervously while Michael had his back turned towards me.
“Just over by the … well, okay, holy ... wow.” He exclaimed as he turned around to see me. I had anticipated some kind of reaction, but not to see his jaw figuratively fall to the floor like that. The black lingerie and stockings were way out of my comfort zone, same as the deep red lipstick I had also applied. I looked great, even I could see that. But I just didn’t look a lot like … me. That was okay, though. To have a guy like Michael almost forgetting his cool professionalism was a feat in itself.
“You look … you look perfect for the shoot.” He managed to collect himself and his face turned back to the focused one I’d learned he had whenever he worked. “Over by the bed’s right poster will be great.”
Beaming with confidence, I went and stood where he’d told me to. I accidentally looked out the window and the height made me cross my arms in front of my chest, as if to protect me from the sight of it.
“You look like you’re on the other side of things from where we want you to be.” He said and smiled as he worked on some settings on the camera.
“Meaning?”
“You look like you’re the one who’s dominating someone else. Not that it doesn’t suit you.” He looked over my body in a not too subtle way, but I figured it had something to do with the artwork he was about to do.
“Oh. Uh … how should I stand? Or sit?”
“Sit. Definitely. In front of the right poster would be great.”
I did as he said but didn’t know how to arrange the legs. This is all so strange to me …
He had finished setting up the camera and went to crouch down in front of me.
“Now. You look perfect, miss Owen, but I’m thinking there’ll have to be a bit of … well, something that relates to the theme we have. Would you be opposed to having your hands tied above you?”
He searched my face for clues and I blushed at the subject we were talking about. Not to mention the close proximity he was sitting in.
“Um … I think I can do it.”
“Very well. I have a prop box with me, let me just find something.”
He stood up again and went back to his stuff before fishing something out of his bags. It was a long piece of black fabric, with small tassels dangling from either side of the end.
He returned to me with the fabric in his hands, and without even thinking I crossed my wrists and lifted my arms as high as I could, bending them backwards until I felt the poster behind me. He shot up an eyebrow with the surprise, but didn’t hesitate in tying my hands to it.
“Too tight? Or?” He asked me, and I shook my head in return. He’d bound it firmly but not too tightly, and my hands were effectively secured to the poster.
“If the building catches fire, you’ll get me out quick, right?” I asked, a sudden nervousness present in my voice. He smirked and looked at me with a comforting look on his face.
“Absolutely, miss Owen. The client’s safety always comes first.”
I smiled although the nervousness was still present. I didn’t mind with him. Somehow, I felt safe around him, much safer than I usually did with men.
“I’ve told you to call me Lucy.”
“That’s right. I’m sorry, miss Owen.” He shot me a wink and went back to the camera.
“Now. I’m thinking that you decide whichever position works best for you, and I’ll adjust if we need to.”
“Uh, okay. Sure.” I hesitated. I had no idea what would look good on a photograph. The restraints didn’t leave a whole lot of options, but I finally managed to sit in a mermaid-like position, legs gathered to the side and my arms stretched as far as they could.
“Gorgeous.” He looked at me through the camera and adjusted the settings. “Now, set your face.”
“E-excuse me?” I stuttered. I had no idea what he meant.
“Make a face that’ll look good on the piece. Something … enticing.”
The way the word rolled over his lips made me feel goosebumps appearing, but I discarded the sensation and tried to do as he said.
“We there yet?” I spoke while holding the look on my face, moving my mouth as little as possible.
“Hmm. Not entirely, I’m afraid.” His brows furrowed and I was afraid this would go like the first time. That I was going to look terrified. He came back to crouch in front of me and looked at my face, and investigative look on his own.
“If I was … what’s his name again? Your bloke?”
“Jonathan.”
“Right. If I was him, how would you look right now?”
I felt a blush creep across my face. I’d be flustered like all hell, bound and tied up like this -
“Let me rephrase that.” He said, a warm chuckle present in his tone. “If you were used to this, and you were trying to seduce him with the way you looked at him … how would you look?”
