Ben and Ezra drifted toward the low platform like they’d done this a hundred times. The king-size bed waited under the skylight, white satin already rumpled in invitation. Ben never bothered closing the burgundy robe; it hung open, framing his heavy cock the way a museum spotlights its prize exhibit. Every step made it sway, thick, lazy, and more than a few heads turned to track the motion. A soft whistle, a quickly stifled laugh, the click of someone’s tongue. No one even pretended not to stare. Victor strode up with the easy swagger of a man who’d seen every size and shape the industry could throw at him, but the grin splitting his face was pure, greedy approval. He stopped between the two of them, one hand clapping Ben’s shoulder, the other brushing Ezra’s lower back like he was positioning statues.
“All right, you beautiful animals,” he said. “We’re keeping this simple. Start standing, lots of eye contact, let it build. I want hunger, not hurry. Raw is confirmed, yeah?”
Ben gave a single, lazy nod. Ezra’s answer was a slow, filthy smile.
Victor’s gaze flicked to the robe still hanging open. “Lose that whenever you’re ready, big man. And remember: the camera loves tension. Make them beg for it.”
He stepped back, clapped once, sharp. “Positions.”
Ben let the burgundy robe drop without ceremony, the heavy fabric whispering to the floor. The north light pouring through the skylights carved him in sharp relief: broad chest dusted with dark hair, the swell of his gut catching soft shadows, thick thighs planted like columns. Every muscle looked heavier, harder, the months of renewed training etched into him like living marble, powerful, almost mythic. Ezra peeled away his robe with deliberate grace, revealing nothing but a tiny black thong, barely more than a whisper of fabric stretched across his hips. The black looked obscene against bronze skin, the thin straps cutting high on his carved waist, a perfect silhouette of want. The same tattooed P.A. who’d had his hands wrapped around Ben minutes earlier darted forward, scooped both robes off the floor like an altar boy collecting offerings, then rose on his toes to hand Ben the black Aviators with something close to reverence. Ben slid them on slowly, lenses catching the light, hiding his eyes behind mirrored night. Then he turned that hidden gaze on Ezra and smirked, slow, filthy, certain and Ezra’s answering smile was all teeth and invitation.
“Hey,” Gideon’s voice brushed Jordan’s ear, low. Jordan startled so hard his shoulder bumped the wall. He hadn’t even noticed the agent slinking back to his side. “Wanna get closer? Front-row seat. You’ll see every inch disappear.”
Jordan’s throat closed. “Oh, n-no… I think I’m fine here,” he managed.
Every head in the loft was already angled toward the platform, eyes locked on Ben and Ezra like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. No one was looking at the boyfriend clutching a half-eaten croissant like a life raft. He waited for Gideon to drift away, to rejoin the cluster of crew. He didn’t. Gideon stayed planted right beside him, arms folded, that same amused, knowing half-smile on his face, close enough that Jordan could smell his expensive cologne, like he’d decided Jordan’s private unraveling was part of the show too.
Victor slipped behind the main camera, shoulder to shoulder with Dan. His eyes narrowed at the monitor, one hand raised in that universal hold gesture: palm flat, fingers splayed, don’t move. Ben and Ezra waited, statues under the lights.
Ben’s chest rose and fell once, slow.
Ezra’s tongue touched his lower lip, waiting.
Jordan’s lungs stalled.
The loft went impossibly quiet; no rustle of clothing, no clatter of gear, just the low hum of the lights and the soft mechanical heartbeat of the cameras. Even Gideon’s breathing seemed to stop beside him.
Time stretched, thin and brittle.
Then Victor’s hand flipped, thumb up, decisive.
Go.
Ben and Ezra stared at each other for one suspended moment.
Then Ben leaned down and claimed Ezra’s lips.
For a second they stayed like that, barely touching, just the soft press of mouth on mouth, as if they were savoring the first taste. A quiet sigh slipped out, Jordan couldn’t tell from whose throat, and the kiss deepened.
Ezra rose onto his toes, hungry, greedy, chasing more. Ben bent further to meet him halfway, eyes closing. One thick arm slid around Ezra’s perfect waist and dragged him in, bodies flush. Another sigh, softer this time, and Ezra’s hand began to move, fingers skating up Ben’s body, tracing the round swell of his gut, climbing higher, until his palm closed hard over Ben’s heavy pec and squeezed with unmistakable possession. Ben answered with the same greed, both big hands clamping onto Ezra’s narrow waist, fingers digging in so hard Jordan knew the skin would bloom purple later. Ezra looked almost fragile in that grip, swallowed by Ben’s bulk, delicate in a way Jordan wasn’t sure if himself ever been. Ben enveloped him completely, arms caging, like a marble statue claiming its offering. The kiss turned ravenous. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, wet sounds that carried across the quiet loft. Jordan recognized the angle of Ben’s head instantly: that same possessive tilt he used when Jordan was the one folded in his arms, the one being devoured. A cold, distant thought drifted through the heat: Did I ever look that perfect in his arms?
