Jamie sat cross legged on their bed, laptop balanced on his knees, juggling multiple browser tabs in his search for their next collab. He flicked between DMs, their content page inbox, and recent videos from other creators, making notes in his spreadsheet.
It was pissing down as he studied a message from a potential performer who had reached out through their site last week: "Loved your latest video. Would be well up for working with Marcus if you're looking for new faces and holes."
Jamie clicked through to the attached links and watched a few clips. He actually found this quite straightforward. This guy was okay but not quite it: decent body, pretty natural on camera, but something about the performance felt forced. There were too many facial expressions and moans at staged intervals, instead of genuine reaction.
Another tab displayed a screenshot of a Grindr conversation from someone Marcus had chatted with before and suggested might be suitable. The photos showed promise: lean but defined, quite a bit shorter than Marcus, which usually worked well on camera. Dark hair and olive skin that would contrast nicely with Marcus's paler complexion.
Jamie made a note in his spreadsheet under "Potential: needs verified experience." Their system had rules. No first-timers, regardless of how attractive. No one without verifiable content history. No one who couldn't provide proper identification and sign proper releases. This all not only made their lives easier, but helped them reach new audiences. They were still little Brit fishes trying to reach bigger international ponds online.
He switched to Twitter, where he'd been following several performers whose style aligned with theirs. One in particular, who performed under the name "Leo", had recently posted about looking for new collaboration opportunities in Manchester and elsewhere in the north west. His feed showed a few months of consistent content creation, partnerships with creators Jamie respected, and most importantly, a performance style that at least seemed genuine.
Jamie added Leo to his shortlist and continued his research. By the time he'd evaluated twenty potential performers across various platforms, he had narrowed his options to three candidates who met their criteria. He checked the time: just past midday. Marcus wouldn't be home until seven, after his late shift at the sports centre.
He composed messages to all three shortlisted performers with the same professional efficiency he'd applied to selecting them:
Hey,
I'm reaching out about a collab with Marcus (StudioM). We're looking to shoot in Manchester on the following dates [see next message]. Ideally no rates for joint use and ownership, but happy to discuss rates for exclusive use on our channel.
We maintain professional standards, with contracts addressing content rights and boundaries. We typically shoot for 1-2 hours to create a 20-30 minute final product.
If you're interested, I'd be happy to provide more details and discuss availability.
Thanks
J
With the potential performers contacted, Jamie opened their analytics dashboard. The numbers were good: subscriber growth had accelerated again, putting them firmly in the top ten gay content creators in Britain. Their monthly income had increased accordingly, providing a comfortable buffer in their account that covered not just the mortgage but maybe even allowed them to consider redecorating some of the older bits of their flat.
Jamie clicked through to the comment section of their most recent video. The feedback followed familiar patterns: praise for Marcus's performance, appreciation for production quality, and the increasingly inevitable questions about the mysterious voice behind the camera. Three separate comments begged to see Jamie's face or body, offering increased subscription tiers for even a glimpse.
Let us see you just once, please! I've been subscribed for a year!
Voice guy is hot just from his voice, bet the rest is too. Show yourself!
Would pay double subscription to see camera guy join in sometime. It’s like he’s me.
Jamie smiled faintly at the comments but had no intention of responding. His invisibility wasn't just a nice touch; it was a boundary he had no interest in crossing. Marcus thrived on being seen: he strutted for the camera with natural confidence. He mentioned his online content on Grindr, he joked about it with their mates, and he didn’t care if people at the leisure centre knew about it either.
Jamie preferred watching, observing and staying behind the camera. Putting Marcus, and Marcus alone, on the pedestal was safe and secure for him.
His phone pinged with an email notification. A performer had already responded, expressing interest and availability for their proposed dates.
He switched to their editing software, making final adjustments to the schedule for upcoming releases. They had a few completed videos in the queue: enough for at least the next couple of weeks at least if they were spaced out properly alongside a few shorts and photos. Ideally, they would film with a new performer within the next few days to keep up the pipeline.
Jamie closed his laptop and stretched, his body stiff from sitting too long in one position. He wandered to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich, and ate it standing at the counter while scrolling through his personal social media. Here, he was regular Jamie: a 26 year old with ordinary interests in film, editing, photography, and the occasional video game.
He had his own editing career outside of their own videos. He edited podcasts, vlogs and various social media accounts. People liked to contact him here too, albeit for very different reasons.
The contrast between his online selves sometimes amused him. Most of his university friends followed him here, commenting on his posts about classic cinema or photography exhibitions without the slightest suspicion that he spent his mornings editing fucking videos that paid his mortgage. His parents knew he was making a name for himself in media editing, but generally thought he supported himself entirely through freelance editing for podcasts and corporate videos. This wasn't actually untrue; just significantly incomplete.
After lunch, Jamie showered and changed. He had a legitimate editing job at 3pm: a weekly football podcast that paid modestly but provided a public-facing credit he could at least discuss at family gatherings, and was beginning to earn him some notice in the sports podcast space. He grabbed his laptop and headed out into the damp afternoon.
