Archive of Our Own

Prismo was running late. This wasn't unusual however, he had a habit of running late but today it was especially bad. He just finished unpacking his new apartment last night and he slept through his alarms and took the wrong exit on the highway so now he was behind schedule. And Fionna had been so adamant that he not fuck this up. His first real gig in the big city, under his own production company, signing his own contracts, making big money and attracting a larger fan base. Apparently Fionna had pulled a few strings to even get him a spot in the photoshoot. It was just that, only a photoshoot but with a few very important stars and an old friend of his in the industry, Orbo. And he could not fuck this up or he would be shooting himself in the foot like an idiot.

By the time he showed up to the studio he was thirty minutes late, anxious and jittery. He stared at the building for a second before taking a deep breath and turning off his engine. As he walked up to the building there was a guy leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. He tugged off his sunglasses and studied Prismo as he approached. Black eyes and hair so blonde it was almost silver.

He was dressed pretty casually and looked like a production assistant of some kind. Just a shirt, shorts and sandals. Maybe lighting or sound? 

“Wishmaster?” the maybe-assistant asked.

“Yup, that’s me!” Prismo waved, “But call me Prismo. Sorry I’m-”

“You’re late,” the man griped, “Come with me.”

He flicked his cigarette away and held open the door as he ushered Prismo inside. He glanced around at the studio curiously. Random equipment laid scattered in the hallways, backdrops and camera stands, a few large plastic bins and a clothing rack with a few robes hanging there.

Then the assistant shoved a coat hanger and robe into Prismo’s chest and began to drag him further into the studio. He led him into a room lined with lockers to one side and showers to the other.

“Here,” he said, “This is the locker room. If you don't want to get lube all over your shirt, hang it up out of the way. And don't touch anything that doesn't belong to you.”

“Thanks a bunch,” Prismo said, “I gotta be honest, I’m really nervous.”

“I can tell,” the assistant scoffed, “Hurry and get changed.”

Prismo began to shove his stuff into a free locker and unbuckled his belt. Stripping everything off in a hurry. Prismo tried to unbutton his shirt but his fingers shook and slipped on the buttons. He fumbled for a second or two before the assistant stepped in.

“For fuck’s sake…” the assistant muttered.

He waved Prismo’s hands away and began to unbutton Prismo’s shirt quickly.

“I'm really sorry I’m late,” Prismo said again, “I would blame it on traffic but-”

He popped a button open, “It's Saturday,” the man said.

“Yeah,” Prismo replied.

Prismo gave a nervous laugh and studied the agitated look on the assistant’s face. 

“So…” Prismo said, “This is The Company, huh? Nice studio you got here.”

The assistant glanced up at Primo’s face.

“Yes, I hear you're new in town?” he asked.

Prismo nodded, “Yup, it’s my big debut, ha-ha…”

He knew he sounded nervous but couldn't find it in himself to care. The assistant popped another button. He was going a little low… was he intending to unbutton the whole shirt? Prismo didn't mind, besides he was kind of a hottie. He had this intense focused look on his face, sharp features, and at least a whole head shorter. Prismo liked short guys, they were fun to play with. Prismo studied his face closely. This guy could be a model, honestly. Maybe he was trying to work his way up in the industry?

The assistant-hopefully-model-one-day popped a few more buttons. Quickly making his way down Prismo’s shirt. 

“What do you think of the city?” the man asked.

“Eh,” Prismo said, “It's nice to be closer to the action I guess, but it's a little claustrophobic.”

He popped open the last button and took a step back. They locked eyes. Prismo pulled off his undershirt shamelessly. The assistant turned away from him, giving him a bit of privacy.

“I hate the city,” the man replied openly, "But yes, all the best shoots happen downtown.”

“Do you need anything else?” the man asked.

He sounded a little put out but it was thoughtful either way. 

“Nah. But this is my first real shoot and I don't want to fuck it up,” he said, “Being late was totally my fault and I feel like an idiot. Is there anything I need to know before we do this thing?”

The assistant crossed his arms and nodded.

“Yes, for verbal consent we use the stop light system,” he answered, “There's refreshments in the back. Have you signed the paperwork?”

Prismo nodded and stripped off his pants and underwear. The man turned away, giving him some privacy.

“The docusign stuff, right?” Prismo said, “Yeah, I signed it.”

“Yes,” the assistant asked, “All of them?”

“Yeah, there were three, right?” Prismo replied, “Insurance, the contract and testing.”

The assistant breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, staring across the room.

“Good. And one last thing,” he said.

Prismo was slipping on the robe, fiddling with the ties. The assistant glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah?” Prismo asked.

“Show up on time when you work with my studio,” the man replied, “Or don't show up at all.”

Prismo nodded then gave the man a pleading look.

“Okay. Just… please don't tell my costar,” Prismo begged, “I was gonna say I got a flat tire or something.”

The man gave an amused huff and glanced at Prismo from the corner of his eye.

“And who might that be?” the man quirked an eyebrow.

“Some big shot called Scarab,” Prismo replied.

The man tilted his head and turned to face him. He gave Prismo a curious look.

“Oh really?” he said.

“Apparently he's kind of a diva,” Prismo rambled on, “But my manager said it's really important I make a good impression on him and I don't want to fuck this up, so-”

The man blinked at him, bewildered. Then suddenly he laughed right in Prismo’s face, condescending and sudden.

“HAH! You've got to be kidding me…” he waved a hand dismissively.

Prismo watched him turn away and open the locker room door. He gestured for the other production assistants to step in and pointed inside the room

“Somebody please get this amateur together!” the man demanded loudly, “And who has that expense report I asked for?”

“Yes sir!” someone called out.

Oh… Prismo cocked his head. This guy clearly wasn’t an assistant, bossing people around like that. Maybe he was a manager then, a director even, if the eager sounds of “of course, sir, right here, sir,” outside the locker room were any indication. Shit, he really should have kept his mouth shut and did what he was told without the extra blabbing.

The maybe-manager spared one last glance over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at Prismo as a pair from the hair and makeup team pulled him out of the locker room. 

“You're on in five,” the manager told him.

Prismo gulped then nodded.

A pair of snooty looking techs ushered him into the beauty station while he was still trying to slip on a pair of flip flops and manhandled him into a director’s chair. One of them began to pull out a tube of concealer that was definitely not his shade. The other stood behind him and started to fuck up his curls, running her fingers through them, humming and hawing. Damn, he spent so long on those.

“Oh, wow…” one tech groused, “Look at all that volume.”

Prismo gently reached up and grabbed her wrist, pulling their hand away.

“I appreciate the help,” Prismo smiled, “But I already did my hair.”

Prismo glanced back and forth between the two as they flitted about, making snide little comments. They must be twins, both blonde with stern features. Both equally as obnoxious.

“Hyperpigmentation under the eyes,” one grumbled, “Hand me the color corrector.”

“Get it yourself,” the other huffed.

Then they began to fuss over him. Prismo thought about that uppity little manager. He must be a director of some kind with that attitude, not simply part of the team. Maybe he was a team lead? Head set designer? A photographer perhaps, able to be all snippy and controlling when he's behind the lens.

“That shade doesn’t match,” one griped.

“I’ll make it match,” the other retorted.

Prismo sighed and slumped in his chair. This would be a long day.

