Tristan Summers knew he was hot. Oh, he tried not to make a point of it; he’d encountered plenty of people who were a little too aware of their own good looks, and he tried to avoid becoming one of them. But what was the use in denying it, even to himself? He was tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular – all those masculinely attractive traits. He was also very distinct – he was, after all, a dragon, and a very visible example of one at that, with glossy black scales, claws like jet, curling black horns like a ram’s, and batlike wings on his back which, while they still didn’t let him fly, were larger than most. So, yes, he was quite aware that he was eye-catching and attractive.

Getting paid to be hot, essentially, would still take some getting used to.

“Hey, stud,” said Liam, the director, clapping Tristan on the shoulder. “Script in hand, I see, good, good. Feeling energetic today?”

“Feeling pretty good, yeah,” Tristan replied with a grin. “We going over the script, or just getting right into it?”

“Script,” the raccoon stated. “Get some sit-down time with your opposite number and the extras. I’m just going to get some coffee now, track down Fabe – get yourself to the lounge by Studio Three, okay? I’m having everyone meet up there.”

Studio Three. He knew where that was; it shouldn’t be too hard to find the lounge from there. Or at least find someone who knew where it was. “Sure. Is that the studio we’re in today?” If it came down to asking directions, he didn’t want to interrupt an early-morning filming in progress.

“Uh-huh. See you in a few, big guy.” With a wave, Liam jogged off.

Tristan proceeded at a more sedate pace, not least because that gave him time to go over the turns and intersections before he came to them. He got down to the studio level without event, and started looking at doors; sure enough, just before taking the last turn that would bring him to Studio Three, he found one door labelled “LOUNGE”. The latch yielded under his thumb, and he pushed the door open.

A few people had already assembled there, one of whom he recognized as a cameraman. Another, while unfamiliar, certainly drew the eye; she was distinct first off because she was a she in a male-dominated studio, second in her own right for being not something people saw everyday. She had a pair of horns atop her scaly head, though they were branched and deer-like, and from her snout hung a pair of catfish-like barbels. She was no slim beauty, but she had a very lush, richly feminine sort of figure that had its own kind of appeal.

That, he figured, was probably one of their extras. Even before he saw the name on the script sitting by someone’s elbow, he was confident that he was, in fact, in the right place; he murmured a hello and found himself a narrow-backed chair to sit in, one that his tail could slip through the back of with his wings resting easily to either side.

He remembered the character, of course – betrothed of the other male lead for some diplomatic arranged marriage – and was only surprised that they’d managed to track down such an uncommon species, for someone whose role in the script was, except for the very last scene, to lie still as though sleeping.

If that was who they’d got for an extra, Tristan found himself wondering who the other lead would be.

He didn’t have to wonder too long; voices in the hall – and footsteps, and something on wheels – announced that Liam was arriving. And the guy talking to him – Tristan stiffened. That guy sounded familiar.

Then they walked in, and Tristan saw short white fur, blue eyes, a spiral form topping an equine face –

Oh, God. Him. Fabian Springvale, probably the best-known face – among other parts – in the gay porn industry today, with whose body Tristan was probably more familiar than his own.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Steady, steady… okay. He could do this.

Trying to keep his smile from going completely manic, Tristan stood, making his way over at Liam’s gesture.

“Well, here you are, together at last,” the raccoon said. “Fabian, this is Tristan Summers, our latest rising star, I’ve mentioned him.”

“Uh-huh,” the unicorn drawled, putting a hand out with a grin.

As Tristan took that hand in his, Liam went on, “Tristan, this is…”

“I know who it is,” Tristan blurted, and swallowed, trying to keep the words from spilling out quite so fast. “Fabian Springvale. God, I don’t know if there’s a gay guy in this country who wouldn’t know.”

Liam chuckled. “Think you can work with each other, boys?”

“Oh, I think this’ll work out,” the unicorn drawled, giving Tristan’s hand a long, firm squeeze, and looking him over in the process. Right from one end to the other. “Looks like part of him thinks so, too.”

It was a damn good thing that black scales didn’t show a blush.

“Better keep it under control, big guy,” the raccoon instructed, towing the little cart and its tall coffee urn over to one side of the room. “Once we’ve gone over the script, I want to get the intro done so we can let some of these people go home before we get to any of the main feature.”

Control. Right.

Tristan took a breath, gave Fabian’s hand an answering squeeze at last, and then let go, turning to make his way over to the coffee. And, while the other people in the room were all behind him, rearranged his shorts a little.

Damn. This was really going to get interesting.

They didn’t spend long on the script; both Tristan and Fabian, as well as all the extras, were familiar with their cues for the introduction scenes. They got ready to film; the crew arranged the set, and the cast got in costume.

In Tristan’s case, that was a length of gold-trimmed white cloth that went up his front, down his back, then wrapped around his waist and tucked in. It felt like a stiff breeze would pull it off of him, which he supposed was the point; something he had to do a great deal of fiddling with, especially where his wings were concerned, would only get in the way later.

When his cue came, he tried to treat the scene with gravity. He was a mysterious and powerful wizard, summoned in a desperate bid to cure the mysterious illness that had claimed the unicorn’s betrothed, an illness that even the finest healers had been unable to mend. He tried to be that mysterious wizard – powerful, confident, aloof. He circled the bed on which the qilin lay, surrounded by people in cowled white robes and nervous expressions, touching her hand, her brow. A small brazier was brought in, and he scattered some nodules of resin amidst the coals, from which curled tendrils of thick smoke; he stirred them with his fingers as they rose, and drew a deep breath, reviewing his lines one more time.

“Of course healers would be of no use here,” he drawled, putting on his haughtiest voice, wrapping around himself the sort of smug, superior attitude he worked so hard to avoid in real life. “It’s not a sickness she’s taken with, but a curse – and a tricky one indeed.”

“A curse!” Fabian gasped. “But… but who would do such a thing?”

The unicorn could do “sad and shocked” very, very well; even knowing it was part of the script, Tristan almost found himself getting drawn in. He clung to his persona, whirling to turn his attention to the smaller man, leaning in close. “My understanding was that you brought me here because you wanted her made better,” he growled. “If you seek answers about the deeds and motivations of men, find an oracle. I have no time for such things.”

Fabian swallowed hard, blue eyes wide and shining with fear. “But… but can you lift it?”

With a snort, Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course,” he replied, doing his best to sound insulted at the merest suggestion to the contrary. “But,” here he held up one finger, continuing in a softer, almost teasing voice, “it will be costly.” He started pacing around the other man, looking him over – as obviously as he dared do without risking the sort of lapse of control he’d had in the lounge. “To break a curse of that potency, I will need to use some rare and precious reagents, things found only in the highest mountains, where few,” he rustled his wings to draw attention to them, “could even go at all, never mind find what lies hidden. Resources that it will take months to replace.”

