Chapter Text
Scene: a single, fixed camera gives a view of a dark blue sofa in front of a plain white wall with an amateur-looking "Corbin Fisher Studios" banner hanging on it. A young man is sitting on the sofa, wearing black sweatpants and a black sleeveless tank. He is slouching slightly and his bare feet, with their unusually long toes, are turned out with the soles facing one another, resting on the utilitarian beige carpet. He looks like he is working hard to give the impression of being completely relaxed.
Disembodied voice (DV) from off-screen: Ok, I think we are ready to get started. Can you tell us about yourself?
The man: I am Ilya Rozanov. I am rookie with Boston Raiders. Number one draft pick for this season.
DV: So, Ilya, I know you're not from North America, so I just want to check - what do you know about what we are doing here today?
IR: I know all. Everyone knows this. My agent tells me, my team tells me. It is hockey thing, um, tradition. Rookies, top picks, we all are asked to make these videos. Kind of like hazing, yes, or maybe a little like when it is our turn to be called to the Winner's Room? No big deal.
DV: And you are the first to do this from your rookie class, right?
IR: Yes, first. I am number one, like I said.
DV: And how are you feeling about doing this today? Are you nervous? Embarrassed?
IR: I am not nervous. I am hot, people like to look at me, I like to be looked at.
He winks at the camera.
IR: Why would I be nervous? We start now, hm?
DV: Ok! Ok. Let's start slow. Can you tell me what you like? You like girls?
IR: Mm, of course. What is not to like? I am number one hockey player, there are many hot girls.
DV: In Russia? Boston?
IR: Yes. There are hot girls everywhere. They like hockey players, they come to the clubs and look for us to dance with them. And then, you know, maybe more than dancing…
DV: Sounds fun. You guys have a pretty great life. Ok, you can relax, just chill.
IR: I am very relaxed.
A meaningful pause as the camera captures his knee, which is bouncing up and down violently.
DV: Hmm. Not even a little nervous, right? Well, sometimes it is better to just get going. Do you want to start by taking something off?
Ilya looks at the camera again, smirks, peels his tank off over his head, throws it over the arm of the sofa, onto the floor, out of sight. He has broad shoulders, defined abs, a slim waist.
DV: However many of these videos I do, I still never get used to what you hockey players look like under your clothes…
Ilya just smiles, looking smug.
IR: Not all hockey players look like me.
DV: That's true, too. You must work out a lot.
IR: Ah, not really. I am lazy.
DV: You definitely don't look like you're lazy. Now, try not to think about the camera. Just focus on what I am saying and what you are feeling. Are you ready to get started? You said you don't need me to put on porn for you to watch?
IR: I have a very good memory, and lots of verrry good memories to think about. I don't need to watch actors.
DV (laughing): Ok, ok, I get it, you're very popular with the ladies. Ok, relax, try to forget about the camera, and off you go. I will let you know if I need you to do anything different.
IR: No problem.
He starts to touch his lips, looking into the camera. He licks the first two fingers on his right hand, then slides that hand down to his chest, catching his left nipple between the fingers and pinching it slightly. It looks a bit over-rehearsed, not exactly self-conscious in the sense of being shy, but certainly conscious of himself and of the image he is portraying. The room is in silence, but inoffensive, bland elevator music has been added in post-production.
No interruptions from the disembodied voice for a minute or so, then, gently:
DV: Ok, you're doing great. Do you want to take off your pants next?
Ilya looks away from the camera, presumably at the owner of the disembodied voice. Then he seems to remember himself, and turns his face back to make apparent eye contact with the viewer. He stands up and removes his pants, throwing them in the direction that the tank top has already disappeared. He is wearing dark grey Calvin Klein briefs. He has huge, muscled thighs. There is an obvious bulge visible in the briefs, but he doesn't appear to be hard.
He sits back down on the edge of the sofa, legs apart, still looking at the camera, a little too intense. He places both hands on his thighs, and slides them up and down a few times. Despite everything that he has said, he does look a little nervous.
DV (very quietly, sounding maybe almost a little breathless): Try to forget about the camera and just… do what you normally do. Just relax into it. We just want to see the authentic Ilya; you don't need to perform anything.
Ilya nods, rearranges himself on the sofa, lounging back into a corner of it and sliding his right hand down his chest, fingers first. He brushes his fingers through his happy trail, which looks soft to the touch, then cups his dick through his briefs, giving it a gentle squeeze, almost reassuring. He lets out a quiet breath, then another. Keeping his palm and fingers wrapped loosely around his balls and the base of his cock, he starts rubbing the outside of his thumb up and down the length. His left hand has taken over on his chest, gently flicking the right nipple this time.