That same maybe-a-manager saw him walk out of the beauty station and had a fit. He was passionately complaining to Orbo when Prismo tried to sneak by.

“We're already behind schedule and you know how important that fetish shoot will be,” he ranted, “I'm not letting some amateur ruin-”

The maybe-manager glanced to the side and caught Prismo’s eye. He paused and studied Prismo intently. Prismo wrapped his robe tighter around himself.

“Oh, heya Prismo!” Orbo said, “Good to see you, did you-?”

The manager pointed an accusatory finger at Prismo and furrowed his brows. He glanced at Orbo and frowned.

“Why is he not in-?” he demanded.

Then he looked to Prismo expectantly, “Why are you not in hair and makeup?”

Orbo adjusted his sunglasses, brows raised then stared at Prismo.

“They busy with another actor or…?” Orbo asked.

Prismo glanced around sheepishly and rubbed at his arm.

“Uhm… no, I uh,” Prismo stammered, “I sat for them, yeah.”

The manger palmed his face and groaned in annoyance. 

“This is ridiculous,” he began to say, “I-”

“They didn't have my shade…” Prismo interjected, “Of foundation.”

The man paused then snapped his attention back to Prismo.

“They what?” the manager balked.

“Wait, really?” Orbo asked.

Prismo waved his hands dismissively, “It's cool. It’s happened before, so I usually bring my own makeup but today I was running kinda late so I forgot, and… yeah. My bad.”

There was a heavy silence that lasted only three seconds before it was shattered to pieces.

“Gee, Prismo,” Orbo began, “I’m sorry ‘bout-”

“Unbelievable!” the manager exclaimed, "How do you expect us to work in these conditions? It's ninety fucking degrees in here and-”

Orbo raised his hands and tried to placate the man.

“Hey, it’ll be fine. Photography can do touch-ups, no big deal,” he said, “And it's only seventy six degrees, c’mon now.”

The pissed off manager began to glance around furiously. 

“Where are the Lemongrabs?” the manager demanded, “I’m going to-”

Orbo grabbed him by the shoulders and fixed him to the spot.

“Scrabby-” Orbo said, “Calm down mate. Everything's okay. We're only thirty minutes behind schedule, pretty normal stuff.”

The man stared at Orbo, he opened and closed his mouth a few times before crossing his arms and taking a deep breath.

“Fine,” he sighed, “And it’s forty-five minutes now.”

He shoved Orbo’s hands away and began to relax, then stiffened up again and pointed a finger at the other director.

“We still have a tight schedule to keep,” the manager complained, “And we can’t just waste time here and there, it’s unprofessional.”

“Really?” Orbo chuckled, “That’s unprofessional to you?” 

“Shut up,” the manager snapped, “You know I'm supposed to meet with the board later. I’m just…”

He grumbled something under his breath.

“Frazzled?” Orbo offered.

The manager crossed his arms and stared down at the floor.

“Maybe…” he grumbled.

Orbo reached out and squeezed his shoulder again.

“You'll be nice and calm by then,” Orbo chuckled, “Trust me.”

The manager gave him an incredulous look then simply rolled his eyes and glanced away. Prismo watched the exchange with interest. This guy must be another director then, just like Orbo. Maybe they were from different studios? A different network even. He certainly had the ego for it.

Suddenly a tech approached the maybe-director with a clipboard.

“Sir, can I get you to-” she asked.

“Yes, I'll sign it,” he interjected.

Prismo watched him flip through a few pages and scrawled his signature across the paper multiple times. Then he handed it off to Orbo.

“Have Finn read it too,” the maybe-director said, “No, show it to Jake, he’ll actually read it.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Orbo said.

Orbo wandered away at the behest of another assistant and began to talk about appointments and hourly rates.

From the set, a photographer began to order people around. 

“Places people!” one of the designers called out, “Places!”

The pissed-off-maybe-director grabbed Prismo by the wrist and tugged him along.

“Finally,” he hissed, “Let’s go.”

They wove between reflectors and equipment, Prismo tried his best not to trip or bump into any of the expensive equipment. He studied the set in front of him. It was just a few tables pushed together draped with cloth. Spare pillows or blankets hidden behind the actors with a bunch of sound and lighting equipment hanging over their heads. Orbo also insisted that they film and put it in the B roll for one of their upcoming movies. They could also use it as promo material when needed.

He glanced to the side and froze. That snippy little director was stripping his clothes off. Professional and quick, folding and setting them on a nearby chair as he spoke to the, frankly, flaming photographer.

“Yes exactly,” the maybe-not-a-director said, “Group then couples, two, then all three.”

“What about the furniture catalogue?” the photographer began to ask, “Those couches were like, so comfy.”

The not-director stripped his shirt and shoes off and was unbuckling his belt.

“They’re in storage,” he replied, “Their company hasn't agreed to the promo rates and they won't get a single feature until they do.”

“We could still totally use ‘em,” the photographer began to say, “Just throw a sheet-”

The not-director was in the process of pulling down his pants when he shot a steely look to the photographer.

“No.” the not-director snapped, “Furniture."

Prismo was glancing back and forth between the two. The guy was clearly in charge but he was also completely naked now. Clearly he was going to be a part of the photoshoot, right?

“Ellis, why is that softbox off center?” Scarab pointed towards a lighting stand.

“Well, there’s like not enough room to-” the photographer began.

Scarab strode over to the photographer’s station in nothing but a pair of sandals. The photographer stood next to him, puffy purple vest and adjusted his camera. They glanced at each other. Scarab pointed to the edge of the set.

“Do you see that shadow?” Scarab asked.

“Well, yeah, but with the flash it like, won’t even-” Ellis said.

“I want flat light for this shoot,” Scarab said, “Fix it.”

Prismo blinked at his firm tone, the juxtaposition was absurd, buck ass naked, bossing people around. Then he must still be an actor, right? An actor with a giant attitude. Or the lead actor? Actor-director? Every layer of clothes stripped away made Prismo even more confused. Prismo’s eyes darted across the room, all the actors were done stripping off their robes or slippers, adjusting their jewelry. They ignored the back and forth between Scarab and the other people on set, this must be a common occurrence.

His eyes roved over the other actors, he recognized a few. Hunter he met one time at a convention, he had a zoom meeting with Fennel before too. He knew those two would collab often. Prince was here as well, but they only ever saw each other at parties. He was talking with someone, that must be his boyfriend, Marshall. Prismo watched a few of their movies before, pretty hot stuff.

A few more techs ran around the set adjusting the furniture and checking the lighting. Where was his main costar, Scarab? That diva he was supposed to impress?

His eyes drifted back to the man in front of him, the not-not-a-director, the director-actor? Actor-in-charge? Showbiz was so confusing. With his back turned, Prismo could see a tattoo on his back. A massive tattoo all in red ink, rosy lines spanning from shoulder to shoulder and down to his mid back. It was a depiction of a scarab beetle, wings outstretched.

The fussy director-actor glanced over his shoulder at Prismo and gave him a stern look. If he knew all the other stars, but he was only missing one. Then this guy must be…

Oh shit.

Prismo was hit with a wave of humiliation and shock that made his mind go blank. Until Orbo clapped him on the shoulder, startling out of his spiraling thoughts. 

“Come on, Wishmaster,” Orbo shook him a little, “Get up there.”

