Ezra dropped to his hands and knees on the black satin, spine dipped low, back arched like a bow drawn for war. He tilted his hips, presenting his perfect ass to both Ben and the camera the way a matador offers the cape: deliberate, taunting. The black thong had long since surrendered; the string disappeared between his cheeks, leaving nothing but smooth, gleaming skin and the obscene invitation of his hole already wanting and waiting. Ben stood behind him, cock jutting heavy and flushed, a single bead of precum trembling at the slit. For a long second he did nothing but look. His gaze traveled the long, carved line of Ezra’s back, the taper of his waist, the swell of muscle where thigh met ass, like he was memorizing a sculpture he was about to ruin.
Then his hands moved. Two big palms clamped down on Ezra’s cheeks, fingers digging in hard enough to whiten the flesh beneath them. He spread Ezra open roughly, thumbs framing that tiny strip of fabric, and squeezed until the skin bulged between his knuckles. Ezra let out a soft, hungry sound and pushed back into the grip. Ben’s hand rose and fell once. The slap cracked through the loft like a starter pistol, sharp and merciless. Ezra’s whole body jolted; the flesh of his right cheek flared red instantly, a perfect handprint blooming under the lights.
Jordan’s breath stopped in his throat.
He felt the impact in his own skin, as if Ben had struck him instead. His stomach lurched with something too tangled to name: jealousy, lust, terror, arousal. Heat flooded his face and his cock at the same time, the betrayal of his own body so violent he had to shift his weight to keep from swaying. The mark on Ezra’s skin looked permanent, possessive, beautiful, looked like a brand Jordan would never wear again.
Ben’s eyes stayed locked on the handprint he’d just painted, lips parted, chest rising and falling in slow, predatory breaths. Jordan couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but watch the man he loved claim someone else with the same hands that used to trace gentle circles on his back when nightmares woke him at 3 a.m. Up until that moment, Jordan had been waiting for the Ben he knew: the one who always checked in with soft eyes and softer hands, who kissed his temple before sliding inside, who whispered “you okay, baby?” even when they both knew the answer.
The second slap shattered that illusion.
Ben’s palm cracked across Ezra’s other cheek, harder than the first, the sound sharp enough to sting Jordan’s ears. Ezra’s back bowed, a low, filthy moan spilling out of him as fresh red bloomed beside the first print. Ben didn’t soothe the burn; he watched it rise with hungry satisfaction, lips curling into a smile Jordan had never seen on him in their bed. Ben hooked one thick finger under the thong’s string and yanked it aside, rough, impatient. The fabric snapped to the side, exposing Ezra’s hole: pink, fluttering with greedy little clenches. Leo dropped to a knee in one fluid motion, lens inches away, catching every pulse of it every shameless wink for the camera.
Jordan’s heart slammed against his ribs.There was no tenderness in Ben’s stance, no careful pause, no gentle circle of hips to ease the way. His cock jutted angry-red and leaking, veins standing out like cables, and the look on his face was pure predator. He wasn’t going to make love to Ezra. He was going to fuck his brains out, hard and deep and merciless, and the realization hit Jordan like a fist to the sternum: the gentle Ben he thought he knew had stayed home tonight. The man on that platform was someone else entirely.
Ben dropped to his knees behind Ezra like a man who’d been starving for years. His hands clamped Ezra’s cheeks apart, thumbs digging into the fresh handprints, and he buried his face between them with a growl that vibrated through the mattress. Tongue first, no hesitation, no teasing, just a long, filthy lick from taint to tailbone that ended with the wet spear of his tongue pushing straight inside.
Ezra’s dreamy sigh melted into a broken moan, head dropping between his shoulders, hips rolling back to chase more. Jordan bit down on his own lip hard enough to taste copper. He knew that tongue, knew the exact way Ben could curl it, flatten it, fuck with it until knees gave out. He knew the rhythm Ben was using right now: slow, deep thrusts, then quick little flicks, then back to deep again, relentless, merciless, perfect. He’d lost count of the nights he’d come untouched just from that mouth working him open. And Ezra was getting it now, louder, greedier, shoving his ass back against Ben’s beard like he was trying to crawl inside it. Every sound carried across the loft, obscene and intimate, and Jordan felt each one land between his own legs like a tongue that wasn’t his to feel anymore.
