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"Please don't move," Ethan said, "The camera is rolling."

 

Damiano was lying still on the bed, face up. He put a hand on his chest, stared up at the camcorder. He blinked as he licked his lips slowly.

 

"Better now?" He smiled.

 

"Yes, better. Thank you, Mr. David."

 

"The pleasure is mine," Damiano grinned, "Random cameraman."

 

Ethan coughed. He was straddled on Damiano, both of his legs were kneeling beside Damiano's waist. Ethan's hair had been tied into a loose bun, and his left hand held the DV steadily. The viewfinder stuck out, covering most of his face, only leaving the lens staring at Damiano.

 

"Could you share your feelings with the audience?" Ethan asked.

 

"I feel a bit nervous, um, a bit shy, maybe. Embarrassing, definitely. Aroused, too." Damiano said, waving his hand, "Oh, and amused. Because the cameraman's pronunciation of r is funny."

 

"Thank you." The camera moved a bit, now it's focused on his face, "Do you want to discuss the embarrassment you feel?"

 

"No," He laughed, and reached for his jacket, pulled out a pack of Marlboro. He tapped it on his wrist, shook out a cigarette, "I'd rather talk about the arousing part. Wanna one?"

 

"Thank you, but no. I'm working."

 

Damiano shrugged. He stuck the cigarette on his lips, then padded around his pocket, fished out a lighter. But just before clicking it, a weird feeling went through his mind. His eyes darted up at the camera, felt like he was watching himself doing those things above his head, or watching an old clip of himself on YouTube; does this scene look artistic?

 

Probably not. He shook his head, lightened up the cigarette, and took a drag.

 

"What's next?" He asked.

 

"Um, could you explain what we are doing to the audiences?" Ethan frowned.

 

"You don't have a script?" Damian raised an eyebrow.

 

"This isn't a plot-driven thing, you know."

 

"You don't have a script." Damiano rolled his eyes, "Fine." He clicked his tongue and put a hand behind his head, "Where should I begin. Oh, it was a beautiful afternoon, and I'm the singer of Måneskin. So my teammate decided to develop his filming skill, following his household, I assume."

 

The DV was not moving, but there's a polite disagreement.

 

"And he doesn't have a script," Damiano continued, "And he's better not upload this to YouTube, also he has a very unhealthy obsession with Mingus' MDM."

 

"That's not true!"

 

"No, just make sure you won't upload this, who knows what's in your head anyway," He sighed, "So what's next again, oh random cameraman?"

 

"Ok. About earlier, do you want to discuss why you feel aroused?"

 

"Well, I was on my bed, a guy was riding on me," Damiano laughed, he ran his hand through his face, "And there's a camera on my face. What's not aroused about?"

 

No comment, no the usual snapback from Victoria, no one's there to make fun of his ego, the lack of comeback left a strange emptiness in him. Again with that weird feeling. Damiano avoided the camera. He reached out, grabbed an ashtray from the nightstand, and placed it on his side. He settled down again, his hand moved across his jaw, then rested at the base of his neck, like a cover.

 

Ethan's both hands were wrapped around the camcorder, his fingers gripped at the silver edge as he slowly traced the camera around Damiano with almost ridiculous seriousness. Ethan's upper body stayed in an awkward position, dangerously unbalanced. But still, he didn't touch Damiano.

 

"Could you……I don't know, be more active?" Ethan pondered, "I don't know, do stuff."

 

"Depends. What's the rate now?" Damiano asked.

 

"Um, VM14, I think."

 

"Should we move to VM18 then?" Damiano suggested.

 

"That's bad for the box office," Ethan said, "Everybody knows an explicit rate could limit screening range."

 

"Nonsense." Damiano sneered, felt the urge to debate, "I can sell tickets under any circumstances."

 

"I think we only sold ten tickets for - " Ethan said, thoughtfully.

 

"We don't talk about that ok!"

 

"My bad." Ethan apologized.

 

"Apology taken," Damiano said.

 

"Could you strip for the camera?" Ethan asked.

 

There's a knot stuck in Damiano's throat.

                                 

"Why not," He shrugged, pressed the cigarette in the ashtray.

 

He didn't feel stage fright, far from it. And there's something both stupid and ridiculous about this situation, like it was some kind of low-budget playing house film. He wanted to laugh. But as he put his fingers curled around the first button of his shirt, he glanced up at the camcorder, knowing exactly what he might look like. Ethan's face was perfectly calm, the look of someone who got what he wanted.