He nodded and quickly stripped off his robe, threw it onto the coat rack and slipped off his shoes. One of the designers began to call out positions for them.

“Okay, line it up folks,” he said, “Put your arms behind each other, pretend like you like each other.”

Ellis snorted at his own joke as the actors scurried around to find their spots. Fennel stood on the side line of this one, lingering by the coffee stand as she ripped open a small pile of sugar packets.

“Tallest in the center, that's you Wishmaster-” the photographer said.

“Just, Prismo,” he smiled.

“Alrighty, Prrrismo…” Ellis droned as he stared into the camera lens and adjusted the focus.

A beefy looking guy came to stand next to him and they nodded at each other. He held out a hand and Prismo shook it.

“Glad you're here, P,” Hunter said.

“Thanks,” Prismo replied, “It's good to see you. How's the greenhouse?”

Hunter smiled and they wove their arms behind each other. Hunter rested his hand on Prismo’s shoulder and Prismo did the same.

“Everything's growing like weeds,” he gave a soft chuckle, “I'll bring you some basil if you like?”

“Oh, sweet,” Prismo said, “I’d love that!”

Someone nudged him and Prismo glanced to his left.

“Hey Prismo,” Gary said, “I heard you moved?” 

Prismo put his hand on Gary’s shoulder and Prismo mirrored him.

Prismo nodded and grinned at him, “Yeah I got a little condo down by the pier, we should-”

“Alright, alright,” Ellis said, “Attention, peoples!”

This shoot was mostly queer or alternative studios, they did a cute little alternation between the actors so Prismo was sandwiched between Hunter and Gary, then Marshall, then Scarab. Each cis guy had a trans actor on either side of him, it was a little contrived but the image must’ve been appealing because the photographers were nodding and gesturing for them to change poses a little. Thank god he didn't have to be right next to Scarab just yet. His heart was still beating in his chest from the realization. 

“Okay, pretty faces,” the photographer said, “Scarab like, scoot in a little closer babe… yeah, looks good.”

A flurry of clicks and flashing lights felt blinding. The stage lights were hot and he could sweat beading on his skin already. He shifted on his feet and glanced down at his dick, he was a little hard, excitement and all. And maybe he was a bit of an exhibitionist, go figure. But what porn actor wasn't?

“Good posture, but like, I know that’s hard for you Marshall,” the photographer said.

One of the designers, this alternative goth looking dude littered with piercings, was pointing at the actors and pantomiming what they should do, helping them make minor adjustments then giving a thumbs-up. He got to Prismo and straightened himself up, standing tall. Only then did Prismo realize he was crouching in on himself, a little guarded and shy. He stood proudly and let out a deep breath. This wasn't so bad, he could do this.

In the stillness, Prismo finally had time to realize the gravity of what he just did. Calling Scarab a diva right to his face, showing up late and blabbing about how he planned to lie his way into some stupid excuse.

Lights flashed, the electronic beeping of his image being captured forever and Prismo shifted on his feet. It was hot in here, he could feel a bead of sweat trickle down his back.

“Spread your legs more, Gar-bear…” the photographers said.

“Design, go adjust that prop,” someone said.

A tech ran out onto set and moved around some furniture before retreating.

Click-click. Snap. Lights flashed and Prismo struggled not to blink. Staring into the camera with that crooked smile he practiced in the mirror. Bright lights dazzled him and burnt a foggy impression into his retina. Then as soon as it started it was over and the photographer was cycling through the pictures, Orbo standing next to him with another designer. 

That other designer held up a thumb and smiled. The actors began to shift around.

“Who's next?” Marshall asked, “That’s us right?”

The designer gave him a thumbs up again and the other actors began to step off the set. Prismo followed them and slipped his robe back on. He tried not to stare too closely at Scarab when he passed by.

Hunter and Fennel lingered around each other. Prismo chatted with them for a moment, before he caught Scarab’s eye. He was reading through a packet of paper in one hand, a styrofoam cup of coffee in the other as he spoke to that goth designer and Orbo. He glanced over to Prismo and they locked eyes. A pit formed in Prismo’s stomach. One of Scarab’s eyebrows twitched before Orbo asked him another question and he looked away. 

Scarab signed something then handed off the packet to the designer, he frowned and rubbed the bridge of his nose when Orbo said something that made the designer laugh.

“Thank you M’cron,” he said, “Put it on the P card and submit an expense report by Thursday.”

M’cron wrote something in a small flip book before he nodded and shuffled away.

“You should come with us!” Fennel said, “Gay cruises are the best.”

Prismo snapped his attention back to the couple in front of him. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“That sounds like fun,” he replied, “But I get seasick so…”

“I'll bring zofran,” Hunter replied.

Prismo looked over to the set where Marshall and Prince were posing. They certainly looked at home, wrapped up in each other like that. Marshall was grabbing Prince by the hips, buried inside him, lifting his lower body off the table as he stared down at his partner. Prince had his ankles locked behind Marshall’s back and looked up at him, arms splayed out next to him.

“Move your arm, Prince,” Ellis said, “Like, a little to the left. No, my left…”

Clicking, flashing lights, an awkward pause to check the pictures and a few poses changing. M’cron did a few poses and both actors adjusted themselves accordingly.

Hunter and Fennel wandered over to the water cooler and Prismo glanced at Scarab out of the corner of his eye. He stared down at his feet before taking a deep breath and mustering up the courage to approach Scarab.

Scarab was glaring up at Orbo and palming a cup of coffee.

“Well, do it anyway!” he huffed, “I don't care about appearances.”

Orbo grinned and waved a hand, “I know that, Scrabby. But the brand might cancel the project and-”

“Do it without them then,” Scarab demanded, “Get it done, I want it available for purchase in three weeks.”

Prismo stopped in his tracks and was about to inch away from their tense interaction when Scarab snapped his head to the side and gave him a stern look.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Prismo stammered and held up his hands.

“Uh, nothing! I just-” he took a deep breath and winced.

Orbo glanced between the two and took the opportunity to back away slowly.

“I, uh, I wanted to talk to you,” he admitted, “About… earlier.”

By the time Scarab glanced back at Orbo he was across the studio. He sighed and rolled his eyes then diverted his attention back to Prismo.

Scarab crossed his arms and cocked his hip.

“Alright,” he said, “Out with it.”

Prismo pressed his palms together and took a step forward. 

“I'm really, really sorry,” he said.

Scarab narrowed his eyes, “For what?”

Prismo winced, “For being late-”

“Yes, so you’ve said,” Scarab interrupted.

“And for calling you a diva,” Prismo continued, “I thought you were…”

Scarab glared at him and Prismo paused and shook his head.

“It doesn't matter,” he finished, “I just should have kept my mouth shut, I’m sorry.”

Scarab nodded and took a sip of coffee, staring at Prismo over the rim. He swallowed then glanced away and sighed.

“Fine, I accept your apology,” Scarab said.

“Thank you, I-” Prismo said.

Scarab pointed at him, “But don’t let it happen again.”

Prismo nodded and held his hands up, “I won’t, I swear.”

Scarab nodded and took another sip of coffee as he watched the other actors on set. He took another sip of coffee and glanced at the clock on the wall before directing his attention back to Prismo. Prismo was already staring at him.

“What?” Scarab said.

Prismo blinked and shook his head, “Oh, uh, nothing I was just wondering what your role is, that’s all?”

