Mister.Bang Chan

•Chapter 1•

"Hey, I'm Chan," he introduces himself to you as he sits down, hoping you won't find it weird. He's been to many sets before, and he still doesn't know what to expect. Some of his colleagues are very tralkative and social and want to talk before filming to relax. Others don't even want to exchange a word before they start exchanging bodily fluids on set. Chan doesn't mind either of those options—he can adjust to the other person's needs.

You tell him your name and nod a couple of times, your lips pursed into a straight line when you look straight ahead again. There's nothing there—just a blank wall with a huge porn poster, but you've seen those before, surely. You keep staring into nothing, which makes him... curious. Are you nervous? Are you already sick of the set? Were you expecting more?

"Do you want to talk or prefer to sit here in silence?" Chan asks as he gets his phone out of his pocket. If you say no, he'll just catch up with the group chat until the director is ready for you.

You gulp and then practically whisper, "Talking is... Great."

"Nervous?" You look really nervous, so it's a stupid question, but Chan can't help himself.

"Y-yeah, a bit," you tell him, sneaking a glance his way.

"Me too," Chan admits. He is.

No matter how many times he does this, he's nervous. It's only natural. Having sex one on one with someone you're attracted to is one thing. Having sex on camera when there's a guy in the room with you telling you what to do, making the woman you're fucking fake-scream her head off, make you fuck in the same position for ten minutes so he can get a good shot is something completely different.

Chan always has the same concerns—what if he can't keep it up? What if he can't come? What if his partner doesn't enjoy it all and it's very noticeable it's all fake? It's happened many times before, and Chan can't really blame the scene partners for that—who would enjoy getting rammed from different angles for what seems like hours? "It will be fine, don't worry."

"I'm just—" You sigh, gripping the edge of the chair you're sitting on, "I've heard this director is..."

While you struggle to find the proper word to describe the guy, Chan can think of many. A demanding asshole? A fucking pervert? A jerk who screams at women but compliments men? A dickhead who takes out his frustrations on the actresses who are just here to make a living? 

"A dick?" Chan suggests, making you chuckle. Well, it at least got you to relax a little bit. "He is."

"Oh, so it's true," you say, sounding defeated.

"I won't lie, he is difficult to work with if you're a woman," Chan says, lowering his voice. "But we're in it together for this scene."

"We are," you say with a nod, sneaking yet another glance at him. "I'm so glad it's you and not someone... Different."

Chan chuckles. "What does that mean?"

"Not someone I'm not attracted to in the slightest," you are quick to admit, looking kind of ashamed about the confession.

"I was relieved when I saw you too," he compliments you right back, nudging you. "That's one thing out of the way."

"What else do we have to get out of the way?" you ask. It's only then that Chan realizes you're practically trembling. The conversation seems strange for a pro, so a suspicion arises in him and he just has to know.

"The same things as on other sets," he sets the trap in a low voice, not wanting to interrupt the scene that's going on inside. There's some yelling and then suddenly, someone's screaming like they're being murdered, not fucked. It's the same old with this director.