Archive of Our Own ^beta

Regulus Black has been naked on camera a hundred times.

It still doesn’t stop his hands from shaking as he signs in with a pen chained to a clipboard.

The waiting room smells like a cacophony of expensive colognes, all amalgamating into one heavy, musky haze. There are boys everywhere. Each one of them looks like someone Regulus should know but doesn’t. They’re all so young; even the supposed twinks look stretched and toned, certainly much taller than him. He tries not to stare, forcing his attention instead to his own reflection in the wall of mirrors behind the reception desk. But his gaze keeps drifting, and he can’t help comparing himself to the living Ken dolls sprawled across the waiting room upholstery.

It feels like forever, but eventually the receptionist calls, "Black? Regulus Black, please."

The receptionist smiles as she guides him toward the room he’s watched boy after boy enter and leave for the past thirty minutes. Finally, he steps inside.

Inside is nothing like he expected. The room is smaller, for one—a bubble of candle-warm light pooled over a velvet couch planted against the far wall. Most of the space is swallowed by a fluffy, luxurious white rug. One man sits on the couch, an ankle crossed over his knee.

Immediately, Regulus knows who it is. Remus Lupin: retired porn legend turned producer. He’s forty now—Regulus remembers reading it online. A little grey at the temples, broad-shouldered and solid in a way that feels almost unfair at his age. But still, there’s a softness to him too: a slight heaviness at his middle and softness at his sides that only makes the evident strength underneath even more attractive.

Regulus lingers in the doorway as the receptionist pulls the door shut behind him, the soft click echoing in the small room. Remus is still writing on his clipboard, unhurried, and for a second, Regulus just stands there, unsure if he’s meant to sit, speak, or simply wait for instructions.

Finally, Remus lifts his head. His gaze washes over Regulus from head to toe, and a kind smile settles on his mouth as he gestures him forward.

“Regulus Black, I assume? My name is Remus Lupin,” he says. “Come here, sweetheart. Just in front of me on the rug. Don’t be nervous.”

He crosses the room like a wind-up toy with rusted joints, each step almost mechanical until he reaches the designated spot. The plush white rug envelops his bare feet, anchoring him even as his pulse quickens beneath his skin. Without thinking, his hands drift to his stomach, fingers lacing protectively over the thin black cotton of his shirt.

Strange, how he can strip for thousands of strangers online without a second thought, yet standing fully clothed in his fitted black gym shorts and tee before Remus Lupin makes him feel utterly transparent.

Remus studies him, his gaze almost appraising. A soft click of his tongue breaks the silence as he rises from the velvet couch and closes the distance between them until Regulus can feel the heat radiating from his body.

Standing this close, Regulus has to tilt his chin up to meet Remus' eyes. The older man's chest is a wall of warmth before him, his shoulders so broad they eclipse the light, wrapping Regulus in an intimate shadow. Regulus feels almost delicate in comparison, acutely aware of how easily Remus' hands could span his waist and how completely those arms could envelop him.

Gently, Remus takes hold of Regulus' wrists, and he guides Regulus’ protective hands away from his middle and down to his sides until they hang loosely.

"It’s okay, I promise. Just relax, darling. Yeah?" Remus murmurs, as if sensing Regulus’ nerves. 

He retreats to the couch, recapturing his clipboard and pen.

"First audition with a professional porn studio?" Remus asks as his arm stretches along the back of the couch.

"Yes," Regulus admits, rocking slightly on his feet. Heat crawls up his neck as he adds, "I—um. I do OnlyFans. Solo content mostly. Toys. Occasional partners. I guess I’m interested in expanding my scope of work."

Remus makes a note, pen scratching softly. "That’s good experience, sweetie. Would you undress for me? Underwear can stay on if you prefer."

The invitation sends a jolt of electricity down Regulus’ spine. For a moment, he considers baring everything for this man—because he wants to, desperately—but then he remembers the other boys. The Ken dolls in the waiting room. How effortless and pretty they were. His fingers catch on the hem of his shirt anyway. He pulls it over his head, then shimmies out of his shorts, letting them pool at his feet on the plush white rug. He’s left in nothing but a deep emerald green lace thong that conceals almost nothing at all.

Remus' gaze feels physical, a warm caress across his exposed skin.

"Panties," Remus comments, eyes lingering on the delicate lace that covers his cunt. "Personal preference or just for the audition?"

Regulus traces the small bow at the waistband with his fingertip. "Preference. Is that a problem, Sir?" 

Remus clears his throat. “Not at all. Very pretty, darling.” He makes another quick note on the clipboard, then looks up again. “Height?”

"Five-four." 

Remus nods absently, the word "petite" barely audible as it escapes his lips. 

Slowly, he rises from the couch, his footsteps muffled against the plush carpet as he circles Regulus. Remus comes to a stop directly in front of him. His broad chest rises and falls beneath his crossed arms, his expression unreadable.

Remus rotates his index finger in the air. "You're very pretty, angel. Can you do a little spin for me?" 

Regulus pivots immediately, his body responding to the command before his mind can fully process it. As he completes the turn, facing Remus once more, a deep groan resonates from the older man's throat—a sound that sends warmth cascading through Regulus' veins.

“God, Potter would love to throw you around,” Remus mumbles, half under his breath as he returns to the couch and makes another note on his clipboard. 

Regulus blinks. “Wh-who’s Potter?”

Remus leans back, scratching his jaw. Up close, his stubble is flecked with silver. “You watch much porn, baby?”

“Um… sort of?” Regulus lets out an innocent, embarrassed little giggle. “Just clips. Mostly Twitter and OnlyFans stuff—the platforms where I post my own videos.”

Remus smiles fondly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with wrinkles. 