He didn’t want to know the answer.
As Ezra’s hand drifted lower, slow, sure, until his fingers curled around Ben’s cock. This time there was no doubt, no flicker of fear of failure. Jordan knew better than to doubt his boyfriend’s power any longer. Whatever ghost had lived in Ben’s body for months had been exorcised, burned out, gone. The proof was right there in Ezra’s fist: Ben was already swelling, thickening, the shaft sliding through Ezra’s grip with lazy confidence, hardening like it had never forgotten how. Leo on camera two glided in smooth and silent, lens dipping low to catch every inch of that effortless rise. Within seconds Ben’s cock stood fully, brutally hard, trapped hot and heavy between their bodies, pulsing against Ezra’s stomach while their mouths stayed fused, hungry, unbroken.
Jordan felt it hit him low and sudden, a hot, treacherous throb behind his zipper. His own cock stiffened against his will, swelling fast, pressing painfully against the seam of his jeans as if Ben’s mouth were still on his, as if those hungry kisses were meant for him. Heat flooded his groin, shame burning right alongside it, because he hated how instantly, helplessly hard he was watching his boyfriend get devoured by someone else. He shifted in his place, thighs clenching, trying to hide the evidence, but the ache only sharpened, pulsing in time with Ezra’s slow strokes, as if Ben’s pleasure were wired straight into Jordan’s body and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
“Cut,” Victor’s voice cracked through the loft like a whip.
The spell shattered. Jordan sucked in air he hadn’t realized he was holding, lungs burning, as if he’d been the one pinned in Ben’s arms, drowning in that kiss. His heart hammered against his ribs, loud enough he was sure Gideon could hear it beside him. Ben and Ezra parted slowly, mouths separating with a soft, wet sound. Ezra’s hand lingered on Ben’s cock, fingers peeling away one by one, painfully slow, reluctant, like letting go was the hardest part of the job. The thick shaft bobbed free, glistening, still rock-hard, a bead of precum catching the light.
Crew members swarmed the platform with practiced urgency. Sasha darted in with a light mete. A P.A. adjusted the angle of a softbox, another scurried to blot a sheen of sweat from Ben’s chest with a towel, careful not to disturb the mood. Leo swapped lenses with a quick twist, the clack of metal loud in the sudden bustle. Someone spritzed the air with a mist bottle to catch the light better, tiny droplets sparkling like dust in the beams. Victor strode back to his stars.
“Fucking gorgeous start. I need you two…”
Victor dropped his voice to a murmur, the rest swallowed by the loft’s hush. Jordan couldn’t catch a word, only the easy nod of Ben’s head, the calm tilt as he listened, one big hand idly stroking his cock like it was the most natural thing in the world. Only a moment later, Victor gave Ben’s shoulder a quick, approving clap and stepped back toward the monitors.
He didn’t even make it two paces. Ben and Ezra crashed together like the distance had personally offended them. Mouths slammed, teeth clashing hard, tongues already fighting for space. Ezra’s hands flew to Ben’s neck, nails scraping beard; Ben’s palms clamped Ezra’s ass and hauled him up until Ezra’s feet barely skimmed the floor. The kiss was wet, loud, starving, no pretense of choreography left, just raw, greedy need. A soft, collective exhale rippled through the crew. Someone whispered, “Jesus Christ,” half-laugh, half-prayer.
They never heard Victor call “action”; the word lost somewhere between their mouths. Jordan stood rooted, pulse roaring in his ears, the phantom taste of that kiss burning on his own tongue even though he was ten feet away and shrinking smaller with every heartbeat. Ben’s hands slid under Ezra’s thighs and lifted, effortless, like Ezra weighed nothing and Ezra’s legs snapped around Ben’s waist as if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times. Ben carried him the few steps to the bed, the king-size mattress waiting like a altar under the skylight. He climbed up slowly, knees sinking into the satin, and lowered Ezra onto the sheets with a gentleness that looked almost reverent. Ezra’s back met the mattress with a soft sigh of fabric; his legs stayed wrapped tight, refusing to let go, pulling Ben down with him until their chests pressed together and the kiss never once broke.