His cock throbbed, aching, leaking against his thigh. A whimper tried to crawl out of his throat; he swallowed it, but the longing stayed, thick and choking, a decade of muscle memory screaming for something that used to be his and now belonged to the man writhing on their bed. Ben hadn’t rimmed him like that, hungry, shameless, desperate, in longer than Jordan could stand to remember, and now he was doing it again for the first time in forever… for someone else.
Fists clenched at his sides, tasting blood and loss while Ezra got devoured by the mouth that once told him I love you against his skin every single night, Jordan stood there, unblinking. Ben pulled back just long enough to hook two fingers under the soaked string of Ezra’s thong and one sharp, savage tug later, the fabric gave with a rip, threads snapping like brittle bones. He tore it clean off Ezra’s body, the ruined scrap flung aside as if it had personally offended him for daring to cover what he wanted.
A ripple of rough laughter rolled through the crew, low and approving. Someone whistled. Victor’s voice cracked across the loft, half-laugh, half-worship: “Fuck yeah, Big Ben!”
Ben glanced up, beard slick and gleaming, eyes dark with triumph, and flashed Victor that same cocky, lopsided grin that used to be Jordan’s private property. Then he dropped back between Ezra’s cheeks like a man possessed, tongue plunging deeper, hungrier, the ruined thong already forgotten on the floor. His free hand wrapped around his own cock, thick fingers sliding over the spit-slick length in slow, possessive strokes, like he couldn’t wait another second to feel something wrapped around him, like the taste of Ezra’s ass had flipped a switch he never planned to turn off again.
“Okay, guys, hold it,” Victor called, voice cutting through the haze.
Ben didn’t stop right away. His tongue dragged one last slow, filthy circle around Ezra’s hole, then he pulled back just enough to sink his teeth into the plump curve of one cheek, hard enough to leave a perfect crescent of white marks that flushed red instantly. Ezra’s giggle was high and delighted, body rocking forward from the bite.
“What’s up?” Ben asked without turning, eyes still fixed downward, locked on the glistening, twitching hole he’d just been devouring, like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
“Just a flicker on the key light. Thirty seconds”, Victor said, already waving a Sasha forward. A P.A. darted in, bottle of lube in hand, and offered it to Ben with the reverence of a squire handing a knight his sword.“Yeah, take that moment to slick up.”
Ezra’s voice floated up from beneath Ben’s bulk, muffled but unmistakable, lazy and amused.
“I don’t need that shit.”
Gideon, still planted beside Jordan like a shadow, let out a low, knowing chuckle.
“Yeah, you do,” he said, loud enough for the whole loft to hear.
Gideon’s laugh still hung in the air when Ben’s head snapped up.
His gaze cut straight across the loft, past the lights, past the cameras, and landed on Gideon with a flicker of something dark and amused. Then, as if pulled by a string, his eyes slid sideways and found Jordan.
He waited. He didn’t want to wait, but he did: for the smallest flicker, a twitch of recognition, a private signal meant only for him. Something that said I know you’re there. I still see you.
Ben’s gaze held for two full seconds. No warmth, no guilt, no apology. Just a flat, unreadable sweep, the way you’d look at someone you vaguely recognize in a grocery aisle and decide isn’t worth the nod.
Then it was over.
Ben turned away without the slightest change in expression. He reached for the lube bottle the P.A. still held out, flicked the cap open with his thumb, and poured a thick stream over his cock. One big hand wrapped around the shaft and started slicking himself in long, deliberate strokes, eyes dropping back to Ezra’s waiting hole like Jordan had never existed at all.
Jordan felt the dismissal settle cold and clean in his gut.
Not cruel.
Just… gone. Like flipping a switch and walking out of a room he no longer needed to be in.
Ben’s cock gleamed under the lights, slick with lube, rigid and flushed. He stepped in behind Ezra, planted his feet wide, and flicked his gaze to Victor in a silent, impatient demand. The director answered with a single, decisive thumbs-up. Ben’s hand guided the head forward. The swollen crown kissed Ezra’s hole, pressed, slipped past the rim with a little pop. Ezra exhaled a trembling, broken moan that hung in the air like smoke. Then Ben rolled his hips, slow, relentless, feeding himself in inch by inch until his pelvis met Ezra’s ass with a soft, final slap. He held there, buried to the hilt, chest rising and falling in one heavy breath.