I felt my blush getting larger by the second now and felt blissful that the photos would be mostly black and white.
“Uh … I don’t think I can.”
“Take your time.”
I tried to make the right kind of face again, this time while imagining that Michael was Jonathan. They were around the same height, so that helped. Jonathan’s hair was darker, while his eyes were a lighter color of blue. And the way he looked when he was in that mood, was so … hot. I felt myself crossing my legs with the thought of him.
“Perfect. This is perfect.” Click-click-click. “Open your lips a bit more. Like that. Perfect, Miss Owen.”
He took the camera off its tripod and moved closer, every once in a while crouching down and taking a few pictures. At the very end of the shoot, he was almost laying down at the bed’s opposite poster, taking photos from an upwards perspective. I could see the determination and the focus in his eyes and I knew I had hired the perfect person for this. This was, undeniably, a passion of his, and I knew it would be great. In the end. I decided to throw my head back a little and bite my bottom lip at the camera, and he responded by taking a whole series of photos of me. The satisfied look on his face as he removed the camera to take a brief look of the photos made me feel like some sort of goddess-slash-model.
“This is going to be the front of the calendar. It’s beyond good, Miss Owen. This is … well … I believe this will be exactly what you’re looking for.”
The way he focused on the photos, not taking his eyes off them for even a second, suddenly made me feel too self-conscious. I felt it was time to quit for the day.
“Can you untie me, please?”
He was examining the photos for a few seconds before he realized what I’d said, and he jumped through the room to help me.
“I’m sorry, I was … I was working with the pictures in the mind, I hope you don’t find that too strange.” He carefully untied the rope and before I had a chance to do so myself, he had taken my wrists in his hands and begun to massage them gently. It seemed like something he did per automatic instinct, and I tried to hide the expression of surprise I had in my face.
I didn’t mind at all, but the touch he was administering seemed so effortless that I couldn’t help being surprised. It felt like we’d known each other for years, not like we were a very strange form of business partners.
“How do you feel?” He asked as he let go of my wrists. “Are you alright? Any pains or strained limbs at all?”
I shook my head. “All good.”
He smiled back at me and nodded. “Excellent.”
He got up from the floor and began to wrap up the equipment, and I understood that the shoot was coming to an end. Quickly, I put on my regular clothes. For some reason, the height of the building was a bit less daunting than it had been an hour earlier, and I actually managed to look out the window and even enjoy the view.
“How come you can borrow this room for free?” I suddenly blurted out.
Michael was behind me, going through the camera when I heard him pause.
“The receptionist and I have a special agreement. She lets me borrow this room and gets favors in return.” He spoke in a neutral tone but I sensed something else in it. Love, perhaps? Compassion?
“Favors? Like … free photographs or?” I turned to look at him.
He smiled a sly smile and I felt as if I’d crossed a line. He remained cool, though.
“She enjoys the things I do for her, and I enjoy the free room.” He replied. Suddenly, something in my mind clicked, and my face became one of complete awkwardness. He does … these things … with her.
“I’m so sorry, I’m - I didn’t mean to pry. It’s-”
“It’s alright, Miss Owen. I doubt that it is what you think. But I’d rather not tell you the details. She’s a dear friend of mine.”
“Just a friend?” I cocked an eyebrow at him before I could even stop myself. He looked a bit amused and I was happy I hadn’t insulted him. “Oh. I’m prying again. I’m sorry. This is a strange day, I don’t usually do-”
He chuckled in return as he put on his jacket and camera bag.
“It’s alright. I promise. I know it’s been a weird day.”
“Pretty much. Yeah.” I could feel myself blushing as we walked out the room, locked the door and went towards the elevator to get downstairs.
We went to stand among a few other guests waiting as well, and he leaned in to whisper in my ear.
“So you mean, it’s not every day you let strangers tie you up in hotel rooms?”