Scarab tilted his head, “My role?” 

Prismo nodded, “I thought you were an actor, that’s what my manager said. But clearly you do a little more than that.”

Scarab’s mouth fell open and he pinched his brows together.

“Did you read my offer letter?” Scarab said, “I sent it to your manager…?”

“Fionna?” Prismo asked.

“Yes, her,” Scarab replied.

Prismo gave a nervous laugh and shrugged, “Yeah, I skimmed it…”

Scarab rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Of course you did.” 

There was an awkward silence that stretched between them until it was broken by Gary on set.

“Marshall…” Gary moaned, “That’s too deep.”

“Sorry, let me-” Marshall replied.

Prismo felt his cock twitch as he watched Gary hold himself open as they changed positions, following M’cron’s silent examples and Ellis’s vague direction.

“But yeah,” Prismo said, “I appreciate the opportunity

“My other costar, Ash, cancelled last minute,” Scarab said, “And you came highly recommended and filled the niche. Thus…”

Scarab gestured between them and took a sip of his coffee.

Prismo gave him a funny look, “What was the niche?”

Scarab choked on his mouthful of coffee and glanced at him. His eyes dropped down to the tie on Prismo’s robe then back up to his face.

“You truly did no research on my studio,” Scarab said, “Did you?”

Prismo shrugged and shook his head.

“I’m a go with the flow kind of guy,” he replied.

Ellis and M’cron directed Hunter and Fennel onto the set, Marshall and Gary stepped down and slipped on their robes. As they got into position, Orbo came behind Scarab and slipped a clipboard into his hand.

“Eh, Scrabby, did you order something?” Orbo said, “We’ve got a truck unloading a bunch of packages into the bay.”

Scarab signed the paperwork then looked at him from over his shoulder and nodded. 

“I bought another camera system for the new studio,” he answered, “I want the videographers to stop lugging around my favorite equipment and misplacing things. Ellis already broke two lenses.”

“But a new system’s kind of expensive, eh?” Orbo asked.

Scarab waved him off, “Hardly.”

Prismo watched Orbo exhale and run a hand through his hair and take the clipboard back.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Orbo replied.

Prismo’s attention was drawn back to the set as Ellis piped up from behind the camera. 

“Hey Huntie, kinda twist around, then like, look like you’re totally suffering, but in a hot way,” Ellis said, “Oh, yeah, exactly like that.”

Prismo looked over to Hunter and Fionna, the former was currently folded in half as Fennel rested her cock over his thigh. Prismo watched closely when Fennel pressed it right against his entrance and began to push inside. Prismo looked at Hunter’s face, yeah, the erotic suffering was very vivid, Hunter was always a good actor. But as Prismo watched his belly flex, adjusting to Fennel’s girth inside him, maybe it wasn’t all an act.

Scarab spoke up, “How long have you been in the industry?”

Prismo rubbed the back of his neck, “Five years give or take.”

Scarab shot him a surprised look and raised his brows, “Really? You’re quite successful considering."

Prismo nodded and laughed, “Ha! Thanks, I try. Gotta give the people what they want.”

Scarab took another sip of coffee, emptying his cup.

“I’ve been making movies since I was eighteen,” Scarab said, “If I may offer a word of advice?”

Prismo nodded, “Shoot.”

“You signed a contract with a studio you know nothing about, to have a scene with an unfamiliar actor,” Scarab said, “Don’t ever do that again or one day, you’ll regret it.”

Prismo nodded, it was good advice, Fionna had been hounding him to do the same.

“Yeah, I’m not used to working with others,” Prismo said, “I got my start solo and this is all really new so…”

Scarab hummed and nodded. He dragged his gaze up and down Prismo’s body, studying him. Prismo could practically feel Scarab’s eyes on him. Then he turned away and sighed.

“Well, you still showed up despite the short notice,” Scarab said, “We would have cancelled the shoot otherwise.”

The little bit of praise sent a rush down his spine, Prismo blinked and tried to shake it off. 

“Oh, it's no biggie,” Prismo replied, “I’m happy to help.”

To the side, Ellis, M’cron and Orbo flipped through the photos. They nodded and read what M’cron scribbled onto his notebook, pointing at certain parts of the computer screen. Ellis clapped and gave a nod of approval.

“All right!” Ellis said, “Last pair, Scrabs, like, get up there and assume the position or whatever. Hunter and Fennel, you’re back on, babes.”

Prismo nodded and undid his robe and hung it on a nearby coatrack. He followed after Scarab and crawled onto the set. Scarab turned around and hoisted himself up onto the table. He glanced down between Prismo’s legs and his eyes went wide. 

This was the first time he was getting a good look at the thing, it was going inside him after all. And this… this was not what he expected. Prismo was bigger in person. Stupid big, potentially scary to the wrong partner. But Scarab felt his mouth start to water. He swallowed and glanced up at Prismo’s face. 

The man just had this easy-going yet curious expression.

“You okay?” he asked

“Did you pay a visit to Dr. Petrikov or something?” Scarab scoffed.

Prismo tilted his head and chuckled, “Doctor who?”

Scarab tilted to the side and waved down an assistant.

“Lube,” he said, “Water-based.”

A tech rushed over to hand it to him.

“Hell yeah,” Fennel said, “Simon will get you right.”

Prismo glanced over to her and raised his brows. She grabbed her tits and lifted them up.

“See?” she grinned, “No scars.”

Prismo nodded and hummed before staring back down at Scarab. Scarab was also staring down, studying his half-hard cock. He palmed the bottle of lube in his hand, then he turned to look at the photographer.

“Ellis,” Scarab said, “How do you want me?”

“Start with, like, a little doggy, then ride it cowboy,” he replied with a lisp, “And finish, ha-ha, with spoon.”

Scarab nodded and got up on the table, Prismo followed closely behind him, studying his back tattoo as he settled in behind his costar.

“Ass up, Scarab,” Ellis said, “Fennel and Hunter, side straddle, that’ll be totally hot.”

Scarab got onto his hands and knees, shifting around as he positioned himself to face the camera. He reached behind himself and handed the lube off to Prismo.

“Here,” he said, “Not too much.”

Prismo nodded, “Sure.”

He rubbed a few drops over his cock, stroking himself a little until he was good and hard. He stared at Scarab’s cunt and tried to imagine how good it would feel. Then when he was ready Prismo rested a gentle hand on Scarab's shoulder, drawing his attention.

“Did you prep or-?” Prismo began to ask.

“No,” Scarab replied simply, “I prefer not to.”

He nodded and mounted Scarab, trailing his eyes over that red tattoo across his back. How it rippled with every movement of his muscles. Prismo placed the tip of his cock right against Scarab’s entrance and began to push slowly. It was hot and velvet smooth, wrapped in silky wet skin. Prismo leaned in and exhaled as he fed every inch inside carefully and gradually. 

Scarab gave an agitated grumble and pushed back onto him. Taking it all in one rough jolt, swallowing him up with barely any difficulty. His head dropped and he took a deep shuddering breath. Prismo listened to him swallow down a moan before lowering his torso down to the table and looking toward the camera. Face down, ass up. Shit his body looked incredible like this.

Scarab arched his back and Prismo could feel his cunt squeezing at him for a wonderful second.

“Okay, looky here!” Ellis said.