 

Damiano slowly unbuttoned his shirt, he smiled involuntarily, eyes fixed at the lens. He watched Ethan watching him through the camera. With one last pulling, Damiano shouldered off his shirt and stretched his arms out. Ta-da.

 

Ethan's eyes were on the viewfinder, still not speaking.

 

"Private show," Damiano grinned.

 

He unzipped his pants, and slowly peeled them off. The zipper had caught fine hair on his thigh, but other than that, it was smooth. Underneath his pants is an old, saggy grey boxer - he didn't expect he would need to take his pants off other than pissing and sleeping today. He took off his boxer as well, the pants piled up on his ankle, and that's something he's familiar with. Do I look vulnerable? He wondered if this is what the porno actor feels.

 

He giggled.

 

The lens looked down at him. A big, unblinking eye.

 

"Touch yourself," Ethan said.

 

Damiano paused for an instant, then he did what he was told. His hand slid down, found the flaccid cock between his thighs, cupped it mindlessly. It's getting cold, goosebumps running down on his arms. He rubbed his cock gently, stroked it a few times. As he pleased himself, the camcorder recorded his every movement, and a thought flashed through his head. Did Ethan zoom-in on his hands? Or Was the camera still focusing on his face and capturing the smallest detail of his expression? This idea made a warmness speared on the back of his neck. Damiano moaned.

 

Ethan was sitting on his heels now. He settled between Damiano's legs. This position makes the scene look unrealized voluptuous. Damiano stroked himself deliberately, as his other hand caressed through his chest, fingertips mapped on the old tattoo lines. A performance, of course. It's silly, but had its own thrill. He bit on his lips, not sure if he needed to make a sound.

 

Whatever.

 

Behind the camcorder, Ethan's eyes were bright, a light pinkness burned on his cheek, but his face was still blank. Very professional. Damiano palmed his now dripping erection, as his thumb found a spot, his legs started to shake. Somehow, he felt he was more naked than he ever felt under the unmoving gaze. Now, he was a subject, Damiano thought, a student's midterm work.

 

Heat pooled between his legs, as both humiliation and excitement filled him with lust. He couldn't really see his reflection in the dark glass of the lens, but he could imagine it - widened eyes, flushed cheeks, gaping mouth, needy, willing, and ready. It's this idea that sent thrilling rush down to his spin. He started to pant, gasp, his hips were grinding against the sheets impatiently. Both of his hands picked up the speed, curled around his throbbing cock. Loud moans and groans filled his ear. Look at me, watch me.

 

For a moment, Ethan looked up. A small smile went through his face.

 

It didn't take long before Damiano came. He shuddered hard, groaned, his eyes managed to be half-lidded, staring at the camera till the end. A few drops landed on his chest and Ethan's knee, leaving wet stains.

 

The intense pleasure lasted a few minutes, then it slowly faded into a warm, numb static. Damiano sighed, relaxed into an exhausted mess. He licked his cracked lips, bronze taste smeared in his mouth.

 

"Award-winning acting?" He asked, though his voice was still shaking, "I think I'm a method actor."

 

"You always are," Ethan said slowly as he raised his head. An absolute satisfaction radiated on his face. He clicked the power button off, "Ok, that's a wrap. I'll edit the last few seconds out."

 

"Somehow I knew this is gonna end up as porno," Damiano complained. He wiped his hand on the sheet.

 

"That's not the intention."

 

"That's the fact."

 

"But still not the intention."

 

Damiano ignored it, "You are not going to upload this, right?"

 

"What? Oh, no. Of course."

 

"Send me a copy when you are done editing." Damiano picked up the cigarette pack, already lost interest.

 

Quietly, Ethan gathered his equipment, still with that calm satisfaction, and now it's getting a bit annoying. Damiano watched him close the viewfinder, sticking the DV into his pocket. Ethan climbed off the bed, put his shoes on, then turned his head around.

 

"Next time I'll get a script." He claimed with his usual weird smile.

 

And like that, Ethan left the room.

 

Damiano was half-sitting on the bed, a hand on his knee. And with a cigarette half stuck in his mouth, he stared at the door, dumbfounded.

 

Next time?

 

 

FIN