I felt the blush from before multiply a thousand times at the thought that the guests overhearing his words. I turned to him and elbowed him in the side, my face rapidly growing redder with the shame. He just chuckled lowly, his eyes sparkling with playfulness.
“I’m going to get you for that.” I hissed as the elevator opened its doors, but the laughter in my voice couldn’t be concealed.
“Oh, I’m shaking with terror, Miss Owen.” He simply said, with a look of mock horror in his face. I burst out laughing loudly enough for the other guests to notice, and I tried to hide it again. As the elevator began to go down, it felt like my fear of heights had vanished completely.
A New View, ch. 1
Fuck. Ow.
My nervousness had made me forget that the coffee was, indeed, steaming hot, just like it said on the plastic lid. I clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth and looked around me in a discreet attempt to see if anyone had seen my accident. Luckily, people went on with their business and paid no attention to me. I looked to my blouse and skirt, anxious to see if some coffee had found its way to either of those, but luckily, that wasn’t the case either. Phew.
I couldn’t for the life of me understand why my nerves were acting this crazy. Sure, the encounter that I was hopefully about to have was not something you’d see every day, and the acts that I was hopefully about to do were not exactly ordinary, either. But still. The guy was a professional. It couldn’t possibly be the strangest request he’d ever received. I looked to my clothes again and fidgeted some more while reassuring myself that the thing I wanted was almost normal. Almost ordinary. If only.
“Miss … Owen?” A deep voice sounded from behind me, and I quickly turned to look up at its owner. Thankfully, I had put the coffee on the table, or else I would have probably dropped it. He was taller than I’d imagined and I tilted my head all the way tp to see him fully. I nodded and tried to calm my nerves again. He sat down opposite me and put the portfolio on the table. The gesture was so calm and simple, and yet the prospects that it held made my nerves all riled up once again.
“I’m Michael. Pleased to meet you, miss Owen.” He stretched out his hand and I shook it briefly.
“Please call me Lucy, if it’s okay.” My voice came out unintentionally squeaky, but he didn’t seem to react. He simply nodded and smiled.
Naturally, I had seen a picture of him on his website, but he looked way better in real life . He was tall, athletic, with auburn-reddish hair, dusty blue eyes, and gorgeous, chiseled cheekbones. I thought of Jonathan and tried to remember a time when he’d made me catch my breath like this guy did, but discarded the thought as quickly as it appeared. He still does, Lucy. That’s why you’re doing this. To get back on track. To find each other again. I bit my lip and sat up straight.
“Can I get you anything? Water, coffee? A beer, perhaps?” I asked him.
“No, thank you, I just had lunch. Thanks, anyway.” Ever so discreetly, he looked me over slightly. I knew that it was a part of the creative process. He was making the photographs in his mind.
“I must say, miss Owen-” He leaned back and stretched his long legs as much as the confines space below the coffee table allowed him to.
“- the things we’ve discussed in the mails are not something I see every day.”
I gulped as my reassuring from before fell to the ground.
“Really?”
He smiled in a cool, professional way and I wondered how his genuine smile looked like.
“Really. But it isn’t impossible. At all. Just a bit different from what I normally do.”
I looked around me and felt a knot forming in my stomach. “But is it - is it something you’re willing to do?”
He chuckled slightly and nodded. “Absolutely. I hope you don’t mind me asking this, Lucy … you seem a bit nervous about this.”
Fuuuuck. I forced myself to smile and shook my head hastily. “N-no, I’m not, it’s just-”
“Something new for you as well?” He cocked his head to the side.
I looked down while nodding.
“You could say that. I’m not … I haven’t had someone … professional … take pictures of me before.”
“Ah. I see. Well, I’m sure it will work out just fine.”
I sighed audibly with relief.
“So, do we set a date, or?”
He opened the portfolio and took out his calendar. I noticed some of the photos in it and immediately knew that I had been a little too indiscreet in my attempt to catch a glimpse. I could hear from the soft chuckle coming from him.