Ben’s massive frame folded over Ezra, swallowing him almost entirely, broad back and heavy shoulders blotting out the smaller man like a living eclipse. For a moment Ezra disappeared, hidden beneath Ben as if he were something rare, something Ben instinctively wanted to shield from every hungry gaze in the room, but Leo glided in on silent feet, camera dipping low, finding the narrow slice of light that still framed them: two hands sliding together, fingers lacing tight, Ben pinning Ezra’s wrists gently above his head against the black satin.
They kept kissing, slow, deep, wet, unhurried, like the world had narrowed to just the two of them. The surreal feeling of the last few days slid over Jordan again, thicker this time, dizzying. It was like Jordan had stepped in a different universe, an alternate reality where everything was exactly like his own, but at the same time, completely different. That was Ben, his Ben, same beard brushing bronze skin, same shoulders rolling with every breath, same huge cock dragging heavy against Ezra’s thigh, and yet he wasn’t. That Ben belonged to the cameras, to the lights, to the thousands who would watch later and wish they were the one pinned beneath him. He belonged to Ezra right now, wholly, beautifully, in a way Jordan suddenly couldn’t remember ever feeling completely his.
Jordan’s chest ached with the wrongness of how right it looked. It was, so, so fucking hot. The most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. Ben’s bulk pressing Ezra into the mattress, the slow roll of his hips grinding that thick cock against smooth skin while Ezra arched like he was trying to crawl inside him. Every flex of Ben’s back, every low growl muffled against Ezra’s mouth, everything time-stamped itself straight into Jordan’s memory as the new gold standard of desire. It wasn’t just sex; it was worship and conquest happening in real time, beautiful and merciless.
And Ezra… God, Ezra was perfect. Flawless skin glowing under the lights, lean muscle shifting like liquid, every line of him built to be taken, to be ruined, to be adored. The way his legs stayed locked around Ben’s waist, heels digging into the small of Ben’s back, urging him closer, deeper, harder. The tiny black thong stretched obscene, soaked through, the outline of his own cock leaking helplessly against Ben’s gut. He looked like every fantasy Jordan had ever had, made flesh and begging for the one thing Jordan used to believe only he could get.
The man was obscene art and Ben must have thought that too. He finally tore his mouth away, but only far enough to look, really look. He hovered there, chest heaving, eyes raking over Ezra’s face like he was memorizing every perfect inch. One thick thumb brushed Ezra’s swollen lower lip, slow, reverent, then pushed inside. Ezra opened for it without hesitation, tongue curling around the intrusion, sucking softly, eyes half-lidded and gleaming.
““Jesus Christ… look at you”, Ben’s voice came out low, rough. He shook his head slowly, almost disbelieving. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
Ezra’s lazy smile widened around the thumb, and he murmured something too soft for Jordan to catch, but the overhead mics drank it in. Ben’s answer rolled out like a claim staked in concrete.
“Damn right you’re mine, pretty boy. Every fucking inch.” Ben crashed back down, hungrier this time, but they didn’t even make it a full minute in their kiss.
“Cut!”
Ben froze, head snapping toward Victor, a flash of confusion tightening his jaw.
“Something wrong?” he growled.
“Nah, just a hot spot on Ezra’s hip,” Victor said, already waving Sasha in. “Light’s blowing out the highlight. Thirty seconds.”
Sasha darted forward with a handheld meter and a small silk diffusion cloth and angled the softbox a fraction lower. A P.A. knelt to pin a corner of the white satin that had bunched under Ezra’s shoulder.Ben stayed braced above Ezra, cock still hard and trapped between them, chest rising and falling in short, impatient breaths. For the first time tonight he looked thrown, the calm mask cracking just enough to show the hunger clawing underneath. Ezra, for his part, looked completely unbothered, just smiled up at him, fingertips tracing lazy circles over Ben’s shoulder, down the slope of his trap, soothing, teasing, keeping the fire stoked.
Victor stepped back, checked the monitor once more, and clapped.
“Okay, pick it up right there, action.”
Ben didn’t wait for a second invitation, but before he could dive back in, Ezra’s palms pressed firm against his shoulders, gentle, insistent. Ben read the cue instantly and let himself be rolled. They flipped in one fluid motion, Ben sprawling onto his back across the black satin like a lion stretched out in the sun, arms loose at his sides, cock jutting thick and proud against his gut. Ezra swung a leg over and straddled him, thighs flexing, settling his weight so Ben’s shaft slid hot along the crease of that tiny thong. Without looking, as if he’d done it a thousand times, Ezra arched his back and tilted his hips, presenting his ass straight toward Leo’s camera. The black fabric had already vanished between perfect, bronzed cheeks, devoured completely, the string nothing more than a whisper against smooth skin. Leo’s smirk flashed behind the lens as he glided in, low and smooth, filling the frame with that flawless bubble butt.
