Draco moaned as loudly as he could, the sound muffled by the width of the ball gag they had forced into his mouth. He tugged on his restraints, the leather cuffs biting uncomfortably into his skin and his suspended weight heavy on his wrists and ankles despite the strap supporting his bare arse.
The steady sound of rolling film almost but not quite masked the sound of lubricant being slicked over a silicone and rubber shaft.
Draco wriggled because he was supposed to, fighting the bonds or in anticipation, it was up to the viewer, but Draco hoped it was obvious how nervous the imposing black toy made him.
It was what the consumer wanted though, to see his upperclass arse split open around a massive prick. To watch him take the no doubt brutal thrusts, his perfectly pink arsehole turning an angry and tortured red before a bloke consented to fuck him and come on his face. He was supposed to look like he liked it. Sometimes he even did.
“Harry,” Stan called, waiting until the black-haired bloke between Draco's thighs turned his attention to the director before continuing, “no more than two fingers, mate, they want to see him stretch. Make him sweat.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Harry saluted with the glistening toy as Draco tensed, eyes flicking between the man and the toy in dismay. “Don't worry, dragon,” Harry said in a softer tone, ignoring Draco's scowl at the hated nickname. “It won't be long with Jungle Jack, they much prefer to see you taking a real prick.”
Draco glanced from Jack in Harry's hand to said prick, his pulse spiking as he noted their comparable length if not quite girth. Harry's cock wouldn't be all that different than taking the toy though Draco did profess a preference for the real thing.
“You okay,” Harry asked, ignoring the call for 'Action!', his fingers trailing over Draco's tensing thigh.
Draco tried to nod, his movements jerky in his desire to get this part over with.
Green eyes watched the dark toy slide over Draco's skin, the heat of them making Draco's flesh prickle even as two fingers pressed inside of him and he moaned into his gag.
“Gonna fuck you,” Harry grunted, their script generic for the genre.
Draco wiggled because he was supposed to, his eyes focused on the cocks, both real and synthetic, that they had chosen for him.
Two fingers wouldn't be enough.
All too soon Stan was giving the go ahead for heavier play and Draco grimaced as a wide, blunt head replaced those two ineffective fingers.
He was thankful for the gag muffling his shout as Jungle Jack's unforgiving shaft forced him open. His body tensed, his struggles real as he fought to either acclimatize to or expel the thick toy.
Soft fingers stroked his thigh, his cock, his hair, calming him with the unquestionably tender touch, and he slowly came to realize Harry was whispering to him too.
“...okay...almost there... can do this...seen you take two blokes...”
Draco wanted to shout that two well-lubed cocks was worlds away from one barely slick monster that felt like it might puncture a lung.
Harry smiled as though he could read Draco's mind and added a bit of his own weight to the resistant penetration.
Draco cried out again as the round base of the toy settled against his abused opening. He felt like sobbing in relief as Harry only rocked the massive toy inside of him, his flagging erection perking at the careful manipulation of his prostate. Harry was good at this, Draco noted absently, the thought following that wondering how good he was with his own penis.
Draco jerked, the bindings of the swing moving him off of the toy a fraction of an inch and letting gravity reinforce his impalement.
Draco shifted again, purposefully, his cock hard and bouncing against his stomach as he let his abdominal muscles work him on that teasingly fake cock.
He could feel Harry hot and heavy against his thigh, precome slicking his impotent thrusts, and Draco wished Stan would finally call 'Cut!' and let them get to the real fucking.
His cock spasmed, leaking a thick trail of precome over his stomach.
Harry's eyes burned into his when Draco looked up, his gaze promising a very satisfying suck and fuck as soon as the director sounded the okay.
Draco wriggled, deliberately rubbing against Harry's hunching hips and bobbing cock, ignoring the tightness in his bollocks in favor of a proper shag.
“Do it,” he tried to say through his gag, the words coming out garbled and high-pitched.
Harry's grin was positively smug as he cupped and squeezed Draco's testicles.
“Good, good,” Stan's nasally voice broke into the solitude of the scene. “Fuck him a bit more, open him for your cock, and then really give it to him.”
Draco took a deep breath, relaxing himself for the impending pounding and giving the other man a miniscule nod.
Teasing fingers answered him, tickling along the tight edge of his gag as Harry pulled the thick toy out and coated his own cock with the lube.
Draco shouted as Harry pushed inside of him, thighs tightening when Harry removed his gag.
“Move,” he demanded immediately, rocking almost viciously in his swing. “Hard and fast,” he continued under his breath. “That's how they like to see me fucked.”
Harry's nod was as subtle as Draco's had been, the sudden withdrawal and return of his prick was not.
Draco cried out and jerked, ignoring the camera in his face and the one no doubt between Harry's legs, catching all the action as it were.
They went at it as long as they could, Harry shoving the swing and standing still as it pushed and pulled Draco on his cock; Harry bent over him, hands clenching on Draco's shoulder and hair, hips battering Draco's; wanking Draco's already leaking cock for the camera's pleasure.
He was wound so tight and so ready that when Stan finally gave the signal, Draco arched nearly out of his seat with the force of his orgasm.
His voice was hoarse as he encouraged Harry to fill him full or come on his skin.
It burned when Harry pulled out, jerking his hand quickly over his swollen head and painting Draco's bollocks and stomach in thick white stripes.
Stan shouted an exultant 'Cut!' and hurried over, gesturing for assistants to bring towels and water to clean them up and cool them off. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, dragon,” he crowed, ignoring Draco's grimace and Harry's smirk. “Your arse,” he hummed, face gone a little slack as his thoughts wandered reverently. “Your arse is made to take such punishment.”
Draco sat gingerly, silently but vehemently denying the statement but very glad he wasn't on schedule for a few days yet.
Stan seemed to take his silence for orgasmic lassitude, his eyes shining and his hands clenching at his sides so as not to reach out and grab Draco gleefully.
“Er, I'm a bit tired. And grotty,” he spoke quickly, only just hiding a wince.
“Of course. Of course,” Stan muttered. “Excellent shoot. One of the best ever. See you next week.”
Draco nodded and then nodded again to Harry, drawing his dressing gown tighter around his thin frame and heading back to the dressing rooms.
A few minutes later, as he was doing up his trousers and reaching for his belt, a soft knock stopped him. “Enter,” he called curiously. Anyone who had any business with him normally let themselves in.
Harry's dark head peeked around the door, his posture seeming to relax at finding Draco at least mostly dressed. “I, er, wanted to thank you for today. It was fun.”
“I'm not so sure my arse would agree with you,” Draco said with a grimace as he sat and reached for his socks and shoes.
“Yeah, sorry 'bout that,” Harry answered with a sympathetic wince, scratching the back of his head. “I've just worked with some blokes, I'd've been better off with my hand. You at least make it seem like you enjoy it.”
“I do enjoy it,” Draco said with a light flush, sliding on his coat and smoothing his hair. “Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand politely, shaking Harry's when he took it. “I'm Draco Malfoy, never Dragon.”
“Harry Potter,” Harry answered with a grin. “I'm alright with just Harry.”