Again Fabian swallowed, staring up at him. “W-what will it cost?” he stammered.

God damn he could do the sad and pathetic; now Tristan was falling for it. “For you,” he hissed, and reached in to cup his hand under the unicorn’s jaw, giving it a slow stroke, stalling for time as he wracked his mind for his line. “I’ll do anything,” he breathed.

Wait, no, that wasn’t –

“Cut!” Liam exclaimed; the actors relaxed, Fabian’s tremendously worried expression melting into a smirk that he valiantly tried, but didn’t quite manage, to suppress, and the raccoon went on, “Tristan, that’s not your line!

“I know, I know,” Tristan replied, exasperated, mostly with himself, and reviewing the script once more in his head. “He’s good at this! I was starting to believe it and got distracted.” What was he supposed to say? Ah, yes. “I got it now.”

“Well, you’ve been doing good otherwise,” Liam admitted, “so if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” the dragon insisted.

“Okay, we’ll try again, from Fabian’s line. We’ve got three angles on this, we’ll cover up the differences in post, so there’s no need to go all the way back. Places, everybody! Right… right. Scene one, take two – action!” Clapperboards snapped in front of the cameras.

Once again, the unicorn gulped. “W-what will it cost?” he repeated, a dead ringer for the way he’d said it in the missed take.

“For you…” Tristan let it trail off again, sliding his fingers along the unicorn’s jaw, inhaling to draw in the scent of him. This time, though, he had his line firmly in mind; he was just letting it stretch out a moment. “For you, I will offer a very special price,” he purred.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liam flash a thumbs-up.

Fabian bit his lip, trembling a little. “Please,” he stage-whispered. “I’ll do anything…”

“Anything?” Tristan repeated. He was a vain and powerful wizard, he reminded himself, letting his fingers trail down the unicorn’s throat. And the man had just done, just said, exactly what he wanted.

“Anything,” the smaller man choked.

“Such dedication,” Tristan drawled, sidling around the unicorn again, leaning in to put his snout right behind one ear. Mindful of the mic needing to catch him, he suppressed his instinct to really keep his voice low, and pitched it to carry, while still trying to sound like he was whispering, as he went on, “No amount of coin could suffice for this. But once the curse is broken, it will take a week for it to lift entirely. For that week…” He let a little bit of his suppressed desire creep into his voice as he finished, “you’re mine.” And he leaned right in close, straining to keep himself from shivering as he splayed one hand against the unicorn’s smooth chest, the other on his thigh.

Fabian gasped, tensing and arching against him in a very pleasing manner indeed. “B-b-but…” He swallowed. “But I’ve been… keeping myself pure, for her…”

Tristan had seen the unicorn make similar protestations in a great number of other productions. Normally he was able to just go with it and enjoy; being so close to him, being a part of this one, it was… a bit harder to let go. He couldn’t entirely keep himself from laughing, but he could control how it got out; it wasn’t in the script, but a bit of a cackle seemed to fit the character. “Sure, and you could, precious,” he crooned, “but if the curse isn’t broken soon, you’ll be saving yourself to meet her in the afterlife.” He dipped his head down, letting his next words slip past the unicorn’s neck. “One week, princeling. One week of giving me a worthwhile reason to be away from my studies, for now and for the time it will take me to recover my stock. Then all is forgiven – you can keep your gold and silver and jewels, and if you really want to, you can go right back to your woman, your foreign princess, and know that you took action to save her. Or you can cling to your precious virtue, and see how well the gods answer your prayers for it.” He gave Fabian’s neck a nip, felt the unicorn gasp and tense against him, and over the other side of his neck, he breathed, “It’s your choice, truly.”

Fabian swallowed around another whimper, then, after a moment, nodded. “A-all right. I-I-I’ll do it.”

“Good, good,” Tristan purred, standing upright again, drawing away. “I figured you would be reasonable about this.” He gave one last squeeze to the unicorn’s shoulder before turning back toward the bed, looking over the woman lying there, stroking his chin. When he spoke again, his tone was all business. “I will need assistants, to bring my supplies and to set them up as I direct.”

“It shall be done,” said Fabian, his voice still shaky, and bowed.

“Aaaaaaand cut,” Liam broke in. “Fantastic job, guys! I know a lot of people are just going to skip these parts, but for whatever it’s worth, I’m glad you’re taking it seriously. Take five, drink up, let the crew get things ready for Scene Two.”

“Nice one, sexy,” Fabian purred by Tristan’s shoulder, slipping past him. Tristan excused himself and ducked into the hall, locating the nearest washroom and latching the door behind himself. He leaned on the sink, palms pressed against the cool ceramic, and took deep breaths.

Being so close to such an attractive guy wasn’t made any easier to bear by knowing what they’d eventually be getting up to. Still, maybe it was just as well he hadn’t known, when reading the script, who the other guy would be; at least this way, he didn’t have time to work himself up into a frenzy.

Well, more of one than he’d need when it got to that scene, anyway.

He splashed some cold water on his face – thank goodness his scales didn’t need stage makeup for what they were doing – dried himself off, and got back into the studio. The crew had already finished moving a few tables into place, with all manner of complicated glassware and spirally tubes and colourful liquids arranged on it. One squirrel caught Tristan’s attention, leading him over to the whole mess.

“I’ve got everything laid out in the order you’ll need it, left to right,” the man said. “And I’ve got extras in case we need to do more than one take. Here; take this.” He handed Tristan a small wireless earbud; as the dragon was fixing it in place, the squirrel said, “I’ll prompt you on exactly what you need to use and when. Just try to keep your left side away from the camera; the earbud’s easy to miss but we don’t want to take any chances with it.”

“Got it.”

A quick check confirmed that the earbud was working right and that he could hear directions clearly through it. Lana, the qilin, took her place again; Tristan took up a position at one end of the worktable, with Fabian and a few of the extras hovering off to one side. Then it was time.

Whoever had set this stuff up evidently knew a great deal of chemistry. Liquids mixed together, changing colours, clarifying, gaining colour anew. The voice his ear walked him through every step of the way. He himself had no lines; that was all handled by Fabian and the extras, discussing the mysterious proceedings in “low” tones of wonder and amazement, worry and suspicion. Tristan worked slowly throughout, trying to look as though he was acting with patient care rather than not actually knowing what he was doing; even when he did get a prompt, he took his time about it, letting everything proceed smoothly.