So much for his rehearsed plan—striding in with practised confidence, casually dropping references to his subscriber count, making it clear he was an experienced sex worker who knew how to act in front of a camera. Yet here he stands, naked save for lace panties, stammering, telling Remus Lupin, porn megastar, that he doesn’t actually watch traditional porn! 

“That’s okay, sweetheart. Well… Potter. James Potter. He’s one of the studio’s top stars right now. Big cock. Cocky about it too, the bastard,” Remus adds with a low laugh, deep enough to vibrate through the room. Regulus’ core tingles from the sound alone.

“He likes pretty little things like you,” Remus continues. “Looks after ’em real good, too.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “I make sure of it.”

Regulus bites his lip, trying to imagine what this James Potter looks like. Would he be tall and a little soft in the middle, like Remus, or lean and wiry with unexpected strength? As he pictures strong hands throwing him around, a gorgeous pink blooms across his cheeks and spills down his neck, dusting his collarbones.

Remus' eyes narrow slightly, taking in the flush spreading across Regulus' skin, like watercolour on wet paper.

“You like that idea,” he says. 

Regulus nods, though Remus clearly isn’t asking. His tone declares it, and the heat staining Regulus’ cheeks and neck only confirms it as truth.

Regulus watches as Remus settles deeper into the couch, the velvet cushions sighing beneath him. His thighs part in a casual, commanding man-spread. Regulus' gaze flickers downward for just a heartbeat before darting away. Despite his earlier claim about not watching much porn, Regulus has done his research on Remus' career and company—enough to know the man's reputation is well-earned. 

The whispers about his proportions hadn’t been exaggerations. Memories of his cock burn into Regulus’ brain: thick and long, crowned by a large, puffy head. Regulus had wondered only last night what it would be like to suck on Remus' cock—he wondered if he would even be able to fit the tip into his mouth. It was, after all, fatter than the base of his shaft.

Now, even through thick denim, the outline of Remus’ cock is unmistakable, drawing Regulus' attention like a star caught in orbit. 

Remus smirks. Shit. Regulus is sure he's just been caught staring. The older man tips his chin toward the empty space in front of him. 

"Come closer, baby."

Regulus catches his lower lip between his teeth, eyes dropping to the plush white carpet. He inches forward and stops just shy of the older man’s reach. Remus leans in, bracing his forearms on his knees as his gaze travels over Regulus’ nearly naked form. He shifts, spreads his stance wider, then tips his head toward the empty space between his legs in a quiet, wordless invitation.

"Closer," he repeats. 

Regulus flushes, uncertain, but he obeys until he's standing between Remus' legs. They are so near that their knees almost brush, and Regulus can feel the heat of Remus' body rolling off him in slow waves. 

Remus' gaze holds him captive, a physical weight that keeps Regulus rooted to the spot. The spell breaks only when Remus lifts his index finger, making that same circular motion in the air. 

"Turn around for me, baby. Let me see that pretty backside." 

Regulus complies without hesitation. Standing between Remus' spread thighs, he pivots until he's facing away, the white wall before him suddenly fascinating. A flush creeps up his neck as he fights the overwhelming urge to glance over his shoulder. He doesn't need to see Remus to know he's being thoroughly examined—the delicate lace between his cheeks suddenly feels impossibly rough, a constant reminder of his vulnerability beneath Remus’ professional scrutiny.

"Remind me of your age again, honey?" 

Regulus catches his lower lip between his teeth, eyes still fixed on the wall. "Twenty-two." 

The scratch of pen on paper fills the silence as Remus makes another note on his clipboard. 

"Let me see you touch your toes. Can you bend over, darling," Remus asks, voice dropping to a low rumble.

Regulus hesitates. Bend Over? Right now? His momentary confusion must show. Behind him, the couch cushions sigh as Remus shifts forward. Weathered fingertips brush against Regulus' skin, barely skimming his hips. Those large hands settle at his waist, their warmth seeping into him as they guide him forward with gentle pressure.

"Mhmm," Remus repeats. "Bend over."

Regulus' breath catches. Bending over between Remus' spread thighs feels like crossing an invisible boundary—especially with nothing but that whisper of green lace covering his most intimate parts. He wonders if all porn auditions involve this level of scrutiny. It's not like he's ever been to one before. He isn’t naive to the power imbalance present: after all, this isn't just any man watching him expose himself, but a legend in the industry, a man twice his age, and—if things go well—the person signing his paychecks. His cheeks burn at the thought.

Still, he obeys. Bending at the waist, he lowers himself inch by inch, fingertips reaching for the carpet. He's barely at a ninety-degree angle when a disapproving sound rumbles from Remus' throat. Regulus falters, uncertain whether to stop. He chooses to continue his descent until a calloused palm connects with the curve of his barely-covered backside.

Spank!

The sharp crack echoes through the room. 

Regulus gasps, jerking upright. He whirls to face Remus, whose expression is inscrutable. Though Remus was the one who delivered the slap, something in his steely gaze makes Regulus feel like he's the one who's transgressed.

"Rule number one in this industry. Never bend over in an audition just because someone tells you to,” Remus grumbles, voice stern.

Regulus' lips part in shock, then press together as he struggles to find his voice. When the words finally escape, they emerge as a breathy stammer, high-pitched and unsteady, betraying his inexperience.

"But—but you—you said—"

“If you’re going to go pro, you need to know how to advocate for yourself,” Remus interupts, his tone uncomfortably close to one a parent might use when scolding a child. He folds his broad arms across his chest. “There are plenty of agencies and producers out there who'll tell a pretty little thing like you to bend over, completely naked. And then they will stuff their dirty pricks into your cunt on the guise of it being part of the audition." 

