Chapter Text
Gingerly, Derek held the flimsy, paper mache mask he had been given between his hands. It seemed tiny. Much too small to prevent people from recognizing him. How could a little bit of white and black checkerboard pattern keep someone from knowing his face? And a half mask? Why not a whole one? Cover every inch.
Although, to be fair his back tattoo would probably give him away anyway once he took his shirt off. Derek bit his lip. He should’ve pestered Peter for more details. He should’ve insisted on mask approval. Why had he agreed to do this?
Derek blushed.
The small filming crew were nearly ready to begin. One of the producers signaled for Derek to get ready. Taking a deep breath, Derek nodded, schooling his face into a stoic, stony expression. He brought the small mask to his face, shivering as the cool material touched his reddened cheeks. His heart jumped against his chest, his balls tingling in anticipation.
This is why he was doing this.
Tying the two strings in a secure double knot, Derek walked in front of the camera and stood in front of the bed that was the majority of the set. Why on earth would someone let people shoot porn in their houses? In their beds? His questions evaporated as his scene partner emerged from the hall to join him.
His mask was a feathered monstrosity. The black, iridescent plumes hid not only the middle of the face, but also reached up towards the sky, obscuring the forehead and hairline. His mask offered much more identity protection, than his own. Plus, it was much flashier, gaudier, made him look like a raven king or something else macabre and ridiculous. Peter was probably terribly pleased with himself.
The shorter man sauntered over to him and winked, the blue eye at once instantly familiar and yet not. Derek felt his cheeks turn pink as the appeal of masks suddenly made much more sense. He was still going to give Peter a piece of his mind when all this was over, but for now Derek relaxed into the moment. His heart was still pounding, but instead of being afraid or nervous he felt excited.
There was no preamble. There never was for this site. They weren’t roleplaying, there was no storyline. This was strictly about giving a good show while wearing a mask. The instant the director called action, Derek’s scene partner was on him, squeezing his right pec through his shirt.
Peter had warned him that his body would be on display, something to be groped and adored. An object of worship and ogling. His uncle had told him to hit the gym as if Derek wasn’t already a noted gymrat. He regularly went to the gym four times a week. He was already in terrific shape. And when Peter remarked on it, Derek had shrugged him off, scoffing. He didn’t regret it, but he appreciated his uncle’s warning.
He’d been given a polo shirt, blue and orange striped. The thing had barely fit over his shoulders and it hugged his chest too tightly for comfort. It didn’t matter though as he wouldn’t be wearing it for long, but the collar chafed his neck a little despite all three buttons being undone. With the tightness and the openness of the collar his chest appeared to be bulging out of his shirt, waiting to spill out into his partner’s groping hands. Which was entirely the point.
He felt like a side of beef.
Derek shifted his weight feeling awkward again. He wasn’t used to being the center of such handsy attention, especially not for a camera. Making love was about reciprocity, the give and take between two people. But this was just sex. Gratification. He didn’t know what to do with his arms if he wasn’t reaching out to help his lover get off.
Today, he was the sole focus.
It felt weird.
Luckily, his scene partner, an old hat in the industry, gave him something to do. He positioned Derek’s left arm up and rubbed the upper portion where the sleeve barely reached his bicep let alone covered it. Derek took the hint and flexed.
He had good biceps. His chest got most of the attention because he worked the hardest on it, but his arms were good too. Well-defined. Not quite at the level of a bodybuilder, but still well above average. And in the tight polo shirt his bicep seemed even more enormous. If he was bigger he could well imagine ripping a shirt as tight as this one just by flexing.
The idea appealed to him.
As it was, his scene partner seemed appreciative. He caressed Derek’s straining bicep, squeezed it to show how hard and resilient it was. Derek relaxed, and his partner continued massaging his arm. His hand trailed across Derek’s chest to his right arm. Again, Derek picked up his cue and flexed for his partner.
This time, his partner jabbed his bicep with his fist. Derek hissed, but held fast. The sting was short lived and ameliorated by his partner once again rubbing his taut muscles. Derek panted, a light sweat building at his temples already. He wasn’t used to this sort of workout.
Taking a momentary break, Derek dropped his arms and then lifted them both, flexing them in unison. His shirt almost felt like it had shrunk, clinging even tighter to him as he posed for the camera. He felt as though anymore movement and he’d Hulk-out of the horrid thing.
He needn’t have worried. A few seconds of holding the pose Derek released and his scene partner moved on. He went back to pawing his chest and teasingly trailing his hands up under Derek’s shirt. The guy palmed his abdomen, rubbed his stomach. Derek squirmed to the side, his abs were ticklish.
His scene partner smiled, knowingly. The bastard! He knew what he was doing to him and kept it up!
Derek flushed, turning bright red from his cheeks down to his neck and chest as the guy continued petting his sensitive midsection. He chubbed up in his super tight jeans. His bulge was no doubt as prominent as his biceps had been. The wardrobe department for this shoot were evil. Well, of course they were, they worked with and for his uncle.
Breathing heavier now, Derek raised his head upwards and closed his eyes, leaning into the man’s touch now instead of trying to inch away. He bit his lip to muffle a moan and blushed anew. He was going to kill Peter for this!