The timing was spot on; just as their conversation was drawing to a close, the last flask filled up, and Tristan heard a prompt to close the stopcock and lift the flask up with a pair of tongs. The conversation hushed up in a hurry as he turned, holding the tongs gingerly with one hand and beckoning to one of the “servants”.

“Take this, and lower it into cold water,” he instructed, “just enough to cool it. Do not let the water reach the tongs, and most certainly do not let it spill into the solution. If all goes well, the liquid will turn clear,” instead of the milky white it was at present, “and that will be your sign that it is ready; bring it back then.” The cat bowed, taking the tongs from him and carefully proceeding offstage.

So far, so good.

There was a bit of small talk about the procedure, Tristan’s contribution to which was a reminder that there would be no immediate effect, but that the “princess’s” condition would steadily improve over the course of eight days, until she was at last ready to wake. The “servant” returned – the flask of chemicals had been set aside offstage, and he held an identical flask, full of simple water, in the tongs. Tristan took that from him, and leaned over to set the lip to the qilin’s mouth, carefully pouring the water in and letting her swallow it.

After a bit more fussing about with incense and smoke and other odd bits and pieces, he declared that the work was taking hold, that all would proceed apace. “Now,” he said, turning toward Fabian, reminding himself that he was in charge here, that it was time to claim his due, “I believe we have an agreement to attend to.”

After a few seconds to take in Fabian’s concerned expression, Liam called another cut.

One take, start to finish; the raccoon was delighted.

Another break while the crew rearranged the set, and then it was time for the ending; Fabian crouching by the bed as the “healers” looked on, her eyes artfully fluttering open, her saying, in a soft, weak voice, how hungry and thirsty she felt. Fabian promised that she’d be brought food and water, and then, once she’d closed her eyes again, crossed over to where Tristan loomed, arms crossed, looking on with the best satisfied smirk he could manage.

“You did it,” the unicorn breathed. “You saved her!”

“Of course,” Tristan replied, widening his smirk into a grin. “Was there ever any doubt? You asked for the best, and I provided.”

Fabian reached up to clutch one of the dragon’s hands between both of his. “Thank you so very, very much, wise sir.”

“What,” Tristan quipped, “just for the healing?” Aware of what remained to be filmed, what would come to pass between introduction and finale, he let his grin turn to a leer. “Or for the more… personal attention?”

Fabian swallowed, ears flicking back. Tristan wondered how the man managed to blush on cue like that… oh, well; it wasn’t important right now. He leaned in close, touching his snout to the unicorn’s cheek, drawing a breath as the boom mic moved closer. “If ever again you find yourself in… need,” he hissed, “you know how to find me.”

Then, with one last chuckle, he sauntered past the faux-flabbergasted unicorn. Exit, stage right.

A bit more wrapping-up dialogue, with Fabian mostly looking in Tristan’s wake, and then Liam called another cut.

“Fantastic work, people!” he crowed, turning his attention to the extras. “For a cold run, this has been an incredible morning. Thank you all very much for coming; check in at the front desk, and get all the details worked out. I’ll be in touch through your agents if there’s any problem in the footage, but for now it looks like we’ve got it in the bag. You two,” he turned to Fabian and Tristan, “take half an hour for lunch; we need to get things in place for the feature, anyway. Be in the lounge at,” he checked his watch, “quarter past twelve.”

“Got it,” Tristan replied, and Fabian threw in, “Sure thing, boss.” He looked Tristan over, and for a moment the dragon thought an invitation was in the making, and wondered how he might respond to it; but then the unicorn just grinned at him, waved, and exited on his own.

Even then, Tristan wasn’t sure if he was meant to follow. But by the time he snapped out of it, grabbed his water bottle and keys, and stepped into the hall, Fabian was out of sight.

He’d chosen simple food, lots of carbohydrates, easy to digest, but even so, he was so tense with anticipation that he could hardly force himself to chew and swallow. Force himself he did, though; the morning’s work was nothing compared to what would come after, as far as the demands on his body were concerned. He needed to be at his best.

First, though, they convened in the lounge to go over the script. Not that it was incredibly detailed at this point; the complicated bits had already been done and recorded. For what remained, the script wasn’t going to be the biggest worry on anyone’s mind.

Still, that didn’t mean there was any excuse not to get the characters right. The little sit-down gave Tristan another chance to review his character’s motivations, to get himself in the commanding frame of mind he’d need.

Finally, Liam looked at them both. “Okay, guys,” he said. “It’s about time to head back in there. Now, you’ve both tested clean, you’ve both only been with other tested-clean people here, and you’ve both agreed to do this bareback. This is your last chance to back out and put this one into the softcore file; all the immersion we’ve tried to set up will be gone if the camera catches rubber, but we can still make it work with less explicit angles.”

“I’m fine either way,” said Fabian, and it sounded almost like a different person was saying it; it was confident and to the point, so unlike the hesitation and uncertainty that marked his usual on-stage persona, but without the teasing that was increasingly looking common off stage, either.

Apparently Liam noticed the difference too. “What,” he chuckled, “no preference?”

“That’s not a fair question, Liam,” Fabian protested, eyes flicking over toward Tristan.

A-ha. “No, no, it’s okay,” the dragon cut in. “I mean, I know I’d still like to go ahead bareback,” to put it mildly, “and it’s not because I feel pressured by anyone, not even just because of the bonus.”

The unicorn relaxed a little, flashing him a grin. “Oh yeah?”

Now there was that playfulness again. That challenge. “Oh yeah,” Tristan repeated, grinning back. “Not gonna miss this kind of opportunity.”

“Ooh. So you want a chance to pump right into little ol’ me, do you?” Fabian reached up to glide his fingers along Tristan’s jaw.

Tristan drew in a somewhat shaky breath. “Damn right I do,” he husked. “And it wouldn’t hurt if that’s what you want to feel, too.”

“My, my, my.” That hand slid down Tristan’s neck, over his chest, easing down…

“Hey, easy there, guys,” Liam broke in with a laugh. “I’m glad you’re both eager, I’m glad you’ve got chemistry off-stage, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

The unicorn’s fingers slid far enough down to glide past Tristan’s cock, the touch light but significant through the wrap he still wore, before Fabian drew away with a chuckle. “Sorry, Liam. Couldn’t resist. I mean, look at him.”

“I know, but you’ll be getting a closer look at him soon, anyway. Let’s get on stage and bring the waiting to an end, huh?”

Laughing, the pair slipped out of the lounge. Tristan lagged behind, leaning on the doorframe for a few seconds, panting.

God damn but that unicorn could get him going. Did he know just how much Tristan enjoyed the sight of him? It certainly seemed so… but considering how meek and hesitant Fabian usually was on camera, having him be this forward was just as much of a shock as plunging into a cold pool after a hard day’s labour in the summer sun.