“I’ll be more than happy to show you my works, miss. But …” He leaned across the table and I had to catch my breath as I saw the playfulness in his eyes. “- this is hardly the place to do that.”
I swallowed and cleared my throat while trying to smile. It came out rather awkward.
“I trust you. Uh, I mean, I trust your abilities. Skills, that is.” I looked down while mentally kicking myself in the shin.
He chuckled once more and opened his calendar.
“Should we find a date?”
“Uhm … yes. Thursday?”
“Sounds perfect. And does 8 PM suit you?”
I thought about Jonathan. Thursday was one of the evenings when he didn’t have anything planned. I bit my lip and thought fuck it. He always sits at the laptop anyway.
“Perfect.”
“Very well. Let’s exchange some mails beforehand so we’ll find out what you need to bring along with you.”
I cleared my throat of something that wasn’t even there and tried to hide the blush that was creeping from my chest and onwards to my face while I nodded.
“Uh. Sure. Until then, thanks. Uh, bye.” I stuttered while getting up from the table. I left the coffee cup at the table and regretted it just as soon as I’d exited the café.
Get. It. Together. Lucy. I scolded as I turned to make my way back home.
( … )
Thursday arrived. I had packed the few items that Michael wanted me to bring in a knapsack and tried to avoid blushing by just thinking about it. They were relatively harmless, but the reason for my packing them was the exact opposite. I gulped and fidgeted in the couch as I heard Jonathan’s key rustling in the door. I rose up to greet him, as always, and knew that he’d barely look at me in return, as always. I was baffled as he entered the hallway and actually noticed me there.
“Hey, darling!” He had that busy look in his eyes, but also a genuine smile behind it. He was casually dressed today. Grey slacks that fitted him perfectly, black coat with his favourite sweater jotting out above the lapels, and those glasses. Those glasses never failed to drive me crazy. They made him look like some kind of a professor, and my imagination would run wild. Sadly, he had no idea what they did to me. As he pulled me in for a brief hug, I relished in the smell of his cologne and buried my face against his neck. I was going to test my limits tonight. But I was doing it for the sake of us.
“Are you going somewhere? You’re looking great.” He asked, but was already scrolling through something on his phone while making his way to the kitchen.
“Yeah, I’m going … uh, downtown, I’m meeting Minna, it’s-” He had stopped listening. I heard the coffee machine beginning its cycle and I knew that he was gone. Drifted off in his mind, just like always. I pursed my lips together and collected my things before opening the door.
“See ya, darling-” I shouted through the hallway, but didn’t get an answer.
( … )
As he was busy setting up the lights and drapes for the shoots, I sat frozen on the chair that had been set up for me. The air was cold, but that was the least of my problems. We were on an attic in an old apartment complex on the far end of town. I was looking up at the old wooden boards that supported the roof and tried to still my breathing. Michael, of course, was the very definition of professional, and one could tell that he expected the same from me. That’s why I struggled to not let him see how nervous I was. This idea was not something I could ever have concocted in my head on my own. Jonathan was the reason I was doing this. For months, we had been drifting apart, seemingly. He’d work on his laptop until very late at night and then, he’d crash on the couch. We barely even touched, at least not the way we used to do. One day, I had borrowed his laptop to google something, and I had stumbled on some tumblr blog that the browser suggested. Submissive reverie, read the headline. It was filled - utterly filled - with a very special kind of photos. It wasn’t porn per se - or well, some of it was - but mostly, it was beautiful pictures of a whole variety of BDSM related situations. Initially, I had been appalled. But as I visited the page again and again, I suddenly knew why Jonathan had been this distant. We had never really experimented like that. One time, I had put on lingerie, and he had been through the roof. In hindsight, I should have probably done a lot more about that. But I didn’t, and now, here I was. The idea was to create something along the lines of what I had seen on that tumblr blog. Michael had a whole variety of ideas, and we were doing the first of them right now.