M’cron waved a hand and pointed to the correct camera.

The cameras flashed and Scarab tried to hold still and look pretty and every subsequent snap of the lens made him feel hotter. Being on display, showing off. He just waxed his whole body two days ago and went to the spa and laid out in the summer sun until he got a little tan. Scarab felt positively irresistible. The polite little gestures the designer was making and the loose praise from the production crew was just enough to make him feel painfully aroused.

He felt so wonderfully stimulated, feeling every snap of the camera on his skin like a kiss. Lights flashed, his cunt throbbed. All these eyes on him, all the horny people, customers that would see him and touch themselves and fantasize but would never get the chance to have him, not in a million years. All of them, paying for it. Every snap of the camera felt like money in his hand, adoration all over his body and the phantom sensation of a thousand hands grasping at him.

He had an important fetish shoot later today, he was going to domme one of his favorite stars then get fucked like a whore, hard and rough, until he safeworded. The producers were aiming for at least five orgasms, but Scarab wanted ten. And Scarab had gotten used to getting exactly what he wanted. He didn't jerk off all weekend just for that reason. He wanted to save it all for the camera and then show out and give a stellar, show stopping, toe curling performance. He was certainly getting paid enough, quintuple digits in fact. The Oooh Productions studio always raked in big bucks, especially when he collabed with Finn. And those were two things that made him come the hardest, an hungry audience and a direct deposit straight to his bank account.

Then he would get to go sit in on a board meeting in a three piece suit and watch the wrinkly old fucks squirm as he sat his 51% ass down in a leather chair, on a pair of tailored trousers more expensive then their rent, and boss them around like he owned the place because he did.

His clit throbbed and Scarab took a deep breath. Squeezing the thick piece inside him. God he was so cock starved after neglecting himself all weekend. He just couldn't wait to see Finn.

“Like, arch your back more Scarab,” Ellis said, "Spread those legs.”

Scarab did as he was told and Prismo could see his back tensing, could feel his breath hitch. He studied the pretty tattoo that covered Scarab’s back and wanted to pet over it with his fingertips.

“Alright,” the photographer said, “Hands on, grab a hold of something you guys. Aaand fuck me eyes. Yeah, like that Fennel, slay girlie.”

“Fennel!” Hunter gasped.

“Oops, sorry,” she chuckled, “I got excited.”

Prismo glanced over to watch Fennel do the same to Hunter, except she was straddling one of his thighs, holding onto the other as she pressed deep inside him. Hunter made a choked noise and stared up at her.

Prismo grabbed Scarab’s waist and glanced up towards the camera. Trying to hold still and make a nice blissed out face. It wasn't too hard with how tight Scarab wrapped around him. Every so often he felt the man shudder and clench down and that was absolutely delightful.

“Arch your back more, Scrabby,” the photographer said, “Ass out for the camera so-”

“It's arched, Ellis,” Scarab retorted, “At this rate you'll snap me in half.”

“Yeah, yeah…” the photographer replied, “Sexy face. Pretend you’re enjoying yourself, heh-heh…”

Scarab didn't have to pretend. Lights flashed. Rhythmic snaps and clicks that were music to his ears, so familiar by now. Scarab stared into the camera and felt himself slipping into a familiar comfortable headspace. Dolled up and slutty, perfectly untouchable and deliciously desirable. Not to mention that huge cock stuffed up inside him. Prismo filled him up so deep Scarab could feel it in his stomach. Of course he had done research before allowing this newbie on his set, but shit… it was certainly bigger in person. And without enhancements? Scarab wondered what Prismo’s filming rate was? High, hopefully, if he had any self respect.

Flashing lights, electronic beeping, the heat of the bulbs on them and the soft chatter of techs in the background. Snap, click, beep. More direction from the photographer and the designer. Prismo made a few minor adjustments that made his cunt tingle. Snap, snap, click. He turned to watch Fennel and Hunter switch positions. Hunter straddled Fennel’s lap and lowered himself down until just the tip was brushing against his entrance. He looked over his shoulder at the camera as M’cron directed Fennel where to put her hands.

“Hooold that pose…” Ellis said, “Totally hot you guys.”

Snap, snap, click. Snap, click, beep.

“Prismo lean in, boy!” Ellis said.

Prismo shuffled on his knees and tried to press a little deeper, but there was nowhere else to go. He hit Scarab’s limit with still a few inches to spare.

“C’mon gorgeous,” Ellis said, “Like, get in there.”

Prismo gave an amused laugh and shook his head.

“That’s all,” Prismo replied, “I don't think I can fit m-”

“Do as he says,” Scarab spoke up.

Prismo glanced down at him and locked eyes with his costar.

“Are you sure?” Prismo said.

“If Ellis says it'll look good,” Scarab said, “Then do it.”

Prismo nodded and held Scarab steady. He began to push. Closer, closer. Forcing Scarab to take more of him. Stretching him out slowly. His costar gasped and his eyes went wide before pinching shut.

“Totally perf!” Ellis called out, “Look alive and like, hold that pose.”

Scarab was taking deep, shaky breaths. He fisted a hand in the sheet under them and Prismo couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

“If it hurts I can-” he began to say.

“It doesn't hurt,” Scarab croaked.

“Oh,” Prismo replied, “Good.”

He could finally relax and focus on the camera, on trying to paint an erotic picture for the audience. And feeling Scarab shudder under him was certainly doing the trick.

He shifted his weight and it made him grind deeper into Scarab’s cunt which it squeezed around him.

“Oh…” came the soft moan.

Ellis took a few more photos then spun his finger in a circle.

“Okay, let's change. It. Up, people!” Ellis said, “Scarab you should totally ride it like a cowboy. Hunter and Fennel, gimme missionary but like, let it all hang out, ya know?”

“What?” Fennel said.

M’cron filled in, showing them what positions they were getting into. 

When Prismo pulled out he felt Scarab shudder and watched his hole twitch. Cute.

Cowboy was self explanatory. Prismo laid on his back and kept his arms out of the way as Scarab mounted him. Prismo glanced down and stroked his cock a few times keeping it rock solid, which wasn't very difficult especially when Scarab slipped the tip inside and bore down on him. Clenching right over the head, a drop of slick trickled down his shaft and Prismo ran his hands across Scarab’s thighs.

Then he noticed the look on Scarab’s face. It started in his eyes then spread to the rest of his face. Tense and held together tightly.

“Pretty faces,” Ellis called out, “You're totally loving this, you’re gorgeous and you know it babe.”

Scarab shook his head and schooled himself, that familiar blissful look dawned on him but it didn't last for long. Eventually his face twisted and he winced.

“Are you okay?” Prismo asked.

Scarab shook his head, “I'm fine.”

Still, Scarab squirmed around, his cock slipped out three times and he guided it back inside. He could feel Scarab’s legs twitching occasionally, could hear his breathing hitch. 

“Okay, hotties,” Ellis said, “Loosen up, you-”

Then suddenly Scarab doubled over, placing both hands on either side of Prismo’s chest and curling in on himself. He hung his head, eyebrows pinched together.

“Ow…” Scarab hissed.

“Just a few more seconds, Scarab and-” Ellis began to say.

“Seriously,” Prismo spoke up, “Are you okay?”

