Colt almost doesn't want the director to yell 'cut!'

He's on his knees in the fake dirt and leaves of the set, the fog machine blinding him and making his eyes water, but he couldn't have cared less. He's covered in fake blood from head to toe, a fabric sac over his head to hide his face so the audience won't be able to differentiate him from the real actor. His muscles strain as he pretends to struggle, soft grunts and pleas escaping him as he follows the script- pretend someone is dragging you to hell.

Oh, and you're there too. You're the best part, actually. Of course you are. You've always been the best part of his day- his life- since he started working on the set of this horror movie. Killer Bitch. A stupid name, because you aren't a bitch at all. And God, he is so turned on right now. You're the killer- the psycho, dressed scantily in a leather lingerie with far too many straps and strings, Colt gets lost in them, and knee-high latex boots. A mask hides your face, but somehow, they only makes you hotter. You have a prop knife to his neck as you stand behind him, forcing his back to bend backwards. So. Fucking. Hot.

He's covered in red lipstick marks and kisses. Part of your fictional character's MO. You're obsessed with the character he's stunting for. He wishes you were obsessed with him in real life.

All too soon, the director's words cut through the air. "Cut!" And the lights come back on, and the pressure behind him is gone, the knife pulled away from his neck.

You look toward the director and Colt looks up at you, upside down, a goofy grin on his face from under the potato sack. Oh, you look so good standing over him while he kneels at your feet. He wouldn't mind doing it in another context. He's so whipped. And you're the sweetest human alive outside of being a 'psycho killer' on the big screen.

So fucking smitten.