Regulus almost whimpers when Remus suddenly stands, moving toward a table at the edge of the room. The movement ripples through the older man's body—thighs flexing beneath denim, broad shoulders rolling as he rises to his full height. Their size difference is truly obscene: Regulus barely reaching Remus' collarbone, his slender frame dwarfed by the producer's bulk. 

Remus returns and steps in close, his chest radiating heat against Regulus' back. Large hands slide down Regulus' arms as he guides them into the sleeves of an oversized, worn leather jacket that smells of something unmistakably masculine. Remus turns Regulus to face him, his rough fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of Regulus' stomach as he fastens the middle button, covering his nudity. The jacket swallows him whole, hanging to mid-thigh.

“You’re new in the industry, baby. Ripe for the taking. There are a lot of filthy, perverted studios and producers out there that will take advantage of you. Lupin Productions aint one of them.”

“You understand, sweet thing?” Remus prompts when Regulus doesn’t respond, voice softer this time.

Regulus nods quickly, swallowing. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”

Remus’ gaze lingers on him, his mouth softening as he smiles. He tugs the leather lapels snug across Regulus’ chest and lightly pats his collarbone. “Looks better on you, keep it,” he says.

He feels impossibly safe in the battered leather; it’s too big, the sleeves dragging over his knuckles, but he feels warm and dense with Remus’ scent surrounding him. The earlier humiliation—having his ass smacked, being called out for submitting reflexively—all of it dissolves, replaced by something almost tender. He breathes in through his nose, thinking he might never want to take this jacket off. Is this how Remus seduces people? Not with a cocky pitch and a parade of money, but by making you feel seen and safe?

Remus studies him for a long moment—not like a producer tallying assets or a man weighing profitability, but with something warmer. Fondness softens the lines of his aged face, and protectiveness settles into his posture. Yet beneath it all stirs something Regulus can’t quite decipher.

If he didn’t know better, he might mistake the glint in Remus’ eye as predatory hunger seeping through his veneer of professionalism—but surely not.

“So, baby,” Remus says at last, clearing his throat. “What’s it going to be?” He pauses, smiling, “Wanna join Lupin Productions?”

----

When Regulus walked into the audition room at Lupin Productions, he never imagined he’d walk out with a contract—let alone one offered by Remus Lupin himself. It was his first-ever porn audition, and he’d braced himself for rejection. At best, he’d hoped for experience: a shaky first step toward something that might one day pan out.

Instead, Remus summoned his receptionist, instructed her to bring in a contract, and told her to send everyone else in the waiting room home.

The woman’s professional composure had cracked instantly. She stammered that there were at least fifty other boys still waiting—boys Remus hadn’t even interviewed or seen! Remus didn’t look at her. He only waved a dismissive hand, his gaze fixed on Regulus as he murmured that interviews were unnecessary when the prettiest little thing was already standing right in front of him.

Beyond that, Remus had been kind. Almost paternal in his protectiveness as he placed the contract in Regulus’ hands. Two words blazed across the top in stark crimson ink: EXCLUSIVE NON-COMPETE.

“Ex… exclusive?” Regulus had stuttered.

Remus only smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You can still do OnlyFans,” he’d said, “but it means we take care of you.” His hand had settled at Regulus’ waist, thumb tracing slow circles against the leather. “Better hours. Better security.” Then he leaned in, breath warm against Regulus’ ear. “And most importantly…”

His voice dropped, possessive and low, vibrating through Regulus’ entire body. “You’re my little star. Nobody touches what’s mine unless I allow it.”

Simply, exclusive non-compete meant that, whilst signed to Lupin Productions, no other porn agency would ever get their hands on him.

He would have signed the contract on the spot—and he did try to—but Remus had plucked the pen from his ready fingers with a disappointed click of his tongue. “You read every word first, darling,” he’d insisted. “You need to understand your rights as much as your obligations.”

Remus had even hired—and paid for—a lawyer to review the damn contract with him before allowing Regulus to sign it.

The process took three weeks—not for lack of interest on Regulus’ part. He spoke to the lawyer immediately and signed within a week. It was Remus who dragged it out, insisting on time. Three weeks, so Regulus could sit with it, change his mind if he wanted to, and make an ‘informed decision’.

Finally, Regulus stands just inside the studio doors of Lupin Productions, nerves coiled tight in his chest, about to begin his very first official day.

Framed porn posters and a jungle of potted monsteras line the lobby. Two men lounge on a leather couch, deep in conversation. Unsure where to go, Regulus hovers in the doorway, debating whether to interrupt and ask for help.

His questions vanish when Remus Lupin steps out of a side door. “There you are, sweetheart.” He beckons, his gravelly baritone softening to something fond and sweet. “Welcome. Come in, follow me.”

Regulus follows the older man down a narrow corridor. Remus pauses at each door, the low rasp of his voice echoing beneath the industrial pipes overhead.

“There are many studio rooms, this is Studio One,” he says, gesturing. “We do a lot of group shoots here; it’s bigger than most rooms.” He guides them farther down the hall. “Wardrobe’s here. Lots of slutty little outfits.” Regulus peeks inside, eyes skimming over the chaotic spread of costumes—nurses, firemen, mesh, thongs—before Remus keeps moving. “That’s the main kitchen,” he adds, nodding ahead. “Coffee’s shit, admittedly. I’m working on getting a new machine.” Another few steps. “Editing bays down there, but you will mostly be working with Potter in Studio Two. He’s a sweetheart. I’ll introduce you to him.”

Remus gestures toward a large door ahead, then swings it open to reveal a room awash in buttery morning light. There’s a couch inside, but not the velvet one from the audition; this one is low-slung, battered black leather, its armrests scarred with pale half-moons of wear.