Scarab’s eyes flew open and he stared down at Prismo and frowned

“Yes!” Scarab snapped at him, “It’s just my knee, this happens all the time.”

But when he tried to raise himself up he gave a pained groan and flinched.

“Can we change positions?” Prismo called out.

Scarab stared down at him and glowered.

“Listen, amateur-” Scarab began to say, “You’re not the one calling the shots here, I-”

“My back hurts,” Prismo lied.

Scarab paused and gave him an incredulous look before steeling himself.

“Liar,” he retorted.

Prismo put on a contrived expression of pain, he leaned over and rubbed his side.

“Ooh, ow…” he winced, “Do you think I can get worker’s comp?”

“What are you-?” Scarab scoffed, “No.”

Hunter and Fennel snickered. Ellis and M’cron flipped through the pictures and hummed. Ellis gave a deep dramatic sigh.

“I guess we can skip cowboy if-” Ellis said.

“We can still do cowboy, well… maybe not a tradish cowboy,” Prismo pushed himself up on his elbows and looked towards Ellis and M’cron.

They looked at each other before staring back at Prismo. Prismo made a vague gesture.

“Yeah, what about…hmn, flying squirrel?” Prismo said, “It’ll be low impact.”

“Flying what?” Scarab scoffed.

Prismo looked at him and chuckled.

“You know, stand and carry,” he said, “But reversed for the camera, if you want.”

Scarab sat back on his heels and winced. He crossed his arms and gave him a challenging look.

“If you can carry me,” he said.

Prismo only grinned and nodded, “Oh, I know I can carry you.”

Scarab’s eyes dragged down his body then rested on his cock for a moment before he nodded.

“Fine,” he said, “We’ll give it a try.”

Hunter and Fennel sat this one out, and it was only Scarab and Prismo on the set. Scarab stood in front of him and threw an arm around Prismo’s shoulders when he crouched down. They turned to look at each other and Prismo nodded at him.

“One, two-” Prismo said, “Three!”

He grabbed the back of Scarab’s thighs which parted for him easily. Prismo stood up, pressing them chest to back. Then he gave a little hop and jostled Scarab up higher, making the man gasp. Prismo shifted on his feet, adjusting his stance and carefully lowered Scarab down until he felt warm, wet skin brushing against the tip of his cock. Scarab reached down with his free hand and guided him towards his entrance.

“Okay,” Scarab said, “Now, ah!”

Prismo suddenly dropped him a few inches, straight onto his cock. Scarab jolted, his cunt spasmed and his legs struggled to snap shut as Prismo kept them spread open. Scarab turned to look at him and made a stern face.

“Careful!” he demanded, “I don’t want worker’s comp either.”

Prismo gave him a crooked grin and nodded, “Sorry, my bad…”

Scarab studied the look on his face. He wasn’t sorry, not one bit. He probably did it on purpose just to be a pest. But it didn’t matter because the flashing lights and camera clicks and feeling of eyes on his skin, roaming over his body, quickly drowned out everything else. Everything except for the teasing sliver of cock he was allowed to have. It only wet his appetite and Scarab wanted more.

“Alrighty, you two!” Ellis called out, “You look totally hot, like, check each other out.”

They locked eyes, Scarab stared at him and it made his hair stand on end. A hot thrill passed through him and he grinned back.

Prismo shifted him around, stroking inside him shallow and teasing. Tugging at his rim and grinding up into him so soft it could be mistaken for an accident. Eventually Scarab found himself biting his tongue to stop from moaning yet trying to angle his hips so he could take even more. Prismo lowered him down and slipped another inch inside. Scarab bit his lip and took a deep slow breath. 

Prismo could feel his thighs shaking, noticing every little flinch, every aroused expression coloring his face. They locked eyes and he rocked his hips, grinding up into Scarab just a little, teasing him enough to make his face twist with desire and his skin flush pink.

Just to see what he might do, Prismo began to let him slip lower. Down another inch, then another. Scarab’s mouth fell open and his eyes fluttered. Prismo pulled him back up and did it again, holding his gaze, sinking him down onto his cock agonizingly slow and shallow.

“Smile for the camera,” Prismo murmured, a big, smug grin on his face.

Scarab shot him a crooked smirk back and drew his eyebrows together, a sorry look on his face as Prismo slipped deeper inside him. His mouth fell open and Scarab panted. He could feel himself losing control, slipping deeper and deeper into it as his cunt shivered and got tighter and tighter. A hot, wanton pressure building in his belly. One that he needed to save for later. But if these lights kept flashing and Prismo kept sliding in and out of him just like this…

His clit throbbed, cunt clenched down in desperation. Scarab groaned and studied the filthy, self-satisfied look on Prismo’s face. He wanted to come, and he was getting scarily close to it. Every click of the camera, the internalized image of what he must look like, being held up and spread open like this. Stuffed full of cock, sweating and shaking and loving every second of it. Click, click, beep. Lights flashed, shutters whirled. His legs trembled as Prismo jostled him up higher again. He slipped out and Scarab quickly reached down and guided him back inside.

The way he slid in, smooth and with a delicious stretch. Oh no… he was about to come if Prismo kept-

Prismo watched Scarab’s eyes roll back and rocked his hips again, once twice. Paying close attention to his face, the blissful expression he wore, the slutty way his lips parted and his eyes fluttered.

“Wishmhn…” Scarab moaned.

“Yeah?” Prismo murmured softly, “You like that?”

Scarab’s face twisted in agony and he nodded and pressed his lips together. Then he quickly shook his head and took a deep, shaky inhale.

“Feels good, right?” Prismo mused, “You want more?”

He lowered Scarab down, lower and lower. Scarab’s toes curled, his legs twitched and he gasped as Prismo put it inside him so painfully slow. Every. Last. Inch. He moaned and gasped when it hit his cervix, right at the tippy-top. His cunt gave a desperate spasm and he began to rake his nails over Prismo’s shoulder. If they didn’t stop he would be squirting all over the floor soon. He held the word ‘yellow’ in his mind, on the tip of his tongue. But he just couldn't say it.

“Y-Ye…” Scarab gasped weakly.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” Prismo murmured.

Scarab tensed his muscles and tried to avoid it, tried to stuff it down and keep it at bay, but his orgasm was creeping up on him scarily fast. Prismo was holding him up like he weighed nothing, he could probably throw him around too. Shit. He needed to stop, immediately, or he would ruin all his hard work and self-restraint. Prismo would ruin it for him.

“I told you I could carry you,” Prismo mused, “See?”

Prismo thrust up into him gently and Scarab’s eyes flew open and he yelped. Yellow. His legs flexed and he arched his back and tried to pull himself away. His cunt gave a desperate spasm and the tension grew like a hungry flame.

“Y-Yellow!” Scarab gasped.

“Oh, shit-” Prismo uttered, “Sorry, sorry…”

He quickly lifted Scarab up and pulled out of him at the same time. Then he crouched down and carefully lowered his legs to the ground. He held onto his costar as Scarab swayed on his feet, legs wobbly and eyes unfocused.

“I can't come,” Scarab mumbled under his breath, “Or the shoot is over. I ought to…hmn.”

Prismo squeezed his shoulder, “You okay?”

Scarab nodded mutely and waved him off, “Just sensitive.”

“Okay switch positions,” Ellis called out, “Prismo and Scarab, spoon it up, babes. Hunter and Prince, you guys should like, totally scissor, it'd be awesome.”