The older man tugged Derek’s shirt part of the way up and Derek groaned already wanting the man’s hands back on his belly. His dark treasure trail contrasted beautifully on camera with his pale skin. His scene partner threaded his fingers through the coarse hairs, heading downwards, and squeezed Derek’s trapped erection.
Ears turning red, Derek gasped, bucking into his partner’s roving hand, which swanned away from his dick as quickly as it had approached. Derek looked down at his bulge. He wasn’t even naked yet and he felt more exposed now than ever before. His scene partner patted his stomach to get his attention. Derek’s eyes snapped up to his and the older man jutted his chin up. Derek licked his lips and raised his arms.
Getting out of the miniscule polo shirt was even more of an ordeal than getting into it. Fortunately, his scene partner did most of the work, helping to ease the material up under his armpits before sliding one arm out and then the next. Then finally, the blue and orange eyesore was only around his neck and then whoosh it was off over his head.
Now he was shirtless.
His nipples hardened into peaks.
Roaming hands touched every bared inch of him.
He was turned around so his back was to camera and the flexing routine began again. This time though as Derek posed his scene partner resumed tracing circles around his midsection with just the tips of his fingers keeping Derek panting and hard. His cock ached he was so hard.
It was a delicious torture.
Derek felt like he was floating.
A puppet on strings moving under a masterful hand.
The moment ended. His scene partner stepped away for a second, his magic fingers disappearing with him, and Derek spun back around to face the camera. He was huffing and puffing, breathless, and they’d only gotten as far as taking his shirt off. He was going to be a wreck by the end of this.
Death was too kind. He was going to have to find a way to get even with his cruel, lascivious uncle! He’d come up with a plan just as soon as the blood resumed flowing to his brain.
With a slightly less than gentle shove, Derek was pushed onto the bed. He sat there, catching his breath as his scene partner knelt beside him and began slowly undoing his boot laces. He watched the older man. Each move meticulous and precise. Each moment a perfect frame. An expert. An artist at work.
Time seemed to slow, yet very quickly Derek was barefoot and bare chested. All that remained…
His scene partner pushed lightly at his shoulder and Derek leaned back, resting on his elbows. Laid out like a feast. The older man skimmed his hands across Derek’s shoulder, down to his chest. He pinched his nipples each in turn. Derek sighed. His nips weren’t as sensitive as his belly button, but it still felt good to have them played with. He arched into the man’s firm grip.
Above him, his scene partner chuckled under his breath. Derek turned beet red. The older man took pity on him and moved on, swiftly gliding down his chest over his abdomen to grope his bulge. Once again, Derek bucked into that rough touch, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate.
Swiftly, his scene partner undid his belt buckle with a flourish. And as easy as you please, with just a few tugs the belt was pulled from its loops and tossed aside. The buckle clanked on the hardwood floor behind the camera. His scene partner was on the move, skillfully unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans without touching his throbbing erection.
The man was good.
Evil, but good.
It was a small production getting the super tight denim off. His partner jerked at the material while Derek lifted his ass up off the bed as one leg and then the other was freed. Once liberated, his cock tented his black boxer briefs, going nearly vertical. He lists a little to the right. No body is perfect.
His partner squeezed his thighs a little for show, but didn’t dally. He thumped the tip of Derek’s cotton covered cock with his middle finger as if he were testing a melon at the market and Derek yelped flinching inwards for a hot second. His partner, soothingly rubbed his tummy for far too short a moment before once again easing him down onto his elbows.
The underwear was the easiest piece of clothing to lose.
Naked.
On camera.
Hard as a rock.
For all the world to see.
In nothing but a mask.
Overcome with shyness, Derek tucked his chin into his shoulder as if that could hide him at all. His scene partner kindly carded his hand through Derek’s hair, scritching his scalp in such a way that Derek shivered from head to toe.
The real fun was about to begin.
Most of what came next was a blur of sensations for him.
Derek made noises he had never made before. Something about being on camera wearing a mask left him feeling liberated. Unrestrained. Like no one was watching, even though a whole room was watching. And soon even more people would be watching. Potentially, thousands.
The older man flicked his nipples. Sucked his cock. Played with his balls. Rubbed his stomach. Stroked his shaft. He even briefly licked Derek’s feet.
The final position had Derek up on his elbows one last time. His scene partner on the opposite side than where he had been for most of the shoot, pumping his cock and biting at his nipples while petting his abdomen on and off.
“Oh, god,” Derek moaned, looking directly into the camera. “I’m going to come.”
And he did. All over his scene partner’s hand. Up onto his heaving chest. And some of course trickled down his shaft onto his balls.
The filming ended pretty rapidly after that. The cameraman got close-ups of Derek’s come and one final master shot of the bed and they called it a wrap.
Peter yanked his feathered mask off in a flash. “I told you, you’d enjoy it.”
Derek panted, too wonderfully worn out to have a witty comeback.
“Should we keep the masks?”
Derek groaned, lying flat on the sweat damp sheets. Peter grinned. “I thought so.”