Jordan’s own breath snagged in his throat the instant Ben breached him.He almost took a step forward, almost dragged that chair Gideon had offered right up to the edge of the platform so he could see every detail, every twitch, every pulse. His legs felt suddenly unreliable, knees liquid, like if he moved they might fold and dump him on the floor. He stayed rooted instead, fingers digging into his palms, pulse roaring in his ears, terrified that if he got any closer he wouldn’t be able to control anything anymore, not his legs, not his cock, not the sounds trying to claw out of his chest.
Ben stayed still for a long moment, eyes closed, lips parted, like he was savoring the heat wrapped around him. A low, reverent exhale left his chest, pure bliss. Then he began to move. Slow at first, almost tender, the same careful roll of hips he used to give Jordan on lazy Sunday mornings when the light was soft and the world felt small enough for just the two of them. Jordan’s heart twisted violently. He didn’t want this gentleness aimed at someone else; he wanted it back, wanted it to still be his. The first truly hard thrust shattered that illusion. Ben snapped forward, deep, claiming, and Ezra’s moan tore through the loft, raw, shocked, grateful. The sound punched Jordan straight in the gut: equal parts molten arousal at how perfectly wrecked Ezra sounded, and a sick, lurching loss because that cry had never belonged to him tonight.
His cock answered instantly, thickening fast against his thigh, traitorous and aching. He hated it. He hated how instantly, helplessly hard he was.But the heat was already there, low, undeniable, spreading like wildfire he couldn’t put out.
Victor’s voice sliced clean through the haze. “Shit, cut. Hair light’s flaring on Ben’s shoulder. Ten seconds.”
Jordan exhaled, shaky, almost dizzy with gratitude for the sudden pause, for the thin, fragile illusion that someone, anyone, still had control. Ben froze, buried to the root. His jaw locked so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek, and when his glare snapped toward Victor it was pure, irritated hunger, raw, animal, the kind of look that said move and I’ll bite. Jordan had never seen that expression aimed at anyone, ever. Ben waited, nostrils flared, sweat already beading along his hairline, chest rising and falling in short, furious breaths. He didn’t pull out. He stayed seated deep, hips flush against Ezra’s ass, cock flexing once inside him like a warning shot.
Ten seconds felt like a lifetime. Jordan stood ten feet away, lungs burning, cock throbbing, terrified of what would happen when those ten seconds ended, and, at the same time, wanting to find out more than anything in the world.
The second “action” cracked like a starting gun. Ben drew back and slammed home again, harder this time, hips snapping forward with a force enough to jolt Ezra up the mattress. His gut met Ezra’s ass in rhythmic cracks that echoed off the concrete walls, each impact possessive, greedy, claiming. Ben’s head tipped back, throat bared, and the first low growl rolled out of him, deep, guttural, climbing.
Jordan’s pulse thundered in his throat. His cock was fully, painfully hard now, straining against his zipper, leaking steadily into his boxers. Shame scorched his face, hotter than the lights, because he couldn’t stop the rush of blood, couldn’t stop his own hips from rocking forward in tiny, helpless echoes of every thrust Ben gave Ezra. His breath came shallow and ragged; he was terrified someone would notice, terrified someone would see how pathetic he was, standing here flushed and aching while his boyfriend fucked another man like the world’s most expensive porn star and looked, for the first time in months, completely, gloriously alive.
“Cut. Frame’s drifting on camera two. Come on, Leo, you’re better than that.”
Ben stopped mid-thrust, teeth bared in a silent snarl. A low, vicious “fuck” hissed through his teeth, raw enough to punch Jordan square in the gut. Leo muttered a quick apology and adjusted the dolly. Ben stayed buried, hips locked against Ezra’s ass, every muscle in his back coiled and trembling with impatience.