Prismo pulled out and listened to Scarab give a sigh of relief. He began to lie on his side behind Scarab and propped himself up on his elbow. He slotted his hips right behind the man and held still as Scarab grabbed his cock and lined it up. Prismo sunk inside, heavy and hot. Scarab’s legs shook, his clit twitched. He took a few deep breaths and pinched his eyes shut, trying to control himself as Prismo rocked his hips, following Ellis’s instruction.

“You alright?” Prismo asked.

Scarab nodded, “Yes, focus on the shoot.”

“Sure, sure,” Prismo replied easily.

Prismo grasped at the underside of his knee. He carefully pulled it back just a little more, stretching him open wider, filthier. More exposed, more on display. The camera snapped, lights flashed and Scarab’s cunt wouldn't stop throbbing. Couldn't.

And that cock. Prismo was one of the biggest he'd ever seen. Probably the biggest he’d ever taken, except for Finn perhaps. Scarab shifted his hips and felt Prismo move inside him. Rubbing over needy flesh, bedded into him lovingly. The stretch was divine and Prismo was very polite and gentle despite being a late, anxious mess. That just made Scarab want to fuck the man until he cried.

Prismo rolled his hips, adjusting the angle, trying to settle over the hard table, positioning himself just right for the camera. He didn’t realize how much he was squirming until Scarab spoke up. He clenched down around his cock and exhaled deeply.

Scarab stared at Prismo from over his shoulder, giving him this look.

“Don’t move-” Scarab gasped.

“Pull out just a little bit, Wishmasterrr,” Ellis directed, slurring his words as he stared through the lens.

Prismo gave Scarab a guilty look.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

He did as he was told, angling his body, putting a little distance between them. But the sheet he was lying on so easily slipped over the smooth table top and he kept having to readjust himself. He could feel Scarab’s leg shaking, glaring daggers at him the whole time.

“Scarab,” one of the photographers said, “Hottie face, not murderer mug.”

Prismo adjusted his legs, rocking his hips just a little. Dragging his cock over Scarab’s walls carefully. He tried not to move too much, hoping that Scarab wouldn't feel it but-

“Prismo!” Scarab snapped, “Hold still.”

“I’m sorry, I can't help it,” he replied.

Scarab looked towards Orbo, “Hurry up, or I’m going to-”

“Yeah, yeah, Scrabby,” Orbo called out, “We’re almost done. Just a few more minutes.”

He grunted in frustration and tried his best to hold still, laid out across the table like a meal. Prismo squeezed the back of his knee and pressed up behind him, hovering over him. He studied Scarab’s face then stared into the camera then back at Scarab. He was breathing shallow and clipped, blissfully tight on his cock. Prismo moved just a little and watched Scarab’s eyes flutter. Oh, he was sensitive right now. Clearly he was trying not to come, and Prismo didn’t particularly care to help him in that endeavor. 

“That's it…” Ellis droned, “Make love to the camera. Serve it up!”

Scarab shuddered and felt himself getting blissfully hot and hopelessly aroused. That stupid fat cock inside him and the minor adjustments Prismo was making was just enough to spur him on. Receptive, so fucking sensitive. The camera snapped, and his self control was about to as well. Flashing lights, clicks and the warmth of bright bulbs beaming down on him. Center stage. Spotlight. Let them watch, throbbing between his legs, about to lose himself in it all.

“Prismo,” Ellis called out, “A little closer like, lift up, hottie face… totally perfect!”

Prismo slipped a little deeper and Scarab flinched. It bumped against his cervix, right where he loved to be pounded. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Fantasizing about Prismo fucking him just like this, railing him until he sobbed and squirted all over the floor. The mental image was making his cunt tingle. A hot rush of arousal made his clit twitch. 

“Jeez you're tight…” Prismo muttered under his breath.

He adjusted his stance and bumped against his cervix again. A jolt of pleasure zipped through him and Scarab felt the muscles in his belly tense. Tight, too fucking tight. Careening towards a premature finish, he tried to throw out a hand and stop himself, steady himself. He slapped the table and his body jerked, a hot fizzle in his cunt, running up his clit and buzzing like a crackle of energy.

His orgasm built, Scarab could taste it on the back of his tongue.

“Relax, dude,” Prismo uttered, “Just look pretty for the camera and-”

“Oh!” Scarab gasped.

His hips jerked and he snapped his legs shut. He always looked pretty for the camera. For the audience.

Scarab curled up a little and shuddered, squeezing Prismo’s thigh between his own. It just shoved him deeper. He could feel the end approaching, right on the horizon. A few good strokes inside him and he’d be through. His cunt felt hot, hot to the touch and needy and dripping wet. God he was getting so agonizingly close just from this. He really should have jerked off over the weekend. 

Scarab squeezed his legs together and whined.

“Yellow!” Scarab cried out, “Yellow, yellow, yellow!”

“Think of a dog taking a shit on the curb!” Orbo called out, “Your grandma naked. Breaking a bone, uh… think of hah, think of Prismo being thirty minutes late!”

A few of the other stars laughed and Scarab could only cover his face with his hand, struggling to keep it together.

“Bloody nose-” Scarab muttered under his breath, “Bloody nose. Stubbed toe…”

Prismo watched on in awe as his co-star tried to control himself. And clearly, it wasn't working. Scarab grit his teeth and dug his nails into his skin. Taking slow, deep breaths as his cunt fluttered.

“Should I pull-?” Prismo began to ask.

“No!” Scarab demanded, “Don't move, if you move I’ll…”

Scarab slammed a fist down on the table and shook his head. He had an important shoot later today and didn't touch himself all weekend so he could put on a good performance. And now Prismo was ruining it for him, with his big, dumb cock and stupid grin. Fuck.

Prismo pulled out a little, the friction gave him a little spark of pleasure that began to smolder. He whipped his head to the side to stare over his shoulder at Prismo, the man stared back at him with pure lust.

“Sorry…” Prismo muttered. He wasn’t.

Scarab nodded and swallowed down his arousal, at least he tried.

“I have an important shoot later today,” Scarab tried to engage his analytical mind, distracting himself.

Prismo nodded at him, urging him to continue.

Scarab slowly lifted his leg, opening himself up again. Prismo gently slipped a hand behind his knee and helped him hold it up. His thigh shook.

“And I need to control myself so I can b-be,” Scarab explained breathily, “Ready to perform.”

Then he narrowed his eyes at Prismo, “Unlike some people.”

He flashed Scarab a guilty, charming smile and Scarab felt his cunt pulse. Then Prismo laughed. The sound rumbled through him and Prismo couldn’t help the way it jostled his body. Reverberating right into Scarab’s cunt.

“You’re a star, Scarab,” Prismo chuckled.

Lime light, main stage. The camera flashed and something in his brain clicked into place, between his legs. The roar of applause, the feeling of eyes on him, Prismo staring at him, watching him fall apart. Snap, flash, click. A hot rush down his spine and Scarab was through. His face pinched and he tensed all his muscles but it didn't help one bit. He fisted his hands in the cloth under him and trembled.

“R-Red!” he choked out, “I-I can’t, I’m going to-”

He snapped his legs shut and pulled himself away from Prismo. The friction of it slipping out of his cunt had him teetering right on the edge, painfully close to coming.