Even through the briefs, the shape of him is fairly visible, and more so as he starts to harden. He curls his fingers around it, stroking gently, focusing more on the head now. He brings his left hand down to cup his balls, stroking over them now with his thumb.
DV: Those briefs are starting to look a bit tight there - maybe you would be more comfortable if you take them off?
Ilya, who has been looking down at himself, watching the movements of his hands, now flicks his gaze back up to the camera with a smirk.
IR: Yeah, it is big, hm?
The disembodied voice snorts out a brief laugh, sounding slightly disbelieving.
DV: You're more confident than most of the kids we get in here. Last year's rookies were pretty awkward and uncomfortable.
IR: What can I say? I like showing off.
He starts off by looking off-screen towards the owner of the disembodied voice, but then addresses this last remark directly to the camera, with another confident wink. The energy is similar to that which he brings to his post-game interviews; a little too cocky for a standard hockey player, a little less focused on team spirit and the camaraderie of it all.
Rather than immediately going to remove his underwear, he continues to show off, rubbing his own stomach and allowing his little finger to slip under the waistband of his briefs. It still looks a little too practiced, almost like he is playing a role of a confident, experienced fuckboy type, conscious of his projecting a particular image. He looks no older than his 19 years, although he is clearly trying to.
He is fully hard now, the head peeking over the waistband.
After another minute or so of teasing, he stands and removes his underwear. He is about to toss it as he did with the rest of his clothes, but the disembodied voice interrupts.
DV: Um, could you maybe put those on the end table for me?
Ilya looks in his direction, a little quizzical, but turns his back to the camera in order to do so. As he does, his incredible ass comes into view. There is a low whistle from the disembodied voice, or possibly someone else on set, and Ilya's head whipped around.
IR: Ah, I understand now. Ok, so I will put these on the end table here, yes?
He steps to one side of the sofa, bending slightly to show his ass off to the best effect.
IR: Or maybe the other table is better, over there? Maybe I do that.
He walks slowly and deliberately across in front of the sofa, from one side of the screen to the other, seemingly well aware that his ass in side profile is almost as impressive as the back view. He carries the briefs in one hand, the other cupped protectively over his dick, just lightly holding the head against his own stomach, possibly just trying to avoid having it bob around horizontally in front of him.
The disembodied voice sounds a little amused, but also ready to move on from this comedic interlude.
DV: Ok, there is fine. Shall we carry on?
Ilya nods, smiles, sits back down on the sofa, sliding back into a corner. He lifts one foot and plants it on the seat of the sofa, slightly to one side so that his legs are spread slightly apart, but not enough that his hole is visible; teasing but still a little coy. He hasn't removed his hand from his dick, and now he wraps it around again, starting to slide it up and down a little.
The disembodied voice sounds a little reluctant to interrupt, but:
DV: There is lube on the end table if you need it.
IR: Ah, no. I don't need this - I am not cut, I have… the skin thing. I am good. I am… good.
He sounds slightly breathless. True to his word, he is slipping his foreskin up and down, alternating between longer strokes and smaller, tighter movements focused around the base of the head. His face remains stoic, mostly, but as he gets more into it, he starts to frown a little, which makes him look almost angry. He is mostly looking down at himself now, watching the head of his dick winking in and out of the foreskin.
He doesn't speak again, and neither does the disembodied voice, just allowing the scene to play out. Ilya's breathing gets heavier, his face gets angrier as he succumbs to apparent horniness aggression. Even as he comes, he doesn't say anything more than a brief but heartfelt "fuck" on a long exhale, as he slips his free hand over the head to catch the mess that spills out.
There is a pause. The bland music plays on, as Ilya catches his breath, dropping his head back against the sofa as he recovers.
After presumably waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass, the disembodied voice returns, soft and reassuring.
DV: You did great. How do you feel?
IR: Yes, I am fine. Is no big deal, like I said. Was fun.
He grabs a tissue from the box on the end table, and efficiently wipes off his hands, throwing the tissue back onto the table.
DV: Do you have any words of wisdom for your fellow rookies, who are going to be up next?
IR: Ah, no. I don't think that they are watching any way. But maybe they will, maybe they learn something from watching me, hm?
DV (laughing a little): Like I said, you're sure not lacking any confidence…
Ilya just looks a little quizzically at the camera in response to this, apparently not catching the English meaning.
The camera cuts out a little too abruptly, just another example of the slightly amateurish style. A title card appears:
"Next up: Canada and Montreal's own Shane Hollander!"