A man sprawls shirtless across it, head lolling back as he scrolls on his phone. His pale torso is interrupted by a massive black tattoo—a dragon that starts beneath his collarbone and descends his sternum, its scaled body twisting between his pectorals, tail curling toward his navel. The creature's jaws gape open as if mid-roar. When Regulus and Remus step inside, the man looks up, straightens, and braces his forearms on his knees.

He looks younger than Remus, but older than Regulus, his jaw shadowed with dark stubble, black frames perched on his nose. His hair’s an unruly mass of black tuffs, and when he stands, the motion reveals how tall he is—at least half a head taller than Regulus. He closes the distance between them, smiling.

“Jesus, Remus. You said he was cute, but—” He trails off, his gaze dragging over Regulus unapologetically. “Fuck me, you do know how to pick ‘em.”

Remus tilts his head, raising a single admonishing eyebrow. “I told Regulus you’re a sweetheart, James. Don’t make me a liar.”

James Potter. Of course. 

For the past three weeks, Regulus had binged through Lupin Productions' entire video catalogue. He’d seen James in those videos—and his cock—more times than he could count. James Potter's face and tattoo should have been instantly recognisable.

“You must be Regulus. James Potter. Pleasure.” He offers his hand. 

When Regulus takes it, James smiles. Instead of shaking, he bends, brushing a soft kiss over Regulus’ knuckles.

Regulus blushes, excitement fizzing beneath his skin. From his left, Remus lets out a soft huff that Regulus can’t quite place, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. When James releases his hand, Regulus glances at Remus and catches him rolling his eyes, one eyebrow twisted in what could almost be disapproval.

“We won’t be shooting any scenes today,” Remus explains, crossing his broad arms over his chest. “When I pair new actors, I always make sure they take time to get to know one another first.”

James chuckles, rolling his eyes fondly. He bumps his arm against Regulus in a teasing nudge. “Remus makes all of us do it. It’s like one of those icebreaker activities you’re forced into at school.”

Regulus giggles, glancing between James, who wears a mischievous grin, and Remus, whose expression remains stubbornly deadpan.

“God forbid I want my actors to be comfortable with one another and share chemistry on camera,” Remus drawls sarcastically.

James’ grin widens as he shakes his head, like this is something he and Remus have squabbled over a hundred times before. Regulus watches him flop back onto the ratty leather couch, settling in.

A small silence stretches. Regulus glances up at Remus, who’s now frowning down at his phone, then drags his attention back to James. 

James’ gaze washes over him, drinking him in. Regulus isn’t wearing anything remarkable, just black jeans and a T-shirt, but under James’ stare, he feels stripped bare and exposed.

He licks his lips, unsettled by the quiet, and blurts the first thing that comes to mind. 

"I—I haven't seen you wear glasses before." 

James' head tilts, interest sparking in his eyes. His smirk deepens as he reaches forward, catching Regulus by the wrist. 

"We haven't met before, sweetheart," he says, voice a teasing rumble as he tugs. Regulus stumbles forward with a soft "oof," landing squarely in his lap. James' hands immediately find his waist, fingers spanning nearly half his torso. "How would you know I don't normally wear glasses?" 

Regulus feels the heat in his cheeks deepen, suddenly aware of how much smaller he is, perched on James' thighs like this, straddling him. He fumbles for words. "I mean, um, you don’t wear them in your videos." The admission spills out awkwardly.

James chuckles, thumbs pressing gently into Regulus' hipbones. "You watch my videos then, huh baby?"

Regulus steals a glance at Remus, but the older man is still scowling at his phone, jabbing at the screen with evident irritation. 

"Um, a few maybe," Regulus mumbles, turning back to James, who responds by pulling him closer, grinding his clothed clock just slightly against Regulus' core.

"Ruins the scene," James whispers directly into Regulus' ear, his breath hot against sensitive skin. "I wear contacts. Easier to throw pretty little things like you around." 

Regulus flushes profusely, a nervousness settling in his tummy—at least he thinks it's nerves. It's hard to be sure when James is rubbing against him like that. A disapproving click of a tongue sounds behind him, and suddenly, even stronger hands circle his waist, lifting him effortlessly off James' lap.

Regulus finds himself pulled against a broad chest and soft stomach. He looks up to find Remus scowling at a smug, grinning James. 

"Enough, James. Try behaving like a gentleman for once. And for God's sake, find a shirt." The words vibrate through Remus' chest into Regulus' back. 

James stands with a theatrical sigh. Even with Regulus still tucked in Remus’ arms, he leans in to plant a kiss on Regulus’ cheek before sauntering away. Remus scoffs, loosening his hold and letting Regulus step forward and turn to face him.

Remus reaches out, thumb brushing over the spot James kissed on Regulus' cheek, as if erasing it. Then his hand drifts down to capture Regulus' fingers, turning them over to rub at the knuckles where James' lips had pressed earlier. He smooths Regulus' rumpled shirt with his free hand and says, "He can be insufferable. If he misbehaves, you tell me, understand, baby?" 

Regulus lets out a small giggle, but it dies in his throat when he sees Remus' expression—eyebrow arched high, mouth set in a firm, serious line. Heat crawls up Regulus' neck as understanding dawns. "I—yes, of course," he murmurs, the words coming out breathier than intended. "I'll tell you, Sir."

Remus’ eyes soften. His hand slips into his pocket and comes out with a sleek silver credit card.

"Good boy," Remus praises. "Now, go find James for me and make him take you to lunch. Go shopping or something. Have fun. Get to know each other, alright? My shout." 

He steps closer until they’re chest to chest, leaving no air between them. Remus’ warmth folds around Regulus, his belly settling against Regulus’ taut abdomen with a steady, grounding weight. There’s a soft give there, just enough to make the contact feel indulgent, and beneath it, unmistakable strength. Regulus swallows hard, forced to tip his head back to keep eye contact, suddenly aware of how completely Remus’ broad shoulders and sturdy frame dwarf his own.