“Right. Miss Owen. Are you comfortable?” He said as he moved behind the large camera in the very end of the room. Furniture had been placed strategically around me, and I could already see that the settings were perfect. I wasn’t, but the settings were.
“Not really.” I tried to smile back at him, but the position I was in made it rather difficult. My hands were mock-cuffed behind the back of the chair, the wood was hard against my almost-naked thighs, and I couldn’t for the life of me get used to the stilettoes I was wearing. They were beautiful, but I was NOT used to wearing shoes this narrow.
“We’ll get the shot and that’s the end of it, don’t worry.” He said while adjusting the lens slightly.
“Now. Can you stretch one leg and bend the other?”
I tried to do what he said but as I did, the stiletto scraped across the wooden floor, making a loud, raspy sound.
“I’m so sorry, it’s … I’m really not used to these shoes.”
“No worries. Me neither.” He winked at me as he left his place behind the camera and moved towards me. “Allow me?”
I nodded, and he adjusted my legs to the position he wanted.
“Can you lean back a little?” He looked up at me from his crouched down position, and I nodded again. My body was tensing up, and I hoped and prayed that he would be done soon.
As he moved back behind the camera, I did my best to lean back. The camera clicked, and the flash blinded me for a second. Click. Click. Flash. As he was seemingly done, I breathed a long sigh of relief and sat back up. I loosened the fake cuffs and rubbed my wrists from where the metal had been. As I looked back at him and prayed in my mind that we were done, his expression baffled me.
“Is something … wrong? Are we done, or?” He looked through the pictures on the camera for a bit longer, before he looked up on me to reply.
“Miss Owen, I-” “Lucy. Please call me Lucy.” I said while rubbing my wrists some more. I wondered if the pain from the cuffs was really there, or if it was all in my mind.
“Lucy.” He breathed in, detached the camera from the tripod, and walked towards me before crouching down at my feet again.
“Lucy, you’re terrified. Or- you look like you’re terrified. And as far as the theme goes, that can be a good thing, but-”
His blue eyes looked up at me, warily, as if to avoid scaring me.
“- you really don’t want to do this, do you?”
Something inside of me seemed to break at the genuine tone of his voice. I thought about Jonathan, and the way I always felt invisible around him. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and Michael took my hand in an attempt to console me.
“No, I- Oh God, no. I don’t. I’m so sorry, I’ve wasted your time.” My voice broke slightly as I tried to hold back the tears that had been suppressed for so long.
“Not at all.” He smiled a wary smile at me, and got back up on his feet. “You should get dressed. We’ll get a cuppa at the café below. They’re open at night.” “A … cuppa?” I was completely confused.
“You need one.” He smiled while he spoke. “I’ll pack up later, come on.”
( … )
“So, let me just get this straight-” He asked. Once again, I looked around the coffee shop to make sure nobody I knew was around. Christ, I’m on edge. Shoulda ordered beer instead.
“This bloke-”
“Jonathan.”
“Jonathan. Right. He was looking at a - tumbler? With pictures in it?”
“It’s a kind of blog.” I replied, with my voice lowered. We might as well have exchanged state secrets.
“Right. And these pictures were the reason you got this idea?”
“Sort of.” And the fact that my boyfriend never looks at me.
“And you’ve never done this before?” He looked at me quizzically.
I shook my head, again checking the coffee shop to see if someone I knew had magically appeared in the last few seconds.
“Neither the photos, nor the - ahem …”
I blushed and shook my head while clutching my coffee cup.
“I’m so sorry that I’ve wasted your time. It’s - It was such a silly idea. You can keep the money for this shoot, it’s no problem, really.”
“I fully intended to.” He smiled a wide, toothy smile at me, making me feel a whole lot less on edge.
“Tell you what.” He put down his pint and leaned forwards, as if he was about to tell me something secretive.
“The way I see it. I think you’d do greatly as a subject for these - for this kind of photos. And it’d be a waste to not do it.”
I gulped a mouthful of lukewarm coffee down and wetted my lips. Suddenly, the whole room felt entirely too hot.