And, just like that, after the initial shock, it felt good.

Tristan gave his head a shake, stood up straight, and proceeded to the studio himself.

“There you are,” Liam called as Tristan caught up. “Was starting to think you’d got lost, or suddenly got cold feet.”

“Or slipped off for a quick wank,” Fabian added with a wink.

If only he knew how close to the mark he was… “Just needed to put my thoughts in order,” Tristan replied, taking a swig from his water bottle and looking around the set. While they’d been in the lounge, the crew had transformed it from the sick-room, with all its white and pastels, to someplace that was much more rich, done up in deep shades of red.

“Right, everything’s all set here,” announced a tiger that Tristan distantly remembered was crew chief. “Lube’s in here,” he went on, holding up a wooden, stoppered flask. “Maybe it’s not exactly period, but it’s a fantasy, we’ll make do.”

“Close enough,” Tristan agreed, thinking out loud, “If the ‘prince’ jumped right to the conclusion that the ‘wizard’ wanted him in bed, not as a manservant or whatever, they’re at least familiar with gay sex, and they’d probably have something to work as lube.”

“And since it’s not a clear bottle, the level of lube won’t reveal if things are shot out of sequence, as a bonus,” Liam added. “Well, boys? You ready?”

“I’ve been ready all morning,” Fabian purred, giving Tristan – and especially Tristan’s midsection – a very direct look, and licking his lips.

The dragon shivered. If they didn’t get to the filming, at this rate he’d cream in his costume anyway. “Let’s do it,” he said, with a bit more confidence in his voice than he actually felt.

It started out smoothly enough. Fabian scurried onto the set, Tristan sauntering in his wake. “We’ve prepared your quarters as you asked, S-Sir,” the unicorn stammered. “I… I hope it meets your approval?”

Tristan reviewed his lines as he took a tour around the place, looking over the bed with its wine-red, white-trimmed sheets, touching the flask that had been set on the nightstand, his tail brushing alongside a sort of wicker deck chair – narrow enough on the upper section that some people might find it difficult to balance on; narrow enough that it should fit between his wings rather nicely.

Putting on his best “haughty” voice, he said, “I suppose this will be adequate. After all,” his gaze turned to one side and swept along the unicorn, and it was entirely without any artifice necessary that he licked his lips, “the main attraction isn’t the room itself, now is it?”

Fabian bit his lip, looking down at the wooden floor. “I… I don’t know what you need me to do, S-Sir.”

Trying to remember that his character would crave that innocence, Tristan lowered himself into a low-backed chair; low enough for his wings to rest easy over it as he lounged. “I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” he replied, and gestured toward Fabian’s outfit. “Come, now. It’s you I’ve bargained for, not your finery. Let me see all of you.”

“Y-yes, S-Sir,” came the stammering reply, and Fabian started tugging at the laces of his shirt. They’d left a sizable glimpse of white fur exposed all along; as he loosened them, that glimpse became a little more, and more still. Finally, with a slow motion that managed to communicate hesitance while still being exquisitely sensual, he slid out of it, body arching as the garment slipped down his arms.

Tristan suppressed a shiver, instead letting a low groan and half-lidded eyes communicate his approval. That slender, toned form was, as ever, absolutely delicious. “Very nice,” he purred, and, remembering that he was supposed to take over, lifted a hand to beckon the unicorn over. “Come closer, now. Let me get a better look.”

Fabian shuffled across the floor, eyes still downcast. When he started to kneel, Tristan’s hand cupped under his chin, stopping him short. From there, he let his hand trail downwards – not unlike what the unicorn had done to him in the lounge, really, except that Tristan lingered over it a little more, pausing to stroke back and forth along Fabian’s collarbone, to circle the tip of one blunt but enamelled finger-claw around a nipple, to splay his fingers over the unicorn’s tense stomach.

It was so easy to get drawn into it, to believe that the soft gasps and moans really were those of a virgin, new to this sort of touch. To believe that this special treasure was his and his alone. The anxious whimper as Tristan loosened Fabian’s belt almost made the dragon pause.

Almost. No matter how many times he’d seen what those trousers covered, now he ached to get a good look in person.

Still, it wasn’t in character to rush. Once he’d undone that belt, he didn’t hurry to strip the unicorn down; he slid his hands around, feeling the taut curve of Fabian’s ass, hearing the unicorn gasp as he pressed back into the touch, trembling.

“Yessssss,” Tristan hissed, and licked his lips, sliding one hand around the other man’s hip. “You like that, don’t you? You want it…” His fingers slid over the swelling bulge in front, that warm ridge almost electrifying to touch, especially with the moans that touch drew forth. Up and down he slid his fingers, letting the loose pants grow tight around the unicorn’s stiffening cock.

He was aware of the cameras shifting around them, moving in closer, as he worked the unicorn’s trousers open, as he reached in to curl his fingers directly around that firm warmth and drew it free.

“There,” he breathed, “you see? You want it, deep down. Deep inside… you need it. You need me…” He trailed off into a hiss, the hand still in back freeing Fabian’s tail and drawing his trousers down, the one in front still gliding along the unicorn’s length.

And there it was, right in front of his snout. Seven inches of thick, warm, pink flesh bobbing before him, the tip already a bit slick. He drew a breath, biting his lip…

“Cut,” Liam’s voice broke in.

Bemused, and more than a little frustrated, Tristan leaned back against his chair, craning his neck around to look at the raccoon. “Huh?”

“Tristan, you’re shaking,” Liam pointed out. “We can see it on camera. You’re way too nervous for your role.”


So he was. Had he just dismissed it as Fabian being the one who was shivering? But now that his attention was called to it, it was impossible to ignore the heady, anxious anticipation, the urgent need… damn, the man was right. He swallowed, drawing a deep breath. “Sorry…”

The raccoon walked over to his chair, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Tristan, I know you can be a strong top. I’ve seen it. What’s wrong?”

Tristan glanced up at Fabian, who, wonder of wonders, looked somewhat concerned as well, with good humour in his eyes, but no teasing. “Sorry,” he repeated. “This is… a little weird.” He pointed up at the unicorn with his thumb. “Do you have any idea how often I’ve jerked off to this guy? I’ve got his entire discography!”

“Oho,” Fabian chuckled, “a fan, is that it? I got this, Liam.”

Raccoon and dragon both looked toward the unicorn. “Come again?” Liam said.

“Well, since you mention it…” Fabian gave Tristan’s other shoulder a squeeze. “Give me, oh, a half hour with Lover-boy here. I’ll get those first-time jitters right out of his system, and then, if you’re right about his stamina, we can recharge and get right back to filming.”