Remus' hand finds his waist, fingers splaying wide against the fabric of his t-shirt before sliding down, tracing the curve of his hip. Regulus' breath hitches as that large hand continues its journey, slipping around to his back pocket. The credit card slides in, followed by Remus' entire hand, warm palm cupping his ass through the denim.

"My card's just for you, darling," Remus murmurs, close enough that Regulus can feel the words against his face. "Potter can pay his own way. Spend as much as you want, okay?" 

The playfulness in his tone barely masks the possessiveness of his words. Remus' hand remains firmly in his pocket, thumb drawing lazy circles against the curve of his ass.

When Remus finally withdraws his hand, it's with such deliberate slowness that Regulus nearly whimpers at the loss. He blinks up at the older man, unable to control the heat blooming across his cheeks. 

Remus’ eyes travel down Regulus' body, then back up to meet his gaze. "James is probably in his dressing room, down the hall and three doors to the left."

Regulus nods wordlessly, too scared to speak. Any words he might form feel trapped behind the thundering of his pulse, threatening to emerge as nothing but embarrassing, needy whimpers.

"See you tomorrow, angel. Potter will look after you," Remus says, his voice a warm rumble that resonates through Regulus' chest even as he takes a step backward.

Regulus nods, trying to form words despite the knot of excitement in his throat. He manages a breathy, "Tomorrow," before turning toward the hallway to find James. 

As he moves away from Remus, the air feels cooler and less dense. Each step puts more distance between them, yet Regulus can still feel the lingering press of Remus' palm against his ass, the way those large fingers curved possessively around him. He wonders if James will touch him the same way—with unyielding confidence and barely restrained hunger—or if his approach will be different. Lighter, perhaps, and more playful.

Even when the studio door swings shut behind him, Remus’ presence seems to follow, not in sound or sight, but in the way Regulus’ skin still hums with delight.

----

A month passes in a blur.

Regulus quickly discovers that James is a chameleon, shifting effortlessly between characters with each new scene. Sometimes he's the cocky athlete, hoisting Regulus against a locker room wall. Other times, he's the seductive professor, bending Regulus over a desk, whispering filthy praise against the shell of his ear. His versatility is astonishing, but beneath every role lies the same core of attentiveness that makes working with him so easy. 

James is many things—chiefly, a sweetheart, just as Remus promised. He always checks on Regulus between takes, pressing water bottles into his hands and draping warm blankets over his shoulders. No matter how rough their scenes get, James is there afterwards with gentle touches and whispered praise. He remembers how Regulus likes his coffee (two sugars and a splash of oat milk) and brings it to him every morning. 

But James Potter is also the biggest flirt Regulus has ever met. His hands wander constantly: a casual grip around Regulus’ thigh over lunch, fingers tracing idle patterns along his arm during script reads, a palm settled at the small of his back as they move between sets. Even once the cameras stop and the director calls cut, the touching never stops. If anything, James becomes more tactile off-camera, as if he’s been freed from the constraints of choreography.

And then there's the mischief in him—a glint in his eye that appears whenever Remus enters the room. James seems to derive particular pleasure from riling up their producer, deliberately crossing lines that make Remus' jaw tighten and his knuckles whiten around whatever he happens to be holding. 

Regulus still remembers their first scene together with crystal clarity. The set had been simple: a bedroom with rumpled sheets, soft lighting, and minimal props. Nothing intimidating. Regulus wasn't uncomfortable or nervous—in fact, he'd been more than horny, practically dripping with wetness after weeks of watching James' videos. 

But it was James who kept pausing the scene. 

Regulus lay stretched across the mattress, naked and exposed, a rosy flush spreading over his skin. James had positioned himself between Regulus' spread thighs, his strong fingers curled beneath Regulus' knees, holding his legs apart and toward his chest. The wet sheen across Regulus' nipples marked where James' mouth had been, leaving each pink peak sensitive and hard. Wetness pooled between his legs, evidence of his arousal, but he couldn't close his legs—James maintained his firm grip even as he twisted around to glance over his shoulder.

"I can't focus," he'd whined, voice petulant as he directed his attention to Remus. "I'm being watched."

Remus sat on the couch at the edge of the set, legs crossed, arms folded across his chest. His biceps bulged against the fabric of his shirt, veins trailing down his forearms like rivers on a topographic map. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes never left Regulus.

“Is there a problem, Potter?” Remus had asked, his gaze lifting from the pink wetness of Regulus’ cunt to James as one eyebrow arched in question.

“Yeah, there’s a problem,” James had shot back, gesturing dramatically toward Remus. “You’re supervising the scene. It’s throwing me off.” He pouted. “You never watch scenes. Don’t you have admin or something to do?”

Remus hadn't moved, not even to uncross his arms. "I'm looking after Regulus," he'd said simply, the words rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. "He’s new to the industry, James. It’s my job to make sure you're treating him well."

James had scoffed, but when Remus didn’t budge, he’d eventually gone back to the scene. His hands were gentle on Regulus’ hips, his mouth hot against his neck, but his eyes kept flicking to where Remus sat, watching.

This pattern repeated through every shoot. James would complain about Remus’ presence, Remus would insist he was only there to make sure Regulus was comfortable, and James would huff but keep going anyway. By their third scene, Regulus couldn’t help noticing the way Remus’ gaze lingered during takes, how those brown eyes tracked every touch and every reaction. Now, a month and nine scenes later, any professional excuse for Remus' constant supervision had long expired, yet there he was, week after week, watching.

