The door swung into the tiny little room. Two burly tigers strode through it, taking up positions on either side of it. In their wake followed a much smaller man, a unicorn with pure white fur and blue eyes, in a fine white suit that was as distinct from the darker, simpler dress of the tigers as his body was from theirs.

The tigers glared at the room’s other occupant, a similarly large black dragon. The unicorn, on the other hand, seemed to hardly notice anybody else there at all, sauntering over the wooden floor with a light clatter of hooves. He ran a finger along the bare surface of a side table and held it up, as though inspecting for dust.

“I suppose,” he said at last, in a voice heavy with resignation, “you’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Kiss my ass,” the dragon snarled. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently not,” was the unicorn’s response. “Very well. If you won’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll simply have to get satisfaction from you in a different way.” He clapped his hands sharply, twice. Through the door came another person, this one a lightly-built leopard carrying a small wooden chest.

At the unicorn’s gesture, the leopard set the chest on that otherwise-unoccupied table. As the leopard was withdrawing from the room, the unicorn flipped the catches and lifted the lid. “Secure him, would you?” he purred.

The tigers moved quite abruptly from their statue-like vigil, seizing the dragon and dragging him over to what looked for all the world like a doctor’s examining table – padded with something black and leather-like, long enough to be a narrow bed.

The unicorn suppressed a smile. Tristan was really quite good at looking like he was struggling, while not being in any danger of actually tearing away from the big cats. Even when Fabian brought over a number of fur-lined cuffs from the chest, it would look, to anyone else – like, say, the cameras beyond the missing “wall” of the little room – like the dragon was straining to pull free. Even when the cuffs closed around his wrists, binding them together over his head, their tether also secured to one end of the table; even when his ankles were bound to the corners at the other end and his tail in between them. Not even his wings were neglected, though the bindings there were actually meant more to help keep them out of the way without their owner needing to hold them that way than to actually restrain them.

As Fabian paced around the table, looking over his handiwork, the dragon glared at him. “What,” Tristan growled, “is this supposed to scare me? You’re not getting me to talk – I don’t have a damn thing to tell you.”

“Talk?” Fabian tilted his head. “Who said anything about talking?” With that, he gestured to the silent tigers, and they lumbered over to the door and vanished through it, shutting it behind them. All without a single word spoken.

The unicorn reached into an inner pocket of his suit and produced a small, ornate knife. “I’m sure your mouth is going to be far too busy for any mere talking,” he purred, turning that knife in his hand, letting the light glint off the blade.

Tristan went very still as that knife came in contact with his scales, the flat side of the blade sliding along his neck. Oh, it was a sensible response anyway, but it belied the number of times they’d rehearsed this scene, first with a plain metal rod, then a dull knife, then a sharp one, finally working up to recreating that one gesture. Then the knife moved on, and Fabian turned it so the blade was opposite his thumb, slipping the point under the dragon’s clothes.

Fabian made a mental note to praise their costume artist later. Tristan’s clothes looked tough and functional, but the knife cut through hidden weak seams with no more than a light tug. First it split the dragon’s vest at the shoulders; a bit of fussing with the cloth, and Fabian pulled what was left of it from under Tristan’s back. The dragon’s belt he undid the usual way, but once he’d pulled it free, he took the knife in hand again to slice Tristan’s shorts, working along the outside of his thighs.

The dragon was good at this, too. He knew full well what was ahead, but his ample shaft wasn’t showing the least bit of hardness yet. Not even when Fabian pulled what was left of those shorts far enough along Tristan’s tail to have an easy time undoing that clasp and tossing them aside.

Tristan’s gold eyes followed him as he circled the table again, squirming under Fabian’s fingers as he touched the bigger male here, caressed him there. “You wouldn’t dare,” the dragon hissed.

“Wouldn’t I?” Fabian replied, summoning every bit of haughty superiority he could muster as he tucked his knife away. “If you won’t help me recover my property, then you’ll simply have to take its place – in value if not function.”

“H-hold on,” the dragon objected, in as convincing a “nervous and anxious” voice as Fabian had ever heard. “I’m – I mean, I’m not…”

“What, not interested in men?” Fabian challenged. “Spare me. We’ve been watching you for some time, Jake. Long enough to see the men you’ve brought home. And if you want it to remain a great secret what you do with them, why, you really should close your blinds, hmm?”

Tristan – “Jake” – shivered, swallowing hard. “If you’re keeping tabs on me through a twelfth story window, you should know I don’t have your fucking sceptre.”

“Of course I do,” Fabian purred. “Not anymore, you don’t, to be sure. A present for one of your paramours, perhaps? Well. Until it comes back into my possession, I’ll have yours available to me.” He ran his fingertips along the dragon’s shaft.

Tristan’s anxious moan was as exquisite as the rising firmness under the unicorn’s fingers.

He curled his fingers around that swelling length, sliding under it from base to head and back. It was hard, feeling that arousal grow under his touch, to hold onto the dispassion of his character; to keep his expression not that of a man preparing his lover, but that of a collector inspecting his latest treasure.

With his free hand, he tugged at his tie, loosening it from around his neck, then pulling the knot free entirely. Leaving that hanging, he started working first his jacket, then his shirt buttons open. It was slow going, doing that one-handed; by the time he got low enough down to tug his shirt free of his pants, Tristan’s cock had grown to its considerable full length under his touch, and the dragon was squirming against his bonds, letting out some not-quite-stifled moans as Fabian toyed with his cockhead.

