TomTord/TordTom oneshots

BOYS ON FILM ❤️❤️❤️ (nsfw)

Yes, based off the Duran Duran song

NSFW and has a brief mention of self-harm, but not like c-ts or anything
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"Yes, just like that!"

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Fuck, he's pretty

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"Turn to the left a little.. Yes!"

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I can't stop staring..

The camera shutter clicked time after time as the man flaunted every inch of his mesmerising figure. Flattering clothes draped lazily across his toned body as he faced the awaiting cameras, lips parted in a sultry smile, eyebrows perked in seductive suggestion.

The media will love this one.

Tord watched, hands deep in pockets, fists clenching at the sight of the model, heat creeping up his neck.

Directors shouted and swooned as his head would turn, showing off yet another glorious angle. They ate it up like ravenous dogs, desperately hungered for one look from Tom, a singular glance to propel them to infinite stardom. It was grotesque to watch.

Though, it was a heavenly blessing to even witness Tom in all his god-given glory. It wasn't the clothes he was adorned in, or the brand that was thrust before his name, it was him. The crown jewel of the critics' eye, the beloved dazzling star of every magazine front cover. As soon as a single photo graced its way into the world, his name would scorch headlines, rapidly becoming the well-worn craze of the moment, his beauty too breathtaking to be out of mind for even a second.

Yet, the way he was manipulated and purely used by starving photographers, frantic for an ounce of fleeting fame, was horrific. He wasn't seen as human anymore, he was nothing but an object. A projection of grace and artistry, a tool to climb the steps of society, a picture to be masturbated over, a figure to fuel jealously and incite hate, not by his own means nor wants, but people's greed. He had been pushed so far away from the standard norms of humanity, he had become no longer part of it. He was seen as so perfect, he couldn't do the things that usual people could do. He had to be above that. He could not make mistakes.

Nevertheless, those eyes could still capture every thought that floated through Tord's lackadaisical mind, reeling them back into the captivating net of admiration (and some might even say, lust), away from the uneasy notions of doubt.

And, even though he was certain it was his desired mind fabricating these fantasies, it seemed as if occasionally Tom would glance to his spot off-set and toss him a wink or a smirk before facing the eager lenses once again. It didn't happen too often, much less then Tord would prefer, but every few days or so, when Tord would be stood at the edge, he would catch these looks. Each made his juvenile heart flutter and his onlooking eyes avert in flustered modesty, before returning to their same marvelled stare.

Shoots had become part of Tord's day-to-day life now. Drifting around lethargically, lingering until someone ushered him over for a task, whether it be coffee, or assistance on a camera, or just purely an opinion. He was getting experience, creating the stepping stones for his future career, getting a feel of the industry.

In short, this meant he could gaze at Tom for as long as he desired, which was pretty much all the time he was granted.

Soon enough, clicks ceased to echo off the walls and people shifted from their stationary positions to mill aimlessly around during the break. Tom began to waltz from the green screen backdrop and the blazing stage lights to the abated shadows and welcoming smiles of coworkers and discreet fans. Chatter floated through the air, Tom's rich voice weaving solidly between words, Tord's ears pricking up in interest.