Today, Regulus stands in wardrobe, fingertips hovering between hangers laden with delicate fabrics. The cool silk slips beneath his touch as he considers each piece against the script's requirements. "Innocent," the brief had specified—the brother’s-best-friend fantasy demanded something that suggested virtue about to be corrupted. His gaze lingers on a collection of pastel pieces, mentally cataloguing which shade might best complement the flush he knows will soon colour his skin.

"The blue one," a deep voice suggests from behind him. 

Regulus turns to find Remus leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. The position pulls his shirt taut across his pectorals, the fabric straining slightly at the buttons. His eyes flick to the pale blue panties hanging on the rack, then back to Regulus' face.

"It'll look pretty with your complexion," Remus adds, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer. "And it'll drive Potter crazy." 

Heat crawls up Regulus' neck at the comment. He reaches for the lace blue panties, fingering the delicate fabric. "You think so?"

Remus hums, closing the distance between them. His large hand covers Regulus', both of them now holding the hanger. "I know so, baby. Blue's his favourite colour."

Their fingers brush as Remus releases the hanger, and Regulus feels the familiar flutter in his stomach that Remus always seems to trigger. It's been this way since day one—this strange, heady mixture of comfort and arousal that floods his system whenever the older man is near. 

“What’s your favourite colour, Sir?” Regulus asks, lashes fluttering as he looks up at him.

Sir.

The title slips from Regulus' lips without thought now—a habit formed in those first nervous days at the studio. While James casually calls their boss "Remus," earned through years of professional history, the office staff stick to “Sir,” careful and deferential. Remus has never once corrected him, and something about the way those amber eyes darken slightly whenever Regulus says it makes him reluctant to stop.

Remus hums, his gaze drifting to the ceiling in thought. "I'm partial to deep emerald green."

Regulus catches his bottom lip between his teeth, suppressing a smile. "I was wearing an emerald green thong during my audition," he says, voice dripping innocence.

Remus lifts an eyebrow, his expression a masterclass of practised nonchalance. "Interesting. My favourite colour was actually red for most of my life." His amber eyes lock with Regulus' grey. "Ever since that day, though, it's been green." The corner of his mouth curves upward. "Pure coincidence, of course."

Regulus clutches the blue lace to his chest, his smile coy as he glances up through dark lashes. "Will you be watching today?"

Remus' mouth curves into a fond smile. "Don't I always, sweetheart?"

The moment shatters as the wardrobe door crashes open. James strides in, already wearing his costume: a perfect, crisp white shirt with calculated disarray at the collar, more unbuttoned than buttoned, and dark slacks tailored to showcase the athletic lines of his thighs.

"Looking good, Potter," Remus nods.

"Yeah, yeah," James dismisses, immediately turning his attention to Regulus. His eyes widen appreciatively at the lace blue panties dangling from Regulus' fingertips. "Is that for our scene? Perfect choice, baby."

Before Regulus can answer, Remus steps forward, his broad frame casting a dark shadow over him. He leans down, lips brushing Regulus’ ear. “I’ve got a quick meeting with an investor,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling Regulus’ skin. “But I promise I’ll do everything I can to join you in the studio as soon as possible.” His fingers squeeze Regulus’ shoulder. “Might be a little late, though.” 

Regulus nods, a small thrill rushing through him as Remus’ salt and pepper stubble grazes his cheek. “Yes, Sir,” he whispers. 

Remus straightens, his thumb tracing a slow circle against Regulus' collarbone before withdrawing. "One hour till we're rolling." His eyes flick to James. "Don't be late." Then his attention returns to Regulus, voice dropping to a low rumble. "Be a good boy for me. You know the rules—tell me if James misbehaves."

Before Remus can step away or Regulus can respond, James strides forward, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Here,” he declares. “Let me save you from the big bad wolf and his unnecessary demands.” In one smooth motion, he slides strong arms beneath Regulus’ knees and back, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

A startled squeak escapes Regulus' lips as he's suddenly airborne. His arms fly around James' neck, fingers digging into warm skin as he scrambles for balance.

"James!" he squeals, clinging tighter as James spins them in a playful circle. The blue lingerie falls from his fingertips, forgotten.

Through his lashes, Regulus catches sight of Remus in the doorway. The older man’s eyes darken as he rolls them skyward, shoulders bunching with tension while he mutters under his breath. He levels James with one last withering look, then turns and slips out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

----

Remus Lupin has been a legend in the adult film industry since his early twenties. His imposing height and legendary endowment had made him a sought-after performer across every genre—from intimate scenes to elaborate productions involving multiple partners of all genders. By thirty-five, he'd amassed enough wealth and insider knowledge to step behind the camera permanently. Lupin Productions emerged from his firsthand experience with the industry's darker side. He built his company on a radical premise: performers deserved dignity regardless of what they did on film. His studio became known for its ethical practices—contracts that protected talent, sets where boundaries were actually enforced, and an environment where performers could explore their professional sexuality without it bleeding into their personal lives.

Which is why Remus absolutely fucking hates himself.

He'd like to place the blame on Regulus, with those innocent grey eyes and that perfect mouth, but the truth is uglier. Something dormant has awakened inside him—a perverted, possessive beast with two equally dangerous hungers: to shield Regulus’ delicate frame from harm and to taste for himself what sounds those perfect lips would make. 

Remus slams his office door harder than necessary, the framed industry awards on the wall rattling in protest. His chest heaves with barely contained frustration as he drops heavily into his leather chair. The meeting with investors is in fifteen minutes, but rage stirs deep inside him at the memory of James scooping up Regulus, and those sweet squeals filling the room.

Remus scrubs a hand over his face, the rough scratch of stubble dragging against his palm. He’s too old for this shit. Too experienced. Too fucking professional to be fantasising about one of his actors—let alone one half his age.