“All I’m saying is … If you’re up for it, and if you trust me, I’ll help you. He’ll like the photos. And hopefully, think twice before … well, spending his life on a blog.”
His eyes looked directly up at me, and the prospect of the idea began to brew in my head.
It can’t be THAT bad. And if it helps us … Michael is right.
“And you don’t mind that I don’t have a clue about it?” I bit my lip as I sent him a skeptical look.
“None at all.” He smiled as he leaned back again and stretched his legs below the table.
“And can I ask something?”
He frowned and returned the skeptical look from before.
“What?”
“If I become uncomfortable, we’ll stop. If I hate the restraints, or-”
“Of course.” He cut my sentence short and shot me a small wink. “You’re safe with me.”
Still confused, but with a new plan brewing, I got up from the table and reached out my hand to greet him goodnight. He did the same, but pulled me a bit closer and went to whisper in my ear.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. It will be safe, discreet, and we’ll both get something out of it. Deal?”
“Deal.” I smiled and greeted him goodnight. Time to go back home.
A New View, ch. 3
Late night. The Elvheim Hall.
The wind howled against the high windows of the old concert hall, rattling its glass panes like ghosts desperate to get in. Lucy pulled her coat tighter around her, her breath fogging in the air. She could see her own fingertips trembling.
Michael was already setting up heaters, moving with quiet efficiency. The kind of silence that felt full. Weighted. His focus was almost palpable in the air.
“Cold?” he asked, without looking up.
“I have actually lost the feeling in my soul,” she replied dryly, attempting a joke. Her voice cracked slightly, exposing the fight she’d had with Adam before she left.
Michael looked up then. Eyes soft. Reading her like always. But instead of pressing, he gestured toward the little setup he’d made in the corner—a folding chair, a thermos, and a paper bag of chocolate chip cookies. The cheap kind.
“Sit. Tea. These help.”
She obeyed. Their fingers brushed as she took the mug. She tried not to flinch at the warmth, or the quiet brush of skin. Michael sat beside her, unspeaking. The silence was companionable this time. Strange. Holy, almost.
After a while, he said softly, “I had an idea for tonight’s shoot.”
Lucy looked up. He was staring at the vast wooden table in the center of the room—its grain rough, dark, impossibly old. “I want to try something different. Less staged. More… primal.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How primal are we talking?”
He reached into his coat and pulled out his phone. After a few swipes, a low, throbbing synth melody filled the empty hall. It was eerie and wild and bone-deep, something between a lullaby and a battle cry.
“This,” he said simply. “It’s called Mylardatter. Danish band. Not very well known.”
She took a sip of tea, the mug warm against her lips. “Do you listen to a lot of niche Viking music in your spare time?” He smiled, but not the kind that would reach his eyes.
“A friend introduced me to it. A long time ago.” He didn’t elaborate. She didn’t ask.
“The idea is that you’re being offered. To a king. Not as a prize, or a slave—but as something holy. Wild. Something dangerous enough to kneel for.”
Lucy blinked.
Michael stood, walking slowly around the table, gesturing with his hands like he was already seeing the image. “Your arms will be stretched out along the planks. Back arched. Knees parted. Your backside raised—yes, it’s provocative. But not vulgar. Think feline. Think untamed. And your face…” He looked at her then, eyes searching. “Your eyes have to be wild. The king wouldn’t want a mindless servant. He’d want something that could ruin him.”
A long silence passed between them.
Then he softened. “What do you think?”
She was already in. She knew it. Somewhere deep in her bones, she was already crawling onto that table. But he didn't see it - and the seconds of waiting were driving him crazy. The vision was one he had had for years, but none of his clients had fit the rawness that the motif required. He wanted HER in the photo, but was at the same time terrified that she’d run for the hills at the idea. “Do you feel like trying? Just with your clothes on. This place is freezing.”
His eyes lit up for the tiniest of seconds as she replied - a soft, but certain nod.