When “action” finally came again, Ben didn’t ease back in. He fucked like a man trying to prove a point to the entire room. Deep, brutal strokes, each one driving Ezra forward on the mattress, the man’s mouth falling open in a constant, broken moan that climbed higher with every punishing thrust. The bed frame slammed the wall in a steady, violent rhythm; sweat flew off Ben’s skin in tiny arcs that caught the light like sparks. Jordan’s knees nearly gave out. Ben’s rhythm turned merciless. Each thrust was deeper, harder, the slap of his gut against Ezra’s ass growing louder, more obscene. The mattress groaned under the assault; Ezra’s moans fractured into desperate, airless sobs, fingers clawing at the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him on the planet. Ben’s growls climbed, guttural, animal, climbing into something almost triumphant, sweat rolling down the groove of his spine, beard scraping Ezra’s shoulder with every punishing drive.
Jordan’s knees nearly gave out. He couldn’t breathe right. Every brutal stroke Ben gave Ezra felt like it was aimed straight at Jordan’s chest, cracking ribs, stealing air. Heat flooded his face, his throat, his balls; he was dizzy with it, terrified someone would notice the tenting in his pants, the tremor in his thighs, the way his mouth hung open like he was the one getting fucked. He had never been this hard. Not once. Not even the first night Ben ever touched him. And what the fuck did that said about him?
The third stop was trivial, a light flickering like a bad fluorescent, and Ben’s reaction was instant: an savage “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” ripped out of him like a snarl. When Victor finally called “action,” Ben didn’t ease back in. He slammed forward so hard Ezra’s entire body jerked up the mattress, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the rumpled satin. The rhythm turned feral, relentless, the sound of skin on skin deafening, vulgar and violent. Ben’s growls climbed into something primal territory, something Jordan didn’t recognize and wasn’t sure he ever wanted to meet in the dark.
Every thrust looked like punishment and worship at once.Every moan torn from Ezra’s throat sounded like surrender Jordan had never been asked to give. Jordan stood trembling, cock pulsing painfully, terrified and more turned on than he’d ever been in his life, hating himself for both with every desperate beat of his heart.His hand moved on its own, sliding to his crotch, palm pressing hard against the rigid ache straining his zipper. He told himself it was just to hide it, to quiet the throb, but the pressure only made it worse. A helpless sound caught in his throat. He felt dizzy, almost nauseous with it, humiliated by how violently his body responded to every brutal thrust Ben gave Ezra, at how each snap of Ben’s hips felt like another piece of him being erased, overwritten, replaced.
He couldn’t breathe right; the air was too thick, too hot, laced with sweat and sex and the slap of skin on skin. He wanted it to stop, desperately, wanted to scream, to run, to make the world go back to the way it was yesterday, that morning, one hour ago. And at the same time he wanted it to go on forever, wanted to watch Ben lose himself completely, wanted to feel this terrifying, humiliating fire burn him alive from the inside out.
He was coming apart, and he couldn’t make himself look away.
“CUT!”
“Motherfucker,” Ben snarled under his breath, the word low and vicious, barely audible but sharp enough to cut glass. He stilled, but only just. His chest heaved in furious waves, veins corded along his forearms like cables ready to snap. Ezra whimpered beneath him, a deliberate, teasing clench around Ben’s buried cock, and Ben’s hips jerked forward once, involuntary, a single, helpless thrust that dragged a growl out of him.
The crew laughed again, but it wasn’t the easy, playful sound from before. This time it was thicker, rougher, edged with something hungry. The air in the studio had changed, heavy, electric, like everyone had just realized they were watching a live wire spark.Jordan’s eyes flicked sideways, almost against his will. Leo’s jeans were tented, the outline of his hard cock unmistakable against the denim. The tattooed P.A. had a hand pressed to his own crotch, not even pretending to hide it anymore.
Jordan wasn’t the only one drowning. He wasn’t the only one burning. And that made it worse, somehow, knowing he was just another body in the room losing his mind while Ben fucked Ezra like the world was ending and didn’t give a damn who watched.
Victor barked a laugh, half apology, half dare.
“Sorry, man, gotta flip positions now.”