“That’s perfect, Ezra!” Victor called, voice ringing with genuine excitement. “Fucking gorgeous!”
Ezra slid down Ben’s body like silk over stone, every movement deliberate, fluid, until his face hovered inches from that rigid cock. He paused there, letting the moment stretch, eyes traveling the full length in open, theatrical awe. A slow, appreciative smile curved his lips, perfectly timed, perfectly framed, the kind of look that belonged on a thumbnail titled “Dream Cock Worship”. To Jordan it screamed performance, a practiced beat Ezra had probably hit a hundred of times before, but Ben ate it up. His smirk widened, lazy and smug, hips shifting just enough to make the shaft flex. When Ezra finally wrapped his fingers around the base, Ben let out a long, hissing breath through his teeth a real and hungry that Jordan felt it in his own spine.
Ezra’s hand glided up and down Ben’s shaft twice, slow, reverent strokes, eyes never leaving the thick length. Then, like Jordan did that at during the streaming, he leaned in, tongue flicking out, just the tip tracing one pulsing vein from base to crown in a feather-light touch that looked almost cruel in its gentleness. Ben hissed again, sharper this time, hips twitching. Ezra smiled at the reaction and did it again on another vein, then a third, each pass a ghost of contact that had Ben’s thighs tensing, his breath catching loud in the hush of the loft. Only then did Ezra part his lips, wrap them around the swollen head, and sink down.
One smooth, fluid glide, no hesitation, no gag, no struggle, just ten thick inches disappearing inch by inch until his nose pressed flush against Ben’s gut and his throat visibly bulged around the intrusion. Ben’s head fell back against the sheets with a ragged, “Oh fuck yeah,” the word punched out of him like he hadn’t expected it to feel that good.
Jordan’s stomach dropped straight through the floor. He couldn’t do that. Not anymore. Ezra stayed down, lips sealed tight, working Ben with slow, masterful pulls that looked almost lazy but weren’t. Saliva glistened on his chin, dripped onto the satin, but he never broke rhythm, never gagged, just took it and took it and took it like he’d been built for this exact cock.Ezra didn’t just suck cock; he conducted it. Slow, wet pulls that hollowed his cheeks, tongue swirling around the head like he was memorizing every ridge, then sudden deep dives that buried Ben to the root and held him there, throat fluttering, eyes watering prettily for the camera. Every time he came up for air he left Ben’s shaft shining, veins glistening, and every time he sank back down he took it smoother, easier, like the ten inches were made to live in his throat.
Ben’s breathing turned ragged. His hands found Ezra’s hair, threading through the perfect strands, testing. Then, as if Ezra’s rhythm wasn’t enough, Ben moved. He rose to his knees in one fluid surge, towering, the mattress dipping under his weight. One big hand cupped the back of Ezra’s skull, the other braced against a thigh, and he pulled Ezra forward until he was kneeling between Ben’s spread legs.
“Open”, he growled.
Ezra did.
Ben pushed in in with one fierce thrust, then pulled back and snapped his hips forward, hard, deliberate, exactly the same way he did when he fucked Jordan’s throat on that livestream, but Ezra took it way better, no choking, no tears, no desperate gag. Ezra took it like he was born for it, throat opening, lips stretched glossy and red, eyes locked up at Ben in total surrender. Ben’s rhythm built, steady, relentless, the slap of his heavy balls against Ezra’s chin echoing louder with every thrust. His head tipped back, beard to the ceiling, a low growl rumbling out of him that Jordan felt in his own bones. It was the same pattern, the same grip, the same angle Jordan knew by heart… only this time there was no struggle, no time out, no pause for air. Just Ben fucking a willing, flawless throat like it had been waiting for him all along. His tightened in Ezra’s hair and he started fucked in earnest, hips rolling, gut flexing, the wet, obscene sound of a perfect throat being used filling the loft, growing louder and louder while Ezra moaned around the intrusion like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Jordan watched, rooted to the spot, cock straining painfully against his zipper, a sick with want and shame and something darker he didn’t have a name for. Hard, so insanely hard he could barely breathe, and hating himself for every throbbing second of it. His jealousy wasn’t a feeling anymore; it was a living thing clawing at his ribs. Every wet glide of Ezra’s lips down Ben’s cock felt like a personal betrayal aimed straight at his throat. Every moan Ezra let out, muffled, greedy, fucking grateful, sounded like laughter at Jordan’s own failure. Every time Ben’s hips snapped forward and Ezra took it without flinching, Jordan heard the silent accusation: You couldn’t do this. Look how easy it is for him.
