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neoculturetravesty · 2 years

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let’s make an adult film (preview)

Pairing: Yuta x Her Genre: smut Warnings: mature, strong language, oral (male receiving), penetrative sex

Word Count: 2k

Summary: The first thought Yuta had when he saw her on the dancefloor was not that he should ask for her number, rather that she’d be great to make a porno with.

A/N: From my editing floor. I don’t know if I am ever going to complete this, but I wanted to post the preview to get over some blocks!

The first thought Yuta had when he saw her on the dancefloor was not that he should ask for her number, rather that she’d be great to make a porno with.

It wasn’t just that she had a gorgeous body. No, he’d probably find several with gorgeous bodies and pretty faces in this damned plastic town. He had long stopped being moved by such calculated perfection. Everyone and everything was so disgustingly perfect these days that it gave him no arousal. And arousal was all an artist could ask for.

Maybe it was that what he saw couldn’t be explained or contained. She had a face unlike any he had ever seen. He had been so numbed by perfect beauties with perfectly painted faces, that a visual like hers was refreshing to the eye. She moved her body like she knew she had captivated the attention of everyone in the room, though the set of her mouth said that she didn’t want to care for it. In fact, she seemed like she hadn’t a care in the world. She danced like she hadn’t a care in the world; like she grabbed time by the balls and commanded it to slow so she could move in luxurious waves through her body. Yuta felt more inspired than he had been in a good, fat while.

He hadn’t realized how fucking easy it was going to be; asking a perfect stranger to film a porno together.

Because although men, women and everyone in between swarmed her like honey to bees, it was him that she left with that night. Perhaps, like him, she wanted a taste of intrigue rather than gratification that night.

Yuta only grew more inspired whilst he talked to her over a glass of red wine in his apartment. His eyes wandered to the delectable dip below her throat where her collarbones met. In the warm light of his apartment, that dip harbored the gentlest of shadows that acted as a natural contour. Yuta had a great proclivity for things like these in his own art forms. He couldn’t help but notice how she kept one shoulder raised slightly higher than the other so her body created sensual angles at all times. He felt his blood rush any time she’d savor the wine by pressing her jaw to that raised shoulder. Her eyes would close and her lashes would caress her cheekbones. Yuta saw a frame in every movement, because she swayed like each moment was a painting. Above all, Yuta looked at her not man to woman, but artist to muse. He wanted to frame that fucking painting.

It was intriguing; Yuta had never witnessed body confidence as alluring as hers. She was sound in her sexuality, and why the fuck not? She had every right to be. Everything about her was interesting. Yuta wasn’t sure whether it was artistic intrigue tinting his perception or his habitual fetishist tendencies, but earlier, she had seemed ever more interested in the attention of women rather than men. Then again, all he had witnessed was her stirring her index round a woman’s bare shoulder. Perhaps he was already viewing her as the picture he wanted to paint when all she did was be. He was hard from how inspired he was.

And when an artist is as inspired as was he, there isn’t much room for lies. There must be honesty in art and truth between artists. That is the way it must be or the art is forever tainted. So, it wasn’t long into the conversation that Yuta had brought up the following fact,

“I’m a filmmaker. But lately, I’ve been meaning to create more adult content,” he spoke matter-of-factly. It was almost expected that she hadn’t blinked an eye.

“I do some nude modeling every now and then. Let me know if something comes up, I’d love to be a part of your project,” she had smiled.

And the proverbial ice had melted. Yuta could speak as openly about the vision he had for his project as openly as she talked about her craft.

“Honestly, I’ve always wanted to do something like it, but I haven’t really met someone who had an idea that is fully realized? Like, unless you’re a big name in the industry, nude modeling doesn’t really get the editorial treatment. And the porn out there is so fucking vulgar. I hate that pornographic films don’t get artistic treatment,” she scrunched her nose ever so slightly in distaste. Yuta found himself sitting up in his seat because finally, someone fucking understood.

“So much vile, unpalatable content. I hate it with all my heart, too. I keep searching the ends of the earth for something that would hit me just right and it’s always so fucking frustrating when I just don’t find it, you know? That’s when my wife made me realized that I’m a fucking filmmaker. If I can’t find it, I’d just have to create it,” Yuta explained.

“That’s fucking amazing. You know, not a lot of people think like that,” she appreciated and Yuta felt a surge through his blood that he was sure was more than just the alcohol.

“I mean, I’m sure we’re not the first ones to think like that,” Yuta said humbly, “But it’s just that… why can’t porn be interesting? Why can’t porn be tasteful and artful?”