Scarab rolled off the table gingerly and forced himself onto his feet, trying to stave it off. He swayed where he stood and grabbed a hold of the table, fisting a hand in the fabric draped over it.

“Awe shit,” Orbo said, “Somebody get the towel.”

“Get a trash bag!” a tech called out.

“No, no!” Scarab declared shakily, “I’m fine, I’m okay…”

The towel. Scarab thought about squirting, running down his legs and drenching the table cloth and gushing over Prismo’s cock. He pressed his knees together hard. He doubled over and clutched his stomach. Scarab held his breath, trying to force himself to relax. It wasn’t working. 

“Where’s that damned towel?” someone called out.

“It’s under the sheet,” another said.

“I d-don’t need a-” Scarab protested weakly.

“Hunter, can you grab the towel?” Orbo said.

“Where?” Hunter glanced around.

A few techs ran around the set. One of them dragged a few of the stage objects away and Prismo looked around in confusion.

“Under the sheet,” someone else replied, “The blanket, the-the-”

Hunter threw back one of the table clothes, Gary did the same, tearing up the previously pretty set as they searched.

Scarab balanced on his toes, leaning into the table for his dear life as he drew one leg up towards his chest slightly. His cunt just wouldn't quit throbbing. Winding tight, tighter, tighter and nothing he was doing was stopping it. He tried to control it, but it was no use. He was going to come and it was going to ruin the floors.

“Hold it, Scrabby,” Orbo said, “Don't ruin the set.”

“I-I’m trying, a-asshole!” Scarab gasped, “Mhn, oh!”

“Get the bloody towel-” Orbo said, “It’s-”

“This is just a pillow!” Marshall replied.

Prismo watched as Scarab caved in on himself and moan, louder and louder. Whining and gasping, his eyes pinched shut as his legs shook. Wow, this is all my fault, Prismo thought proudly. Then Scarab began to lean to one side and… that looked awfully precarious.

Scarab stumbled and nearly toppled over until two arms wrapped around him from behind. The momentary feeling of vertigo gave him a few extra seconds of self control. Until Prismo slid right behind him, chest to back, holding onto him gently. Warmth and comfort and brutally sensual.

“I’ve gotcha…” he murmured.

Prismo spoke softly enough that only Scarab heard it. Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t come. Scarab knew he wasn’t supposed to come, and that knowledge only made him want to come harder. 

He glanced at Prismo out of the corner of his eye. He could smell his cologne, feel his erection pressed against his lower back. Shit, his big, stupid, fat erection that felt like heaven when it-

“You can do it,” Prismo whispered, “You’ve got this.”

Oh, he treated this amateur like nothing and still, Prismo was so nice to him. Scarab wondered if he was always like this, if he would kiss the hand that slapped him. That made his cunt pulse. So unbearably tight, Scarab couldn't even breathe he was so tense

“Sh-shut up,” Scarab choked out.

Prismo only shot him a tender look and smiled. He gave a mute nod, obeying effortlessly. 

In a split second Scarab’s mind painted a filthy picture of Prismo on his knees, apologizing for being late, begging for his forgiveness and taking his punishment with that lazy, satisfied smile on his face. His cunt spasmed, clit throbbing. Scarab couldn’t stop it, overwhelmed and growing with every passing second into some uncontrollable force crawling just under his skin.

He slapped a hand over his mouth and muffled a moan.

Every muscle tensed, drawing taut like a bow strong. Agonizingly empty, cunt clutching at nothing but desperation and fantasy yet still absorbing his every thought, every feeling. Scarab was about to lose it. About to snap. About to-

“Oh, towel!” Scarab gasped, “Towel!”

Prismo was studying the filthy, tortured look on Scarab’s face when suddenly a towel was thrown at him. He stared back and forth between Orbo and the towel.

“What should I-?” Prismo began to ask.

“Give me the fucking-!” Scarab snapped.

He snatched the towel from Prismo and hastily shoved it between his legs. The second he put any pressure on his cunt, it all spilled over. Scarab curled in on himself, foot lifting off the floor, eyes rolling back into his skull as he sobbed. He came hard, roiling through him in heavy waves.

“Ah-ah-AH!” he moaned, “Fuh-fuck! O-Oh…my…god-d!”

His body jerked and he gave a desperate, needy groan as his legs shook. Curling up in a ball as he couldn't stop trembling. Prismo's arms wrapped around him were the only things keeping him upright, forcing him to stay on his feet instead of collapsing onto the ground in a shivering puddle how he wanted to. His toes lifted off the floor for a second as he caved in on himself.

“G-God, oh-oh f-f-fuck…” Scarab’s voice shook, “Ah-huh, oh shi-i-it…”

Prismo watched Scarab come his brains out and he felt very accomplished. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, crumbling apart in his arms. A big, crooked grin on his face and wide eyes. Scarab was shaking with the force of it, moaning and burying his face in his hand as he fell apart. His other hand pressing the towel firmly between his shaking thighs. He dragged his hand from his face down to grip Prismo’s forearm, nails digging into his skin. Prismo would definitely have Fionna reach out to this studio again.

A few rivulets of hot liquid dripped down his legs, but luckily most of it was absorbed by the towel. Scarab panted, whining with every breath as he suffered through the aftershocks. Legs jerking with every wave. Prismo held him up all the while, waiting patiently as his body twitched and shuddered.

Scarab sagged in his arms and Prismo hefted him up higher and squeezed him tighter. He let his eyes slip shut for a moment basking in the afterglow. Panting and shaking with the occasional after shock.

The towel slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a soft, wet thud. It was absolutely soaked. Eventually Scarab turned to look at Prismo, giving him a bleary stare.

“Good?” Prismo asked.

Scarab nodded and cleared his throat.

His voice still came out raspy and choked, “Fine. That was… very strong.”

Prismo studied the soft, blissful look on Scarab’s face. Scarab glanced down at his mouth then back up to his eyes. Prismo raised his brows, he didn't take Scarab for the kissing type. But still he leaned in anyway, slowly. Giving him enough time to pull away, but Scarab met him half way.

Scarab moaned as Prismo kissed him, moving their lips together slowly, sensually. Scarab raised a hand and cupped his cheek. He pulled away with a soft release of pressure and hummed. Then Scarab gave a pleased sigh and leaned back against him.

Only then did Prismo notice the whole set had gone quiet. Prismo glanced around at the other actors and production crew, all staring at them. He gave a nervous laugh and loosened his hold on Scarab.

“Let’s take a break,” he said.

The other actors laughed and Orbo nodded. 

“Sure thing,” he said, “Scrabby, go take fifteen.”

Then Orbo turned to the photographer and grinned.

Orbo nudged Ellis, “We’re selling that clip for sure.”

Scarab stumbled over to the coat rack and snagged his robe. He glanced over his shoulder at Prismo, who was cleaning the lube off his erection with a baby wipe.

“Orbo, give the Wishmaster thirty percent,” Scarab said, “After production costs.”

“Sure thing mate,” Orbo replied happily.

“And contact his manager,” Scarab added, “I want to know his schedule. Then as soon as you can, fire the Lemongrabs, I should have done that weeks ago.”

“You got it, boss,” Orbo said, “Now about that shoot with the toy company…?”

Scarab sighed and went to get his pack of cigarettes.

“Which one?” he replied.