He hated the heat flooding his face, hated the sweat prickling under his arms, hated the way his cock throbbed harder with every perfect swallow Ezra gave. He hated that the sight of Ben’s fist tightening in dark, silky hair, hair that wasn’t his, made his stomach clench with something vicious and small and ugly. He hated that he was standing here, invisible, while the man he loved looked down at another man like he was the only thing in the universe worth fucking. Ben’s growl rolled out again, even louder, possessive, the exact same note he used to save for Jordan’s name in the dark. Only now it was for Ezra.
Jordan’s hands curled into fists so tight his nails bit half-moons into his palms. He wanted to scream. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to come in his pants like a teenager.
He’d never felt more replaced in his life.
Jordan was sure Ben would keep going, would fuck that perfect throat straight through to the finish and let the cameras catch whatever they could, filming be damned.Victor must have felt the same jolt of danger, because his voice cracked across the loft like a gunshot.
“Cut, cut, cut!”
Ben’s hips froze mid-thrust. His head snapped toward Victor, furious heat pouring off him in waves. For a second the whole room seemed to hold its breath; Jordan half-expected Ben to ignore the command completely, to snarl and drive back in, but Ben stopped. He pulled out slow, deliberate, cock shining and angry-red, a thick string of spit still connecting it to Ezra’s swollen lips. His chest heaved, nostrils flared, every muscle tensing like a man fighting himself for control. Even behind the sunglasses, the glare he leveled at Victor could’ve melted steel.
Ezra caught the flash of fury in Ben’s eyes and let out a soft, breathy giggle, the sound bright and filthy.
“I was loving that too,” he purred, fingers still wrapped loosely around Ben’s slick cock, stroking slow, lazy circles like he had all the time in the world.
Victor didn’t even look up from the tablet a P.A. had shoved under his nose. “Do it on your own time, then,” he muttered, distracted.. “We’re on a schedule here.”
“Maybe we will,” Ezra shot back, voice dripping honey and mischief, eyes flicking to Ben with a wicked little smile.
A ripple of laughter rolled through the crew, low, knowing, the kind of laugh that says everyone in the room is in on the same dirty joke. Jordan felt every pair of eyes swivel toward him at once. He was suddenly, blazingly sure they were all waiting, watching, hungry to see how the boyfriend would take it. Ezra openly flirting about fucking Ben off-camera, for fun, because they both wanted it. No lights, no paycheck, just two bodies that fit together like they’d been carved for each other. His face burned so hot he thought the skin might split. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even look away from Ezra’s smug, perfect grin and Ben’s cock still twitching in Ezra’s hand like it had already decided whose side it was on.
Did Ben want it too?
The question punched Jordan square in the chest.
Of course he did. He’d said it himself, raw and sheepish, that night the email first landed: “Fuck, Jord… yeah. Of course I would. The guy’s fucking gorgeous.” Back then, it had excited him, the shooting only a possibility, still far away, intangible, almost impossible. Nothing felt impossible anymore. Watching Ben now, chest still heaving, cock slick and angry-red in Ezra’s fist, Jordan felt the ground tilt. His first instinct was still the old reflex: No. Ben would never. He loves me. He’d never cheat. The second instinct was colder, clearer, merciless.
I don’t know anymore.
Because the man on that bed looked like he’d burn the whole world down for one more minute inside Ezra’s throat, cameras or no cameras. And Jordan had no idea, none, whether Ben would still come home to him after the lights went out if Ezra ever crooked a finger and whispered, “My place. No crew. Just us.”
“Okay, boys,” Victor called, clapping once to pull focus. “Ezra, I’m not even gonna ask if you’re ready for that cock.”
A fresh wave of laughter rolled through the crew, loose and easy, like this was just another Friday. Victor’s grin swung to Ben. “Big Ben, you ready to shine?”
Ben’s answer came low, rough, certain. “Fuck yeah.”
Jordan’s heart slammed against his ribs. His cock throbbed against his underwear.
He wasn’t sure he was ready. Not for the sight. Not for the sound. Not for the moment the man he loved pushed inside someone else and looked like he’d never belonged anywhere else.