Ben ripped out with a sucking pop that cracked through the loft like a gunshot, lube and sweat stringing between them for a heartbeat before snapping. In one brutal surge he flipped Ezra onto his back, grabbed those long bronze legs, folded them up until knees crushed against shoulders, ankles by Ezra’s ears, and speared straight back in, one savage, seamless thrust that buried every inch to the root. Ezra’s scream tore the air raw, high, cracked, half pain, half rapture, echoing off the concrete ceiling like a shard of glass flung skyward. The animal heat rolled off Ben’s body in waves, so hot Jordan was sure he could feel it at his own skin. The noise of Ben’s gut against Ezra’s ass was deafening now, heavy, relentless, each impact sending a fine spray of sweat that caught the lights like sparks. The mattress screamed under them, springs shrieking, headboard hammering the wall in a violent, metronomic thud-thud-thud that rattled Jordan’s teeth.
Ben’s beard scraped red trails across Ezra’s collarbone, his breath coming in hot, ragged snarls against sweat-slick skin. Veins stood out like cables along his forearms as he pinned Ezra’s thighs open, hips pistoning so hard the man’s entire body jerked up the bed with every thrust, toes curling, mouth stretched in a constant, broken wail that never quite found air.
Jordan tasted metal; he’d bitten his lip bloody without noticing, his pulse roaring so loud he couldn’t hear Gideon’s sharp protest, only the obscene symphony of Ben finally, completely, gloriously lost inside someone else.
Ben’s rhythm turned vicious, each thrust a punishment. He leaned down, beard scraping Ezra’s ear, voice dropping into something low, iron, almost cruel, nothing like the soft, teasing filth he used to murmur against Jordan’s skin..
“Take it,” he snarled. “Fucking take every inch like the greedy little whore you are.”
Ezra tried to answer; his mouth opened, but all that came out was a broken gasp, a high, desperate whine as Ben slammed in again. Words dissolved into breathless, open-mouthed moans, eyes rolling back, body jerking helplessly under the assault.
“Gonna ruin this pretty ass,” Ben growled, hips snapping harder, louder. “Gonna make you feel me for days, you slut”
Ezra could only sob, nodding frantically, fingers clawing at Ben’s sweat-slick back, completely undone.
“Cut! Light flicker again.”
Ben roared, an actual roar, predatory and furious, the sound so loud it felt to Jordan it rattled the skylights, shaking dust from the rafters. His whole body trembled with rage, muscles locked, cock still buried to the hilt, pulsing angrily inside Ezra like it might detonate if forced to stop one more time. Victor threw both hands up, placating, almost laughing.
“Last one, I swear. Thirty seconds.”
Ben’s chest heaved, nostrils flared.. He didn’t move. He just stayed there, buried deep, trembling, waiting for the world to get out of his fucking way.
“Action!”
The word was barely out of Victor’s mouth before Ben exploded.
He slammed forward so hard the headboard cracked against the wall like a gunshot. The bed frame screamed, metal joints shrieking, mattress springs shrilling in a high, metallic wail that vibrated through the concrete floor and into Jordan’s bones. Each thrust was a detonation: heavy flesh smacking flesh, sweat flying. the air suddenly thick with the raw stink of lube and skin and pure animal heat. Ben’s hips pistoned without mercy, gut slapping Ezra’s ass in a relentless drumbeat that drowned every other sound. The slap-slap-slap was deafening, obscene, faster than Jordan’s heartbeat, faster than thought. Sweat poured off Ben’s chest, streaking down the groove of his spine, dripping off his beard onto Ezra’s already-soaked body.
Ezra was beyond language, beyond anything human. His mouth hung open in a constant, broken sob, airless, wrecked, tears and spit streaking his face, body jerking helplessly forward with every punishing thrust, fingers clawing at the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him from flying apart. His cock, trapped beneath his body and Ben’s, leaked a steady, helpless stream onto the black satin, darkening it in a spreading stain. Ben’s growls climbed into something ancient, primal, a rolling thunder that started low in his gut and tore out of his throat in ragged, guttural bursts. His eyes were squeezed shut, face twisted in a snarl of pure, feral bliss,face beard dripping sweat, veins standing out like cables along his neck and arms.