Liam arched an eyebrow. “Well, that’s… one way to deal with it, I guess,” he laughed, and started walking off-stage. “All right, have fun, guys,” he called over his shoulder. “We’re ahead of schedule anyway, so no harm done. Just don’t wear each other out!”

“Perish the thought,” Fabian murmured, looking down at Tristan with a grin. “Now,” he breathed, “whatever will I do with you?”

Tristan shrugged. “Well, we’re right here.” In fact, he never had taken his hand off Fabian’s cock; he gave it a squeeze.

“Nnngh, God,” the unicorn panted, shoving into his grip. “I like the way you think, stud.”

Without the worry about looking good for the cameras, it was so much easier, really, to reach out with his tongue, to touch it to the unicorn’s glans, to swirl around its crown. So easy to pull the smaller man forward, to draw that warm meat into his mouth, to caress it with his dancing tongue.

And with the cameras not running, well, maybe that meant that the moans issuing from overhead were honest. Fabian wasn’t making noise for the camera, he was making noise because Tristan was making him feel good.

He, the latest addition to the roster, was making their most senior veteran, their signature player, moan in bliss.

If that wasn’t encouraging, he didn’t know what would be.

Emboldened, he bobbed his head along that hot, delicious length, slipping his hand down to fondle the unicorn’s low-hanging balls, following them back and forth as the other man gripped his skull and started thrusting into his mouth. Yes. He kept his tongue busy, kept stroking and tugging on that dangling pouch, kept feeling around the unicorn’s taut ass with his other hand, delighting in the wet slurping sounds almost as much as in Fabian’s noises of pleasure.

Still, this wasn’t quite how he wanted to end things. He slowed his attentions, his hands shifting tack to restrain the other male’s motions and slow them down. Finally Fabian’s thrusts came to a halt. Tristan lifted off of his cock with a soft, moist pop, starting to push up to his feet.

What next?

As he finished standing, Fabian clung to his shoulders, his nose touching Tristan’s jaw. “They’re filming,” the unicorn whispered. “Make it good.”

Wait, what? Filming? Tristan couldn’t keep himself from tensing. But in that moment, inspiration struck – he could at least direct that tension. He squeezed the unicorn against himself, nipping at one ear, one hand keeping a firm grip on Fabian’s ass, the other, on the other side, stroking over it. “There,” he husked over that ear, “you see? See what it is you’ve been waiting for… what you’ve been denying yourself?” This was so far off script he couldn’t find his way back with a map – on script, he’d have given no more than a few quick licks, not a thorough blowjob – and in times like that, all he could do was ad lib like crazy. “For the gift of that experience, I think you owe me some personal service in turn.” There, that should nudge things back toward the script.

The unicorn’s blue eyes were shining as they looked up at him, and Fabian trembled as his hands slid down, brushing over Tristan’s scales, following the edges of his wrap, tugging on it. Tristan lifted his hands away from that short, fine fur, letting out a soft, pleased sigh that he remembered after a moment to add some voice to. His wings lifted up a little as well, automatically moving out of the way, irrelevant though it was for this particular garment; he turned the motion into a more sensual stretch as the cloth slid off of him, baring his half-formed arousal to the warm air of the studio.

The only surprise there was that he wasn’t entirely rigid yet, really.

“Gods,” the unicorn whispered, fingers sliding along Tristan’s flesh. He knelt down, tufted tail flicking behind him as he stared at the dragon’s length from right up close, his breath washing across it in quick, hot puffs. “So big…”

Considering that this was a porn studio, that was almost embarrassing. Tristan was pretty sure the unicorn had scarfed down bigger than him in some of the flicks he’d seen. Still, it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough meat to be a nuisance anywhere but a porn studio.

He let out a low, rumbling groan, doing his best to imitate a cat’s purr, as those gentle fingers, that warm breath, and that soft, wet tongue slid over his flesh, coaxing it to ten inches of full attention. His first instinct was to let his head tilt back and his eyes slip shut; instead, he kept his gaze downward, watching the spiral horn bob and shift as that broad nose nuzzled hesitantly along his cock.

“You sought the best,” Tristan husked, very firmly keeping a chuckle at bay. “That’s exactly what you’re getting, yes?”

“Gods,” Fabian whimpered, mouthing at Tristan’s glans. “’s good.” And then his lips parted, sliding around Tristan’s cock, easing down it.

For all his protests in character, Fabian made good use of his long mouth; once he started down, he didn’t stop until every bit of pink flesh was hidden from view, sealed in the wet heat of his mouth, cradled on his tongue.

All the while those innocent blue eyes stared up at him, yearning for approval.

“Yesssss,” Tristan hissed, touching the base of that horn, stroking up along it. His horns were durable things, and even firm touch to them could feel pretty good; he wasn’t sure the same could be said for that slender spire, no matter that some past videos had shown it getting grabbed and manhandled.

According to the script, he kind of should have done so himself. But instead of an aggressive, vain man with no concern for others at all, he’d turned the wizard into a bit more of a manipulator. Into someone who, yes, enjoyed having the unicorn for his own, but who enjoyed most of all making the other man want him.

“I knew you’d be a quick study,” he went on, rubbing down to the base of Fabian’s horn again, then sliding his fingers back to caress his ears, to rub the tip of one between thumb and forefinger. “Go on, now…” Feeling Fabian’s fingers slide up his thighs, he shifted his feet apart, head tilting up a little, eyes narrowing, but not quite closing; not quite blocking out the sight of the other male’s head starting to bob along his cock, even as those questing fingers found his balls. “That’s it, yes… feel me, taste me…” He subsided from there into wordless groans, starting to rock on his feet, to slide his cock against the unicorn’s lips and deft tongue.

For a few minutes, all was well; whether he was thrusting in Fabian’s mouth, or sliding lengthwise against his lips, or bucking against his stroking fingers, or something else, all of it was good. From the light little licks to full-length strokes into that welcoming heat, it was all exquisite. Too good, in fact; he barely noticed his own quickening breath and rising pleasure in time to call out a halt, and there was no way he could work that in character.

Fabian pulled off of him and let go without delay; odds were good that he’d noticed the dragon’s imminent climax as well. Cameramen moved back, two of the three looking a little guilty for starting in silence.

Liam, who’d apparently been restraining himself for some time, now burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, Tristan, but once you started going at it, you were just doing too good to let it go by. Couldn’t resist.”

“H-hey, it all worked out, huh?” the dragon gasped. Forcing himself to take deep breaths, to wind down a few notches, was not the easiest thing in the world. “Sorry I couldn’t give a bit more warning.”