And yet he can’t stop thinking about the way those wide grey eyes looked up at him, the way those pouty lips shaped the word “Sir”.

Fucking hell.

"Get it together," he mutters to himself, swivelling his chair to face his computer.

The screen flickers to life, and he's immediately confronted with footage from last week’s shoot: Regulus spread across James' lap, his slender thighs trembling as James' hand came down again and again on his reddening ass. The microphones had caught every whimper, every breathy little "please" that fell from those perfect lips.

Remus slams the laptop shut, his cock already half-hard in his slacks. This is precisely what he'd built his entire company to prevent—this exact behaviour, this predatory bullshit where producers and directors take advantage of their talent.

And here he is, getting hard over footage of the youngest, most innocent actor in his stable. 

His phone buzzes with a calendar reminder for his upcoming meeting. With a deep breath, he straightens his shirt, adjusts himself in his pants, and flips his laptop open. He closes out last week’s video without looking and opens Zoom instead. That’s what Regulus deserves from him—professionalism.

Not this animal that claws at his insides, demanding more.

Demanding everything.

The meeting drags on interminably. Remus checks his watch for the fifth time, nodding mechanically as the investor drones on about projected quarterly earnings. The man’s voice dissolves into background noise while Remus’ mind slips down the hall to Studio Two, where filming started half an hour ago.

His knee jitters beneath the polished mahogany. Regulus’ question echoes in his mind—“Will you be watching today?”—those storm-grey eyes peering up at him beneath a fan of dark lashes. The memory of that hopeful expression twists something in his chest. He’d promised he would, and the way Regulus had lit up at his words makes breaking that promise unthinkable. 

"Don't you agree, Mr. Lupin?" The investor's voice cuts through his thoughts. 

"Absolutely," Remus says, having no idea what he's agreeing to. "Listen, I hate to cut this short, but I have a shoot I need to supervise." 

The investor's face falls. "Just one more thing—" 

"Email it to me," Remus says, already rising from his chair. "I'll look over it tonight." 

He ends the call before the man can protest, slamming his laptop shut with more force than necessary. His office door bangs against the wall as he strides into the hallway, long legs eating up the distance to Studio 2. 

Every step brings him closer to what he shouldn't want but desperately craves. The rational part of his brain—the part that built this company on ethics and boundaries—screams at him to turn around. But his body moves forward, drawn by an almost gravitational pull.

He reaches the studio door, hesitates for one heartbeat, then another, before pushing it open. What waits beyond the threshold steals the breath from his lungs. 

Regulus kneels at the edge of the bed, his slender back arched. His lips stretch around James' cock, taking it deep into his throat. But it's what he's wearing that makes Remus' mouth go dry.

A gossamer-thin babydoll drapes over Regulus' frame, the deep emerald green mesh clinging to the delicate curve of his waist. The garment ends just below the swell of his ass. With nothing underneath, the babydoll frames rather than conceals—highlighting pale skin that gleams in the studio lights and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal glistening between his thighs.

Remus slides into his usual spot on the corner couch, his jaw clenching as he watches the scene unfold. 

The sight of Regulus in emerald green—his favourite colour—instead of the blue they'd discussed earlier sends a possessive thrill through him. Did the boy choose it deliberately? The thought makes his cock twitch against his zipper.

James pulls back, his cock sliding from between Regulus' swollen lips with an obscene, wet sound. Saliva glistens on Regulus' chin as he gasps for breath, cheeks flushed Barbie pink with exertion. James grips himself at the base, dragging the head of his cock across Regulus' cheek, leaving a glistening trail in its wake.

"Your brother would be so disappointed if he knew what a slut you are," James says, voice dropping to match his character—the older friend corrupting innocence. "Desperate for his best friend's cock." 

Regulus whimpers, his tongue darting out to chase after James' length with such genuine hunger that Remus has to bite his own lip to stifle a groan. The boy plays his part perfectly, all wide-eyed innocence, even with spit-slick lips and flushed cheeks.

James reaches for his shirt—the only garment left on his body—and undoes the remaining buttons. The fabric slides from his shoulders, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed torso. The dragon across his chest seems to ripple with each movement, scales shifting over taut muscle.

Remus can't help comparing their bodies. Where James is all sharp definition and carved angles, Remus carries a different kind of strength—broader and more substantial. Years of indulging his sweet tooth have softened the edges of his once-chiselled frame, but beneath that layer of comfort lies the solid power that still draws appreciative glances whenever he enters a room.

His attention snaps back to the bed as James guides Regulus onto his back. The emerald babydoll fans out beneath him like a pool of seafoam, framing his pale skin. James presses Regulus' legs toward his chest, folding him nearly in half as he leans down to claim his mouth in a deep kiss.

Regulus' hands flutter against James' shoulders, fingers digging into tattooed skin as James slides a hand between his thighs. Remus narrows his eyes, tracking the movement of those fingers against Regulus' wet folds. 

Something isn't right. 

James is completely missing the clit, his fingers are circling too low and too far to the right. Remus watches Regulus' face carefully, noting the way his brow furrows slightly before smoothing out again, replaced by an expression of exaggerated pleasure. 

James seems undeterred, continuing to circle his fingers in the wrong place, eyes locked on Regulus’ face with that self-satisfied smirk that makes Remus’ blood boil. Regulus is putting on a performance—little moans escaping his lips, eyes fluttering closed—but Remus can see the truth in the tension of his thighs and the stiffness in his shoulders.

"CUT!" The word explodes from Remus' chest as he surges to his feet.

The set freezes. Camera operators stop filming. James' head whips around, searching for the source of the interruption before landing on Remus. His expression shifts from confusion to recognition, followed quickly by irritation. 