The loft reeked of it: salt, sex, the sharp metallic tang of torn lube packets. The heat rolling off their bodies was almost visible, a shimmering haze that distorted the air between them. Jordan couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned, mouth dry, cock throbbing so violently he could feel his pulse in the head, precum soaking through denim in a cold, shameful patch. Every sense was overloaded: the animal heat, the broken music of Ezra’s sobs, the thunder of Ben’s growls, the smell of them fucking like the world was ending.
He was drowning in it and he had never wanted to surface less.
“Cut!”
The word never landed.
Ben slams in once (harder), twice (harder), three times (harder still), each thrust a detonation that punches the air from Ezra’s lungs in a broken scream. The headboard cracked against the wall in a violent shriek. Ben’s roar drowns Victor completely, wild, ferocious, vibrating through the floorboards and straight into Jordan’s bones.
“CUT!”, Victor’s voice cracks, louder, but it’s already too late.
Ben was gone.
His hips pistoned with blind, savage fury, gut beating Ezra’s ass in barrage that sounded like fists on raw meat. Ezra’s cries fractured into something beyond pleasure, high, desperate, almost frightened, yet his body arched back to meet every blow like it’s starving. The crew’s murmurs rose in confusion, excitement, fear, but the words blurred into white noise beneath the obscene percussion of flesh destroying flesh.
Victor tried one last time, voice pitching up: “Hey, Ben, come on, dude…”
It fell on deaf ears.
Ben’s eyes were squeezed shut, face twisted in a vicious snarl, veins bulging in his neck and forearms as he fucks like the world is ending and Ezra’s body is the only thing keeping him alive. His growls climb into something prehistoric, a rolling, continuous thunder that could easily rattle the skylights and make the cameras shake on their tripods.
Jordan stood frozen, ten feet away, lungs burning, cock jerking helplessly against soaked denim while the gentle boyfriend he thought he knew vanished in real time, replaced by a beast that doesn’t recognize laws, or love, or anything except the clenching heat wrapped around its cock, and Jordan has never been more terrified, or more achingly, shamefully hard in his entire life.
“Hey, you fucking deaf?” Gideon’s shout cracked across the loft, sharp with real panic now.
Ben doesn’t break rhythm.
“Ben, he said to fucking STOP, you fucker!”
Nothing. Just the raw, animal growl climbing in Ben’s throat and Ezra’s high, shattered moans.
Jordan’s heart slammed against his ribs. He saw iit coming in sickening slow motion: Gideon storming forward, face crimson, storming straight into frame, past the cameras, past every shred of common sense.
“The fuck is wrong with…”
Gideon’s hand clamped onto Ben’s sweat-slick shoulder and Ben’s reaction was instant, viper-fast.He shrugged the touch off like it’s acid, head whipping around,his face blazing with pure, murderous hate for the man who dared come between him and the body clenched around his cock. Gideon reached again, mouth open, words already forming, and Ben’s huge paw shot up and slammed dead-center into Gideon’s chest with a meaty thud that echoed like a gunshot.
“Fuck off, asshole,” he snarled, voice low, lethal.
The shove was brutal. Gideon’s feet left the floor as flied backward, arms windmilling, and crashed into a C-stand. Metal screamed as it toppled; a softbox exploded in a burst of white fabric and shattered bulbs, glass tinkling across the concrete like ice. Gideon hit the ground hard, breath punched out of him in a sharp, shocked grunt.
Jordan stumbles forward on legs that feel borrowed, dropping to his knees beside Gideon.
“Oh my god, you okay…?”
Gideon shoved Jordan’s hand away like it burned, eyes wild, face purple with fury. The easy-going salesman was gone; what was left is a man who’s just been thrown across his own set by the talent. He scrambled up, chest heaving, ready to charge again. Jordan doesn’t move. Ben barely spared them a glance. He lowered his whole body over Ezra like a blanket of muscle and heat, chest to chest, beard scraping sweat-slick skin, as if he was trying to fold the smaller man inside himself and keep the rest of the world out. One huge hand fisted in Ezra’s dark, soaked hair, yanking his head back just enough to bare his throat. Ben droved in deeper, harder, hips rolling with slow, possessive cruelty.
“Fuckin’ mine,” he growled against Ezra’s ear, the words low, ragged, branded into skin, loud enough for the whole word to hear.