“Hey, it’s all good,” the raccoon said with a cheery, dismissive wave of his hand. “We’ll just do a fade and cut in to… well, to whatever you wind up doing next. Take a few minutes, drink some water, then figure out where you’re going with this, huh? You seem to have a good handle on it.”

Tristan shrugged into a bathrobe and took himself to the washroom – not because he really needed to go, not because he had any great urge for privacy, but just to take himself away from the stimulus. The air in the studio, despite the ventilation, had strong enough smells in it now to make it difficult to calm down; the washroom made it easier to catch his breath.

Better composed, if still somewhat stiff, Tristan returned to the set to find Fabian lounging off to one side, also wearing a robe but letting it hang open, idly caressing his half-hard shaft, coaxing it to renewed attention. “Oh, mmmm, hey there, stud,” he called over to Tristan, waving with his free hand. “Good timing. You ready to take this further?”

Shivering, Tristan slid out of his robe and tossed it over the back of a chair. “Well, I sure am now,” he growled, stomping onto the stage.

Laughing, Fabian got up to his feet, letting the robe slide off of him and pool in his chair in the process. “Got something in mind, delicious?”

Not until that moment, he hadn’t; but what he said, grinning, was, “Sure. Feel like a ride?” He nodded over toward the wicker chaise longue, with its narrow backrest. “Someone went through the effort of getting that, we might as well put it to its proper use.”

“That works,” Liam put in. “Want to get in place, then?”

Tristan thought about it for a moment, reaching down to stroke himself back to full hardness as he did. Not that that took long. “Nah. I think I’ll start by grabbing the lube. Might as well make a production out of it.”

“Whatever you say, big guy.” He motioned one of the cameramen forward. “Move C in for a closeup on the nightstand, would you?”

“And where do you want me, stud?” Fabian purred, ducking under Tristan’s left wing and leaning in against his side.

Well, that was a good feeling; Tristan spared a moment to wind an arm around the unicorn’s shoulders and squeeze him close. “Mmm, that’s a good question. Uh… standing over by the chair, still?” he suggested. “Or kneeling, actually… no, standing; won’t have to worry so much about matching it up that way. Like I just left you there to get ready.”

Obediently, Fabian clopped over to the spot in question, adopting his big-eyed, innocent expression once again, at odds though it kind of was with the hard-on jutting out from his hip. Tristan took up a position by the foot of the bed, on the shortest easy path between that chair and the nightstand where the lube waited. “Ready here,” he announced, and Fabian echoed, “Ready.”

“Right. Lights,” Liam called. The stage lights lit up, the house lights faded away. “Dim the flood, but put a spot on that table, and be ready to follow Tristan to the chaise. Have Camera B ready for close-ups there. A, stay on Fabian.” Lights and cameras shifted at his direction; he scrawled on a clapperboard and passed it to a stagehand. “Okay. Scene 4, take 1 – action!”

And snap.

Tristan took his time, sauntering over to the nightstand as though he had not a care in the world. In the middle of reaching for it, he had a flash of inspiration: he handled that flask just like he had the ones in the faux alchemy scene, to wit, held it in place with his left hand, turned his right palm-up, gripped the stopper between two fingers, and pulled it free with only a slight wiggle. Moving his right hand down to grip the flask, with the stopper still wedged between his fingers, he lifted it up, tilting the mouth of the flask toward him, sniffing over it. It was plain, ordinary lube, with only the mildest of citrus scents to it, enough to keep it from being unpleasantly chemical; but this was, after all, the first chance the character had had to make sure the contents of the flask hadn’t gone off.

With a slow, satisfied nod, he turned to face the unicorn, one brow arching as he took in the sight of the man standing there, waiting. “Well?” he purred. “You want more, don’t you? You want to know the true heights of pleasure that I can show you?”

God, he sounded so vain. But that was how he was supposed to sound, after all.

Hesitant as ever, Fabian shifted his head up and down.

Would that little nod be enough for that vanity? Probably not. He whipped his tail behind him. “Don’t you?” he hissed.

“Yes,” Fabian blurted, licking his lips, the tip of his tail dancing about anxiously. “I… I want it. P-p-please?”

“That’s better,” Tristan crooned, sidling slowly across the floor, toward the chaise, giving the light ample time to follow him. “Come over here, then, princeling. You’ll know true pleasure with my manhood filling you.” Which, hokey as it was, was also the best way he could think of to warn everybody for an upcoming money shot.

Because despite his character’s selfish indifference, Tristan himself wanted – needed – to have the other man streaking his scales.

There was another end table close enough to the chaise to reach, currently unoccupied; good. He moved the flask of lube in close to his rigid cock. Fabian plodded closer, licking his lips; it was him that Tristan was watching, but out of the corner of his eye, the dragon noticed two of the three cameras shifting to focus and zoom in on his midsection. Good. Unsure of how much lube was actually in the flask, he tipped it over carefully.

It was about as thick a lube as lube could be without being gel, oily, just liquid enough to pour over his cock and into the path of his slowly-stroking fingers. A low groan welled up in his chest as he stroked the slippery stuff over his flesh; he let that groan slip free, and another one after it. Fabian, eyes firmly on the dragon’s cock, bit his lip, and his own cock jumped a bit in anticipation.

Damn, the man was good.

Still working the lube over his cock, he reached over to set the flask on the end table, letting it rest there and turning his hand over to put the stopper back in place just like he’d pulled it out in the first place. Only once he’d straightened from that did he lower himself onto the chaise, threading his spade-tipped tail through the gap between seat and back, arranging his wings to either side of that narrow backrest. From there, eyes half-lidded, he held his cock upright, gazing sort of past it at Fabian as the unicorn drew closer.

“Gods. It’s so big,” Fabian stage-whispered, reaching forward, fingertips stopping just shy of Tristan’s cock. “Will it… will it hurt me?”

Which, honestly, was kind of the question in the dragon’s mind, even if he’d seen enough of the unicorn’s work to know better intellectually. Tristan wasn’t the only one who could ad lib; that wasn’t from the script either. He thought about the proper condescending response even as he drew breath to voice it; what he said was, “Only if you’re careless. Wanton soul that you are, I’m sure you’ll be able to make do one way or another.”

Fabian cast his eyes down, perhaps at being called “wanton.” Nevertheless, when Tristan’s free hand seized his thigh, he moved at its direction without a moment’s hesitation, turning to plant one knee by the dragon’s waist, then swinging the other leg over, straddling him. “Soon now,” Tristan husked, licking his lips as much from earnest desire as from the act. “Just a bit further now, yes, and then you’ll know… then you’ll know what it means to be mine.”