Lifting his free hand, Fabian snapped his fingers. He kept his attention quite carefully on the dragon, even as he heard motion behind him, even as a hand reached around to collect his tie and started tugging at his clothes. He let the one arm be drawn free of jacket and shirt, then switched hands on Tristan’s cock and allowed the leopard to finish with the other side. Only then did he let go of the dragon’s length, taking a step back to work his belt open and loosen his pants. Once he’d stepped out of them, he handed them, too, to the silent leopard, who bowed his head and bore the clothes out of the room while Fabian strode over to the chest.

The cuffs weren’t the only things resting in there. With a blue squeeze-bottle in one hand, a still-wrapped condom wedged between the fingers of the same hand, and the other hand idly fondling himself the rest of the way to arousal, he made his way back to the table.

Tristan pulled on his bonds once more, then sagged. “You sick bastard,” he snarled. “Instead of grabbing a guy off the street, why don’t you hire a hooker like normal people, huh? Or just save everyone the trouble and go fuck yourself.”

Fabian let one of his brows lift. “Oh? Now why would I go through that effort,” he asked, tearing the wrapper open and pulling the rubber out of it, “when I have you here to do it for me?”

Tristan’s head snapped up, wide-eyed. And then it sank back down, and the dragon arched up as much as his bonds would allow, when Fabian set the rubber against the dragon’s cockhead and rolled it down.

The feel of that rigid heat under his fingers was very appealing. But first things first.

It was a good thing Tristan was such a strong guy, because there really wasn’t much way to do what Fabian did next without either sitting on his chest or pinching his wings. Fabian, granted, was not a particularly big guy himself; that made the former option easy enough for the dragon to bear, and that was, in fact, the reason they were doing it this way instead of in a four-poster bed in Fabian’s character’s quarters.

At any rate, he planted one hoof against a handle on the table’s side, swung up and over, and parked himself right up high on the dragon’s chest. Tristan blinked up at him; he bent down to take hold of the bigger male’s curving horns. “I told you your mouth would be busy,” he hissed. “You’d best make it so if you want your stay here to be somewhat comfortable.”

And because this was, after all, a porn flick, Tristan obediently dipped his muzzle down and flicked his tongue over Fabian’s cockhead.

The unicorn let out a sigh. He wanted to moan, wanted to thrust forward, wanted to show Tristan just how much he enjoyed the dragon’s mouth and tongue. For the sake of the script, though, he confined himself to a low croon, almost a purr, and he sat up straight, keeping his fingers wrapped around Tristan’s horns as the dragon pushed down onto his cock. Not that he kept it in there for long; he had to be seen, after all, and the cameras got a lot more out of his strong tongue when Fabian’s cock wasn’t in his mouth than when it was.

When he felt himself getting a little too into it, he gave a subtle push to Tristan’s horns. The bigger man read his cue flawlessly, pulling his head back with one last swipe of his tongue over Fabian’s cockhead, gold eyes wide as they looked up at the unicorn. Fabian grinned down at him and shuffled back a little, twisting to reach behind himself, to run his fingers along Tristan’s rubber-coated length, finding it still rigid and warm. He took his time fondling the dragon, fingers teasing down over his balls – not so much to make sure he was ready for it as to let Fabian himself cool down a little.

When he’d pushed himself up and felt that broad glans nudging under his tail, he drew a deep breath.

And when that thick head spread him open and stunk into him, finally he was able to let himself moan in pleasure.

From then on it was pretty simple. They squirmed against each other, Fabian rising and falling along the dragon’s hefty cock, Tristan himself twisting and straining against his bonds and giving the unicorn an extra inch or two of fucking in the process. For those few minutes, they didn’t have to worry about characters, only about pleasure. And this time, when Fabian felt that pleasure rising again, he didn’t need to keep it at bay. He let it race through him, putting an arch in his body, sending streaks of sticky white over the dragon’s black scales.

And still he kept driving himself onto Tristan’s cock, until, just as his own climax was receding, the dragon shuddered under him, bucking up as best he could, a heavy moan slipping out of him as his cock bucked under Fabian’s tail.

“And cut,” another voice said in the midst of their slowing breaths. Two stagehands, a brown bear and a wolf, rushed forward past the cameras. First they gave Fabian some help in lifting off of Tristan and getting his hooves back onto the floor; then they went right to undoing the bonds. Fabian took a few moments to stretch before reaching in to slip the well-filled rubber off of Tristan’s cock, tossing it into the trash on his way to grab a robe and slip into it.

“Fantastic timing there, guys,” said the director, Liam, as Tristan got onto his own feet. “I might have hoped for a little longer overall, but coming so close together is definitely worth a few minutes. And I sure as hell can’t complain about your roles – I don’t think any of your usual fans will even recognize you, either of you.” The raccoon laughed, a sound that much of the crew joined in on, as well as the actors. He finished by saying, “We’re ahead of schedule and I don’t think Studio Two is done setting up for you yet. Take a few hours to yourself and we’ll meet there at quarter to three as planned.” And with that, he hustled the camera crew away.

Tristan slid in behind Fabian, big hands gripping the unicorn’s shoulders. “That was pretty nice, stud,” he murmured over Fabian’s ear. “How ’bout we get some lunch, finally, and then…”

“And then,” said Fabian, “you’d like a bit of a preview of the next scene?”

The dragon laughed. “You know me too well.”

They took their lunch right to the break room – the better to let hands wander during the meal; the better to relax afterwards, just pushing each other’s robes off and out of the way. The better to proceed, without interruption, to an inverse of what they’d just done – to Fabian sprawled out in a recliner while the dragon rode his cock, mouths meeting, breaths mingling, the heat of his lover’s spunk coursing over his fingers, the rush of pleasure as he shot into another rubber, deep under the dragon’s tail.

It was not, in fact, the arrangement in the script for the next scene. But the very fact that they didn’t have to worry about the script was what made that orgasm, in a day filled with them, feel so good.