“So, what was it that you were looking for?” she asked curiously as she dug around into her purse without looking. She extracted what Yuta was sure was a spliff and added, “Do you mind?”

Yuta waved his hand as he continued, “Well, there is a lot I have in mind, but for starters? Something that is more tastefully shot. I fucking hate the cinematography in porn. It’s so fucking non-existent. I’ve seen YouTube videos from bloody toy channels that have better camera work than porn,” he said and she laughed in earnest. He continued, “I especially hate the lighting in mainstream porn. I fucking hate it. Why is it so fucking bright? Why do they use so many fucking florescent lights? They’re not fucking surgeons. I mean I’m sure the audience would be able to tell a cock from a pussy even without the flood lights,” the absolute distaste on his tongue made him want to have a smoke of his own, just as a chaser. He smoked a regular cigarette, though, and she leaned in to light it for him with a craftsman’s lighter.

“So, what’s your style? What kind of things do you film?” She smoked heavily.

“I’ve never done porn before. But I used to make a lot of film noirs. Honestly, my work is pretty focused on tone and stylization. Set and lighting is so fucking important to me. Every film that I made, I spent hours upon fucking hours just sourcing the right kind of lighting equipment. And then I would stay up for weeks in post, just editing each fucking frame till I got the style I wanted. Films should be made with this sort of vision. And that’s the kind of shit I want to see in my porn. Instead, I get terrible harsh fucking white light, and don’t fucking get me started on the dialogue,” Yuta took another deep drag at the end of his passionate outburst.

Her eyes were listening intently and Yuta didn’t need more confirmation beyond it that this was a perfect union. All the elements were on his side. He had her concentration, but it was the room clouding with smoke that was inspiring him even more. The smoke traveled from his lips and hers and surrounded her body in the perfect grayish haze that was Yuta’s favorite in film. It was setting the scene for him just right. It made her look even more elegant, and Yuta decided right then that if this were to work out, this was going to be his opening shot.

He noticed that she had beautiful thighs, especially with how she crossed them against the satin of her dress. She held the spliff between her fingers, soft yet assured. She sat in a diagonal; legs crossed to the left, spliff held in the air to the right. Yuta was already visualizing the pan of the camera against her stance. He’d add perhaps some vertical shadows to her face and a Victorian style chester upon which she would lounge, exactly like she was right now. He’d start panning from the right and he would have the best fucking opening scene. Fuck, he was inspired.

“You know, I fuck with style like yours. I literally worshiped Lady in the Lake growing up. And fuck, you’re right. I haven’t seen any porn in styles like that. And I’ve never wondered why,” she took a healthy drag from her spliff, and it made her voice deepen attractively, “And to be honest, it’s the same in my line of work. I don’t like anyone’s artistic approach. It doesn’t feel like art at all. I take my fucking top off, but it’s like they want to sell my body rather than the art my body is creating. Then again, I’m not a big time model. I’m not famous enough to get the Frederic Monceau type of projects.”

“But that’s the death of this fucking industry, isn’t it? You have to suck the devil’s cock to get fame or good opportunities, and those that don’t won’t ever get their films on the big fucking screen. I made good fucking films,” he used his cigarette to stab at every word he said; his eyebrows soared to his forehead in defense. Perhaps the secondhand weed smoke or the alcohol was making him more impassioned, driving the blood to his cock and balls and infusing him with testosterone. “But I wanted to stay fucking authentic, so I didn’t sell out to these big fucking studios. And you know what? I don’t regret it for a single moment. Fuck capitalism,” he held his glass up.

“Fuck capitalism!” said she. Both got up and clinked their glasses. And perhaps it wasn’t just him. She was feeling the blood, too. They were both a little high and a little drunk, because in all honesty, they’d both happily suck the devil’s cock given the chance, if that meant more people would buy their art. But the euphoria in their veins from finding another that would form this cult for two was simmering and giving both delusions of grandeur.

It was his cock she sucked later that night, not the devil’s. Yuta hadn’t even been particularly horny. He didn’t want to taint his muse, so to speak. He wanted to keep the authenticity of his art and preserve it for the masterpiece he would create. But the two of them had clinked glasses and sealed the commencement of this collaboration with a mature French kiss, and when the heat built, he let her suck him. And though he kept telling himself that their first fuck should be one for the records, he had caught sight of the perfect plump of her cunt and he decided that he wasn’t the kind of filmmaker to do first time scenes. He was an artist and she was an artist and they both celebrated sexuality as mature people do. So he fucked her too, right there on the couch of his loft apartment with the curtains fully drawn. Why would they close them? They were about to have an audience much larger than any passerby that might lift their lashes to their window.

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