Jordan watched the gentle, patient Ben he fell in love with vanish in real time, replaced by something magnificent and terrifying, a beast that doesn’t negotiate, doesn’t share, doesn’t care who’s watching. His own cock jerked violently against his thigh. Tears flooded his eyes so fast the room blurs.He was going to start crying, right there on his knees beside a toppled light stand, while his boyfriend claimed another man like property and the entire crew watched in stunned silence. And the worst part, the part that makes the tears almost spill over, was that he’s never been harder in his life.
“You not gonna do anything?” Gideon bellowed at Victor, voice cracking with rage.
Victor’s grin was wide, manic, eyes blazing like he’s just witnessed a miracle.
“Are you crazy? This is gold!”
He waved Leo in frantically, motioning the camera tighter on the bed, lens dipping low to catch every brutal thrust. Victor’s hand dropped to his crotch for half a second later, adjusting the obvious ridge in his jeans with absolutely no shame, fingers lingering just long enough for Jordan to clock it: Victor was hard too.
“Fuck you, Reyes!” Gideon had to shout over Ezra’s rising, delirious moans. “He’s assaulting my client!”
Victor laughed, wild, exhilarated.
“Look at him, Gideon! He’s loving every second of it!”
Both Jordan and Gideon whipped their heads toward Ezra, desperate for proof, for an excuse, for anything. And it was right there. Ezra was lost, gone, floating in some private heaven. A dreamy, delirious smile curved his swollen lips, soft and stupid with pleasure. His eyes were rolled halfway back, whites showing, lashes fluttering like he was on the edge of passing out from how good it feels. His toes curled hard, knuckles whitening as they dug into the sheets, entire body trembling in one long, endless spasm. Every thrust sends another shudder through him, another broken, worshipful moan spilling out like he’s praying in a language only Ben understands.
Jordan swore, for one razor-sharp second, that Ezra’s glazed eyes darted straight to him, locking right on Jordan’s face across the chaos, a flicker of triumph, of pity, of pure filthy bliss, like he knows exactly who’s watching and loves it. Then Ben’s huge hand cupped Ezra’s chin, thumb pressing into that smiling mouth, and turned his face back, kissing him, obscene, devouring, tongue deep, reclaiming every inch of breath and attention. The message is brutal and wordless: Ezra’s world began and ended with his cock. Nothing else existed.Ezra melts into it, whimpering, surrendering completely.
Jordan felt the floor drop out from under him all over again.
Gideon finally whirled on him, face purple with rage, and slapped Jordan’s shoulder to get his attention, so hard the sting bloomed instant and bright.
“Listen here, you fucking cuck,” he hisses, the word a blade slipped between ribs, “you better put a leash on your man right now or I swear to God I’m calling the cops and having his ass hauled out of here in cuffs.”
The slur hit Jordan like a fist he’s been waiting for all day. It lands clean, perfect, undeniable.
Cuck.
He didn’t flinch. He heard that exact tone before, silk over steel, in the glass-walled conference rooms at Harrison & Hale when a client was about to walk unless someone bled for it, or on the country-club terrace when his father’s friends dressed down a caddy who’d dared to breathe wrong. The sound of rich men who are accustomed to being obeyed, who know money and power are just two different words for the same leash.Gideon’s eyes said the rest: Fix your dog, or I will have him put down.
Ben needed to stop, but Jordan was still frozen, cock throbbing, tears burning, lungs refusing to work, because the leash Gideon wants him to grab has already been cut. Ben isn’t his to control anymore. He never really was that evening.
He tries anyway.
“B-Ben?”
The word cracked out of him, small, shaking. He took one step past the cameras, then another, stopping just at the edge of the lights, afraid to cross into the circle of heat and sweat and fury. Every pair of eyes on set swiveled to him. He fekt the weight of them like physical hands pinning him in place.
Ben kept driving forward, lost.
“Ben!” Jordan tried again, louder, desperate, voice breaking at the end.
This time Ben heard. His head lifted slowly, almost reluctant. For one terrible heartbeat his eyes locked on Jordan’s across the blazing lights, and there was nothing in them Jordan recognized. No softness, no kindness, no love. Just dark, feral possession and a flicker of pure irritation at being interrupted. Then the moment snapped .Ben’s face twisted into a snarl and he turned his face back down to Ezra, hand tightening in dark hair, like Jordan’s voice was nothing more than background noise.