And when he reached for her hand to help her onto the table, there was something different about the way he touched her. Slower. Reverent.
He stepped away to grab a camera from his bag. Fiddled with the lens, turned to say something— and froze in place. She was already in position.
Perched atop the massive wooden table, as if she belonged to another time. Cargo pants, frizzed curls, and all modern attire failing to conceal her true inner self. Her arms were stretched forward, back bowed just enough to make her waist dip, hips raised instinctively. She wasn’t even trying. Her breath misted in the cold air, hair wild around her flushed cheeks.
But it was her eyes that stopped him.
Feral. Alive. Glinting with something ancient and dangerous and beautifully hers.
It took him three full seconds to remember he was supposed to breathe. Then he cleared his throat. Professional mask snapping back into place, barely.
“This is almost perfect, Miss Owen,” he said, stepping into position with the camera. “We’ll only need a few adjustments, I think—”
But his voice was different now. Lower. Rougher. Worshipful.
________________________________
The first thing Michael noticed was the color.
Not the shape of her, though - Gods - it was impossible not to notice that too. How the thin cinnamon bodysuit clung to her hips, curved into the hollow of her back, stretched across her chest like fire stitched into fabric—but it was the color that stopped him.
Spicy cinnamon. Burnt rust. Like autumn come to life and set alight.
It matched the furs in his arms almost too perfectly. As if she’d known. As if some part of her was beginning to sync with the vision before he had even shared it.
She climbed up onto the table in silence. No laughter this time. No playful jabs. Just the sound of her breath, shallow and uneven. Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered herself onto all fours.
“Cold?” he asked quietly, already knowing the answer. She nodded. Michael swallowed hard, feeling something cold and hot twist inside his chest. A different kind of tremble ran through her then—not from temperature. From nerves. From vulnerability. He could see that she was light years away from being the Mylardatter - all thanks to her boyfriend. A feeling rose inside him, slithering through his visions and ideas for the picture, through his professionalism.
I had the perfect motif, you absolute idiot of a man.
And she’s here, and she’s worried what you might think.
He didn’t say it, or even show it. But it rang through his mind like thunder.
Instead, he moved. Swift, professional. Draping the first piece of fur over her lower back with the same care he might offer a sacred relic. Then another, brushing down one shoulder. Then another, fanned out across her thighs. He smoothed and tucked and adjusted, layering warmth where he could, but never rushing it. With each touch of fur, each careful arrangement along the slopes and hollows of her body, Lucy stilled. Her tremble slowed.
His fingertips never touched skin. And yet—she felt everything.
His face came close—once, to tuck the fur under her chest. Again, to drape a russet-dyed pelt across the arch of her back. Inches from her. She looked to his eyes, but they only met hers briefly. Still, his focus and his concentration managed to calm her. She didn’t understand it. Not entirely. But she felt herself leaning into the rhythm of his preparation, like it was a song her body remembered. And somewhere in her chest, something shifted. When the last fur fell into place, he stepped back—only for a second—to flip on the massive projectors he’d wheeled into place.
Orange. Red. Gold.
The lights burst to life like sunset through fire. They illuminated her from behind, casting warmth across her shoulders, glowing around the curls of her hair like a crown of flame.
But they also hit him.
And suddenly, Michael wasn’t just a photographer.
He was something ancient. Something regal. Something her body recognized before her mind ever caught up. His posture changed under the light. His face, half in shadow, half glowing with fierce warmth—he looked like a war god. A storm made into flesh. Lucy felt her spine curve deeper. Instinctively. Her shoulder blades pinched together, her backside raising slightly more. Her fingers flexed against the table’s grain. Wild-cat tilt, burning eyes.
Michael caught his breath—literally caught it, one sharp inhale through the nose—and turned it into a cough, a half-step back, anything to keep from giving himself away.
Because this wasn’t Lucy anymore. This was the vision. This was the girl on the altar, the fire offering, the impossible gift to a god-king. This was Mylardatter.