He steeled himself for the first touch, keeping a shiver at bay when his glans nudged under Fabian’s balls, his tension shunting the motion into an upward jerk of his chin, a not-exactly-soft grunt. Fabian’s breath caught, his head tilting back in turn, a long, anxious whine slipping out of him as he spread himself around Tristan’s cockhead. And from there, with many a whimper and moan and cry of “oh, gods,” he sank right on down, inch after thick pink inch vanishing under his balls, with the dragon’s gold eyes eagerly drinking in the sight.

About halfway down, no longer needing to hold his cock steady, he transferred his lube-slick hand to Fabian’s cock instead. The unicorn cried out, bucking into the contact just as though he hadn’t been spit-roasted and stroked to a sticky finish at least three times in the past, head tossing, mane flying about behind him. “Oh, gods,” he gasped. “M-more…!”

“Oh, you’ve plenty more to go,” Tristan husked, squeezing the base of the unicorn’s cock. How often had he imagined how it might feel in his hand? Well, he didn’t have to imagine now. He started stroking, slow and steady, his free hand splaying over Fabian’s thigh, urging him onward. “Now, doesn’t that feel fine? Such a silly thing you were, clinging to foolish notions of purity and virtue. Mmmm?”

“Oh – oh…” Fabian shivered, leaning over the dragon, hands splaying against his chest. “Oh, gods, y-yes…!”

“Mark well,” Tristan rumbled, because that was the way people talked in fantasy, right? “There’s only one virtue that matters: See what you want, and work to make it happen.”

As though they’d rehearsed the cue a dozen times, Fabian pushed up from Tristan’s chest, sitting bolt upright, and sank the last few inches along Tristan’s cock in one smooth motion, throwing his head back in a cry of bliss.

From there, it was a good, straightforward fucking. Oh, they changed it up a little – sometimes Tristan churned under the smaller male, sometimes he lay back and let the unicorn bounce atop him, sometimes they stayed pressed together while Fabian just twisted on Tristan’s cock and the dragon’s hand pumped along his shaft. Tristan was distantly aware of the cameras moving around them – aware enough to shift his arm to give a better view of his stroking fist, or to start driving upwards when they pulled back; aware on some distant level that didn’t in any way detract from the exquisite feel of the hot body wrapped around his cock.

It was as well that he was on his back; it was easier by far to stay calm and relaxed, to avoid letting his pleasure build too high, when he didn’t have to be moving quite as much. Fabian, on the other hand, he had no intention of letting away so easily. Maybe it was payback for the teasing the unicorn had given him; maybe it was a sort of vicarious lust. But he had a notion in his mind that would not go away, and he was determined to bring it to pass. He thrust, he stroked, he murmured encouragements and praise, and he didn’t let up even a little when the unicorn’s gasps and moans started to rise in urgency.

Even when Fabian’s cock jumped in his grasp, sending streamers of sticky white onto the scales of his chest, he kept stroking, tugging, stirring his cock against the smaller man’s prostate. He did slow down a little, but it wasn’t until the last sticky drops had flowed over his fingers and Fabian was starting to catch his breath that Tristan let his hand fall still.

“Gods,” the unicorn gasped, sinking down until his head rested against Tristan’s shoulder. “That was… that was amazing.”

Tristan smiled, bringing his clean hand up to glide over the unicorn’s opposite cheek, continuing up to stroke along his ear. “But of course,” he murmured, rubbing behind that ear tenderly, while trying to imagine that it was the gesture of a man to a favoured pet, not to a lover; that sort of lazy indulgence, more than true intimate affection.

“And cut,” Liam’s voice broke in. “Hot stuff, guys – almost hard to imagine you’ll outdo yourself later on,” he grinned as he stepped on stage, giving a squeeze to Fabian’s shoulder, then Tristan’s, “but I’m sure you two of all people can pull it off.”

“Mmnf, damn,” Fabian sighed, sitting upright and stretching, though making no move to pull off of Tristan’s cock. “Hey, tall, dark, and studly, has anyone ever told you that you feel really good?”

“Never hurts to hear,” Tristan replied, lifting his sticky hand away from the unicorn’s deflating cock, and looking down at himself in the process. “Damn, you got me but good, didn’t you?”

“And I can’t wait for you to return the favour,” the smaller man replied, bracing himself and pushing upwards, lifting off of Tristan’s cock at last, leaving its rigid length bare to the warm air. “Hot damn – you might not be the all-time biggest guy in the world, but even from underneath, you can move.

“And you,” Tristan sighed, dragging his tongue over his fingers to catch a few stray drops, “are absolutely delicious, you know that?”

Again Liam chuckled. “You two really are a pair, huh? Take fifteen, and we’ll keep going after that.”

When the cameras started rolling again, it was without much in the way of elaborate set-up; Fabian lay sprawled face-up across the bed, legs over the side, and Tristan was working himself back into the unicorn’s ass. Fabian had wiped his scales clean, and the flask of lube was once again sitting on the nightstand by the bed, but there was no time spent showing any of that; when the clapperboard snapped, Tristan’s cockhead was already spreading the smaller man open.

Nor was there much of an attempt to work in any dialogue. From time to time, Fabian would moan or whimper about how much he wanted it, how good the dragon felt in him, and sometimes he’d beg for more, but it was never anything that couldn’t be well answered by a lustful groan and a shove forward on Tristan’s part.

They carried on like that for a few minutes, during which time, without any direct attention whatsoever, Fabian’s cock rose from flaccid to fully hard again; that man really liked getting fucked, and that didn’t need an act. Sometimes Tristan kept his strokes slow and measured, others he churned away as fast as the position allowed, but through it all, he kept some level of detachment; he didn’t restrain his grunts or groans of pleasure, save in that he kept them to a low bass rumble, but he wasn’t letting his pleasure get out of control, either.

They had a good rhythm together, a good connection; all it took was him slowing his stroke a little more, and Fabian whimpered, pawing at his shoulders, begging for more, deeper, faster, harder.

Well, that was exactly what he’d had in mind anyway, so he was only too happy to oblige. But he still had a show to put on. “And what is it you want more of, hmm?” he rumbled, even as he drew himself out of the unicorn.

Fabian gasped and whimpered, arching, clutching at Tristan’s shoulders, clamping down around his withdrawing cock, the tease. “I want you,” he whined. “I need you. Please, fill me, mark me – make me yours…”

“It’s more of my hot manhood you want, mmm?” he purred, sliding a hand along Fabian’s thigh, curling under his knee. “More of my body, more of me?