Jordan stood rooted, the loft spinning slowly around him.He looked to Victor first but the director’s eyes stayed locked on the monitor, lips parted in a manic grin, one hand still absently rubbing the bulge in his jeans like he’d forgotten it was there. He didn’t spare Jordan a glance. Jordan turned to Gideon. He rolled his eyes so hard it was almost theatrical, muttered “Fucking pathetic” loud enough for the closest P.A. to hear, then turned back to the carnage on the bed like Jordan had ceased to exist.
Humiliation flooded Jordan so completely he felt it in his teeth. He retreated to his dark corner by the ruined pastry table, tears blurring the lights into smeared halos. The moment kept looping behind his eyes on cruel repeat: Ben lifting his head, meeting his gaze across the chaos, and then… dismissal. An unwelcome interruption, nothing more. Like Jordan was a fly buzzing too close to the feast.
He felt like nothing. Less than nothing. A ghost haunting his own life.
So why the hell was he still so hard the pressure against his zipper felt like a reward? The tears were rolling down his face now, and why did the ache in his cock only sharpen with every drop? He pressed the heel of his hand against himself, trying to kill the throb, and only made it worse. A broken sound caught in his throat, half sob, half moan. He was nothing, and his body had never wanted it more.
He swiped the tears away with the heel of his hand, blinking hard until the blur clears. He couldn’t, wouldn’t look at the bed. He already knew what’s happening there, already knew every frame by heart, so his gaze drifted, desperate for anywhere else, and landed on the little knot of P.A.s clustered like hyenas by the craft table. One of them, lip-ring kid, had his phone up, filming the chaos on the mattress like it wasthe Super Bowl. The rest weren’t watching Ben and Ezra at all. They were watching Jordan.
Eyes bright, mouths twisted in smirks they didn’t even tried to hide. One elbowed another; they both snicker, loud enough to cut through the moans. He cusped his hand around his ear in mock sympathy, I don’t think he can hear you crying over the fucking, bro. Another made a limp-wristed jerk-off motion with his fist, eyes rolling in a cruel parody of ecstasy. The fourth mouthed the word “cuck” slow and deliberate, grinning like it’s the funniest thing he had ever seen. They didn’t bothered lowering their voices, didn’t bothered pretending to feel for Jordan. Jordan did nothing, soaked in his own tears and precum, while four strangers laughed at the exact moment his heart finished breaking. And the worst, most unbearable part was the pulse in his cock that answered every laugh, every sneer, every second of Ben erasing him. They were not wrong. Gideon was not wrong. He was pathetic, exactly what they’re laughing at. A cuck.
Jordan never saw the moment it happened.
He was staring at the floor, at the pastry table, at anything that wasn’t the bed, when Ben’s roar ripped through the loft like a physical force, vibrating in Jordan’s bones, a primal, victorious bellow that said I win. The sound alone told him everything: Ben was cumming, surrendering himself completely into, onto, Ezra. Later, when the clip would be everywhere and Jordan wouldn’t be able escape it, he’d watch the moment he missed. He’d see Ben surge to his feet on the mattress, hauling Ezra up by the hair so the man kneels in front of him, mouth open, eyes shining with worship. He’d see Ben fist his slick, angry-red cock once, just once, before he erupted. Five thick, heavy ropes of cum arc through the air in perfect, obscene slow-motion, aimed straight at Ezra’s face, his mouth, his chest, splattering in thick, deliberate stripes. The money shot. Hedl see Ben’s chest heaving, sweat gleaming, that triumphant, almost cruel smile splitting his face, Aviators still hiding his eyes but not the blaze behind them. The cameras swinging toward Ben in the same heartbeat, catching the final shot: Big Ben, glowing, victorious, king of the world, having just marked his territory for three million future viewers.
Jordan will watch that frame freeze, loop, become a GIF, a meme, the moment the man he loved stopped belonging to him and started belonging to everyone. He will never unsee it. And every time it plays, he’ll feel that roar in his bones again, the exact second his world changed forever.