And he had work to do.
Click.
Clickclickclick.
Whir, focus, flash.
He moved like something possessed. Around her, beneath her, beside her. Changing angles, adjusting light. One knee on the table. One elbow on the ground. He barked quiet instructions—“Chin down. Eyes up. Hold—yes, like that.”
Every time she moved, it was like a spell. Every photo he took, a tribute. Every glance between them, a held breath they didn’t dare exhale.
_________________________
The hall fell even more silent as the cameras had stopped their clicking. Only the projectors still buzzed faintly, casting long shadows like echoes of gods long gone. The heater sputtered once, uselessly, and died.
Lucy breathed out a shaky breath at the sound of the dying heater. She slowly pushed herself upright, limbs stiff from holding the position too long. Her arms wobbled slightly beneath her as she moved—fur falling from her shoulders, the cinnamon bodysuit clinging to her like second skin, her curls haloed in heat and effort. She was no longer the wildling on the altar. She was just Lucy. And her body was starting to feel everything she’d held back.
The cold. The fatigue. The memory of Adam - his silence. His absence. The argument. The ridiculous need she’d had to make herself seen. A rush of guilt pulsed up from her stomach and into her throat. Her hands trembled. Her legs wavered. And then—his voice.
“Eeeeasy. Easy, Luce. C’mere.”
He was suddenly there, like he always was.
His voice warm, honey-smooth, velvet and steady. His hands were firm as he helped her off the table - or altar - and into something real. He wrapped his woolen coat around her shoulders before she could even blink. It smelled like hope, cigarettes, leather and longing. Real. And her breath caught. She shivered, but not from the cold alone. Michael rubbed her arms slowly, grounding her. A silent ritual - just being. Existing.
She leaned into him for the briefest of seconds. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stayed there—solid, quiet, warm.
Then, without a word, he moved into motion. He packed swiftly. The furs. The camera. The thermos. His movements were clipped, but not rushed. He’d seen that look before—the hollow-eyed ache of someone who’d given too much to a moment that asked everything.
This girl needed aftercare. So he called a cab.
The ride home was silent.
She curled beneath his coat in the backseat, still in her bodysuit, her knees drawn up slightly, legs wrapped in what warmth she could steal. Michael’s arm curled instinctively around her waist. Protective. Careful.
The city - a blur of sodium lights and sleeping streets - passed by them, silently. The only sounds were the hum of tires, the slow exhale of Lucy’s breath, and the steady beat of Michael’s pulse against her side. She didn’t understand why, but it felt like she could fall asleep like this.
Right here. In his arm. Not because she was in love, or reckless.
But because it was safe. And no one had made her feel like that in far too long.
Dawn kissed the rooftops as the cab pulled to the curb.
The sky was pink, sleepy, soft at the edges.
Lucy stepped out, still silent, still wearing his coat.
Michael followed. He shouldered his bag. He looked at her like he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. Like she still carried part of the vision inside her.
“Up, and get some rest, Luce,” he said quietly, with a crooked smile that made her knees weak.
She nodded. But something—something had changed. She didn’t feel fragile anymore. Or rather - slightly less fragile than before. There was a pulse beneath her skin now. A fire. A flicker of something raw and steady.
She looked up at him. Met his eyes. And then - she stretched out her arms. Just slightly. Small, shyly. As if they would vanish into the morning if rejected.
He hesitated just a second. Then stepped in, wrapping her in his arms, offering exactly what she needed. Cool professionalism. An artist and his client. She didn’t bury her face in his chest, and he didn’t hold on too long. But at the end—just as he was about to pull away—she slid her fingers up his back.
Her nails just barely scratched the space beneath his shoulder blade. Not enough to hurt - certainly not enough to leave a mark. Michael froze. His breath caught, soundlessly.
And there she was again. Not Lucy, the girl in the cab. But her.
Mylardatter.
Sorten Muld - "Mylardatter"
a new view - march 2013
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