The podcast studio was located above a record shop in the Northern Quarter, a creatively cluttered space with walls covered in team scarves and vintage match programmes. Jamie greeted the sound engineer, settled into his usual spot at the editing station, and got to work cleaning up the latest episode.
"That last interview ran long, sorry," said Ahmed, the engineer, leaning against the doorframe. "Guy wouldn't stop talking about that VAR thing from Sunday."
"I'll cut it down," Jamie replied, already mapping the edits in his mind. "Keep the tactical analysis, lose the ten-minute referee conspiracy theory except for 6 headline grabbing 30 seconds?"
"You're a miracle worker," Ahmed said with genuine appreciation. "Proper surgeon with those edits. Never can figure how you make it sound so natural when you've cut half their rambling."
Jamie smiled slightly. "People usually say the main thing they wanna say in coherent sections. It's just surrounded by waffle. Cut out the waffle and it’s still there and natural.”
The irony wasn't lost on him: the same skills he applied to this legitimate work served him equally well in their adult content. Finding authentic moments, creating a flow, ensuring the audience focused on what mattered. Editing was editing, regardless of whether he was editing cock or (foot)balls.
He worked steadily for a couple of hours, transforming a rambling ninety-minute recording into a tight, engaging half an hour podcast. When he finished, Ahmed reviewed the final cut with obvious approval.
"Brilliant as always, mate. Got time for a pint? A few of us are heading out in a bit."
"Thanks, but I should get home," Jamie replied, packing up his laptop. "Got another project due tomorrow."
Outside, the early evening had brought a break in the rain. Jamie decided to walk home, using the twenty minutes to mentally shift gears between his public and private work. His phone chimed with notifications as he walked: two more responses from potential performers, both expressing interest. He'd review them properly once he was home.
His phone chimed again. A message from Marcus:
Absolute nightmare shift. Some kid vomited in the pool, then a fight broke out in the changing rooms. Might be home late x
Jamie texted back a sympathetic response, then settled in for an evening alone with his planning. He opened his laptop and returned to his search, reviewing the new messages from potential collaborators. The first was promising but available only on weekends, which wouldn't work with Marcus's schedule for a little while. The second, a performer who went by "Theo", checked all their boxes: experienced but not overexposed, physically complementary to Marcus, and available on their preferred dates.
Jamie drafted a follow-up message to Theo, outlining more specific details about the shoot they were planning. Marcus was a stud, but he was becoming so popular because of the effort put into every moment. Jamie might play the forgotten observer on camera, and it turned him on something rotten, but turning those moments into something hot on screen took time and planning. It was the one thing that distinguished them from any other random fuck online.
His phone pinged again. Theo had responded enthusiastically to the detailed plan, even suggesting a particular scenario he thought would work well. Cute.
He finalised the arrangements, scheduled the shoot for later in the week, and sent Theo their standard contract and content release forms. By the time he'd finished, it was past ten, and Marcus had sent another text saying he'd been asked to cover the end of someone else's shift and wouldn't be home until after eleven.
He was about to close his laptop when a notification appeared from their content platform: a new comment on their latest video.
The way his voice breaks when Marcus really gets going... that's the hottest part. Don't ever show your face. The mystery is everything.
Jamie read the comment twice, feeling the warmth spread through him. Most subscribers focused on Marcus: his body, his performance, his audible pleasure. Rightly so. But this viewer had heard Jamie - really, really heard him - and understood that his vulnerability was as much a powerful performance as Marcus's displays of dominance.
When Marcus finally came home just after midnight, smelling of chlorine and looking exhausted, Jamie was already in bed. Marcus dropped his bag by the door and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed.
"That bad?" Jamie asked, setting his book aside.
"Worse," Marcus mumbled into the pillow. "Manager asked if I'd consider taking on more shifts. Apparently my 'rapport with the regulars' is an asset."
“That’s a funny way of saying the spin class ladies like your bum. What did you say?”
Marcus rolled onto his back, eyes closed. "Said I'd think about it. Could use the extra money for the kitchen fund."
Jamie smiled slightly. "Actually, we might already have that covered. Numbers are looking good, and I've just booked a new performer for later in the week. Someone who might be particularly interesting on camera."
Marcus opened one eye. "Oh aye? What's special about this one?"
"Professional but not mechanical. Experienced but not jaded. And physically..." Jamie paused, considering his words. "I think you’ll like him."
A smile spread across Marcus's tired face. "You've got someone good Always do," Marcus murmured, eyes closing again. "Your instincts are why we eat."
Jamie watched as Marcus drifted toward sleep, still fully dressed on top of the duvet. He got up quietly, found a blanket to drape over him, and turned out the light. Jamie kissed his forehead, and then lay awake for a while. Three potential performers contacted. One confirmed booking. Analytics trending upward. Schedule maintained. Not bad for a day's work.