“Yes,” the unicorn wailed, squirming under him. “Pleeeeaaaase…”

“Well,” Tristan laughed, “how could I possibly deny such an urgent request, mmm?” He tugged Fabian’s legs upward, getting the unicorn all the way onto the bed, flipping him over. Without another word of direction, he pushed up to his hands and knees, his tail curling upward behind him, cock bobbing over the bed as he shifted and squirmed in anticipation.

Tristan didn’t keep him waiting long. He climbed up onto the bed himself, planting himself behind the other man, gripping the base of that slender tail in one hand and his cock in the other, fitting himself into place. This time, when he pushed in, it was in one swift shove, head to hilt – and Fabian cried out in bliss under him, screaming for more.

More he got – again and again, hauling back and then plunging in deep, stroke after swift stroke. Tristan was done with the teasing now, done with the waiting – he was going to come, and he was going to come hard. He wouldn’t allow it to be otherwise, not now, not after hours of teasing and almost-coming. He fucked that hot, snug ass with all his might, ducking his head to muffle his grunts and growls against the side of Fabian’s neck, keeping his wings high and out of the way so the cameras didn’t miss a single stroke.

And when he felt his balls tightening, when his breaths came quicker and sharper and his groans rose in pitch and need, Fabian squirmed and shoved back harder against his strokes, clamping down around him again, calling out, “Oh gods, yes – do it – oh, yes, please, yeeeees…!”

Well, what decent guy could resist that siren’s song?

He shoved in balls-deep and stayed there, throwing his head back and roaring out loud as his climax finally swept through him, as his spunk raced down the bucking length of his cock and splashed deep into the unicorn’s waiting body. They twisted together, grinding in close, as a half-dozen squirts pumped out of him – and even as his own rush of pleasure started to fade, Fabian cried out, thrashing under him, squeezing harder still around his cock, and the rich smell of fresh semen filled his lungs.

Fucked to climax without one finger laid on his cock. God damn that unicorn was a natural.

The crew started milling about – Liam must have called a cut, though Tristan had been sufficiently out of it that he hadn’t heard it. “Fantastic work, you guys,” he said, giving each one a squeeze on the shoulder, even as they sank right down against the bed, panting. “God damn, but it’s gonna be hard getting the editing done without stopping every ten minutes to rub one out.”

“You wish,” said Fabian with a weak chuckle. “If you could get it up that often, you’d be on stage.”

“Now, now,” the raccoon laughed. “Just ’cause I’m not blessed with your looks doesn’t mean I’m a complete loss in bed.”

“Maybe I should find out for myself sometime,” the unicorn retorted.

Another laugh. “Maybe you should! I’ll be sure to be ready for a workout.” Liam started to slip away, then paused, looking over his shoulder. “In the meantime, well, not to be a matchmaker, but it looked to me like you two could stand some personal time without the cameras running. For real, this time. Last one out locks the doors, all right?”

Fabian lifted his head, laughing, as the raccoon vanished into the hallway. “You know, stud, I think he kind of had a point there. We never did get that time off the clock – not that you didn’t do a damn fine job without it.”

“Glad to oblige,” Tristan sighed, drawing himself out of the other man and dropping belly-down onto the bed beside him, turning his head to grin at the unicorn. “You have anything in mind?”

“Kinda, yeah, actually.” Fabian grinned back. “Dunno about you, but I could sure go for a proper taste of you.”

“Let’s hit the showers,” Tristan suggested with a laugh. As he started to push upright, his eyes fell on the wicker chaise longue. That thing had worked so nicely with what they’d done on it before… “Then we can come back here, take advantage of that comfy chair that someone so thoughtfully provided, and each get a few good swallows, huh?”

“It’s a date, hot stuff,” Fabian laughed.

Showering together didn’t exactly save time. Far from it, actually; they spent more time feeling each other up than they did scrubbing each other’s backs. Still, it was time well spent.

When they got back to the studio, most everything had been cleaned up already, the last of the crew just slipping out for the day. But the furniture was still in place, and the lube was still sitting on the end table. Tristan threw his robe over the chaise – no need to get it dirty just after the cleanup crew had finished, after all – and settled himself atop it. Fabian, grinning broadly, let his robe fall to the floor, and swung a leg over the dragon’s chest.

What followed was nice and straightforward, neither rushed nor drawn-out. They slurped, they sucked, they scarfed down ample amounts of pre; Fabian bobbed his head along Tristan’s cock, and – a bit awkwardly, given that with the slope of the backrest, his feet could hardly reach the ground from up by Tristan’s own head – thrust in shallow strokes in the dragon’s muzzle. That was fine; they’d done enough elaborate stuff for one day.

What they did indulge in, which they hadn’t before, was letting their hands wander. Fabian’s clever fingers eased Tristan open, seeking out all the sensitive spots inside him with an expertise that he despaired of ever approaching; the finger-fucking he gave the unicorn felt clumsy and crude, in comparison.

But it was enough to keep the other man squirming and gasping atop him, and it was enough to coax a few sticky swallows over his tongue and down his throat. And that in turn was enough to let him tumble over the edge, a fresh burst of his own spunk pulsing into the unicorn’s mouth.

Fabian lifted his head, swung a leg over, and stood up, but rather than getting dressed, he just paused a moment to stretch, then turned around and climbed atop Tristan again, face to face this time, giving the dragon a gentler smile than had appeared on his face all day. “So,” he breathed, crossing his arms on Tristan’s broad chest, “what’s it like, meeting your teenage porn-crush in the flesh and on stage?”

“You say that like I’m not a teen still,” Tristan laughed. “I’ve got a ways to go yet to get past the ‘young ‘un’ status; only turned eighteen four months back.” He brought a hand up to rub behind Fabian’s ears, and as the unicorn pressed back into the touch and sighed, Tristan went on, “To answer your question, it feels pretty damn good so far. Even if I did think I was gonna make a mess in my shorts before we even got on stage.”

Fabian laughed, letting his chin sink down onto his arms. “You did good, big guy,” he sighed. “And that’s no act. You’re a ton of fun, and I think I could get to like hanging out with you. You kept this set from feeling like work, and that’s not something everyone could do.”

“Well, I think I was more on my game than usual,” Tristan admitted, feeling his cheeks heat, grateful once again that black scales wouldn’t let it show. “Aside from those few rough parts, once I got going it was just… easy to stay in the zone, today.”

“Awww.” Fabian stretched upward, brushing his mouth against the dragon’s. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, mmm? Now shut up and enjoy the glow.”

That seemed like wise advice, right there. Tristan sighed and closed his eyes, curling his arms around the beautiful man atop him – not to sleep, no, but to rest, to savour the steady beat of the other man’s heart.

Even if they had hooked up purely on business, it was still a damn good feeling.