Remus stalks forward, approaching the raised platform where the bed sits. The studio lights cast a harsh glow over the scene: James, still between Regulus' thighs, Regulus, wide-eyed and uncertain, his legs drawing together as he sits up, the emerald babydoll pooling around his hips.

"Remind me, James," Remus says, voice dangerously low as he crosses his arms over his chest, "how many people have you fucked?" 

James stutters, sliding off Regulus to perch on the edge of the mattress. His cock, still hard and glistening with spit, bobs against his stomach as he shifts to face Remus. 

"A fuck ton," he finally answers with a scoff, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. "Why?" 

Remus doesn't answer. Instead, he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he positions himself on Regulus' other side. The boy is caught between them now, his eyes wide and uncertain as they flick between the two men. 

"Then you should know better," Remus reprimands, reaching for Regulus.

His palm lands on the inside of one slender thigh. Regulus yields instantly, falling back against the mattress with a soft "oh" as his legs part for Remus.

Remus shifts his weight onto the mattress, looming over Regulus. Their gazes connect—warm honey against rain-washed slate. A trembling breath escapes Regulus' parted lips as his ribcage flutters beneath the translucent emerald fabric.

Remus spreads Regulus' legs wider, his calloused hands gentle against the milky skin of his inner thighs. He stares at the exposed pink of Regulus' cunt for just a moment, taking in the glistening folds.

Then, deliberately, he spits. 

The warm wetness lands directly on Regulus' cunt. Regulus gasps, his back arching off the bed, thighs falling even wider apart as if offering himself up. Remus' hand slides between his legs, thick fingers finding his clit with unerring precision. He circles it slowly, watching Regulus' face as pleasure—genuine pleasure—washes over his features. 

"You should know where the clit is, James," Remus says without looking away from Regulus. "Poor little thing was faking all those moans, weren't you, darling?" 

Regulus whimpers, his hips rolling against Remus' touch. "Yes, Sir," he breathes, the words almost inaudible. 

Remus continues his ministrations, varying the pressure as he watches Regulus' reactions. The boy is so responsive, his body honest in a way his performance for James wasn't. When Remus presses harder, Regulus' breath catches, when he slows his circles, Regulus' hips chase his touch.

"This is how you touch him. Look how wet he’s getting," Remus says to James.

James shifts on the bed, a dangerous flash in his eyes as he leans forward. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?" he challenges, the dragon on his chest seeming to ripple with his agitation. "I've been in this industry for seven years."

"Experience clearly doesn't equal skill." Remus tilts his head, lips curving into a mocking smile."We all have off days, James," he adds.

The two men lock eyes over Regulus’ trembling form, the air between them thick with tension. Neither blinks or yields to the other’s pressure. James’ jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his stubbled skin. Remus’ nostrils flare, his broad shoulders squaring as if he’s bracing for a fight.

Eventually, Remus withdraws his hand, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he exhales. Regulus whines—so soft it might’ve gone unnoticed, if not for the absolute silence that’s fallen over the set. Remus’ face smooths back into its mask of professional detachment.

“Ready for take two,” he tells the director and crew as he retreats to the couch, settling into the worn leather. “And James—” One eyebrow arches. “Do it properly this time.”

James’ jaw tightens, but he slots himself back between Regulus’ thighs anyway. Regulus sinks into the pillows, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the emerald mesh.

"Action," Remus calls, his voice echoing through the studio. 

The cameras start rolling again. James bends his head, pressing kisses along Regulus' inner thigh, working his way toward his centre. His fingers find Regulus' clit—the right spot this time—and begin circling with purpose. 

Remus watches, unblinking, as Regulus arches into the touch. The boy's reactions are different now—genuine gasps replacing theatrical moans, his body responding with honest need rather than performative pleasure. When James finally pushes two fingers inside him, Regulus cries out, his back bowing off the bed. 

James' fingers work deeper, his voice a rumbling purr against Regulus' ear. "You're so fucking tight around my fingers, baby. Gonna take my cock so well."

Remus shifts on the couch, his breath catching as he watches James work Regulus open. The boy's reactions send heat coursing through his veins—those little gasps, the way his back arches off the bed, how his thighs tremble. Something primal stirs in Remus' chest. 

The crew's attention has fully returned to the scene on the bed, camera operators circling to capture every angle. Even the sound technician has his gaze fixed on James and Regulus, microphone boom extended to catch every whimper and moan. 

No one is looking at him. 

Remus glances around once more, confirming that all eyes are trained on the bed where James is now three fingers deep in Regulus' cunt. The wet sounds carry across the studio, mingling with Regulus' breathy cries. 

His fingers still glisten with Regulus' slick. Before he can think better of it, Remus brings them to his nose. The scent fills his nostrils—a mixture of musk and sweetness. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, eyes falling half-closed with pleasure.

Then, unable to resist, he slips those fingers between his lips. 

The taste blooms on his tongue; it’s better than anything he could’ve imagined. His eyes slide shut as he presses in closer, chasing every lingering trace of Regulus. It’s addictive—he wants more, he needs more. That lucky bastard, James, he thinks bitterly, gets this every fucking week. Gets to have Regulus close and pliant when the cameras roll, while Remus is forced to stand behind the camera like a pathetic voyeur.

When his eyes open, he finds Regulus staring directly at him. 

Regulus bites his lower lip at the sight of Remus licking his fingers clean, and the look in those grey eyes is so naked with want that Remus feels his cock strain painfully against his zipper. He shifts on the couch, trying to ease the pressure, but there's no relief to be found. Not when Regulus is sprawled across that bed, legs spread for James, but eyes fixed solely on him.

Remus should pull his fingers from his mouth. He should look away; he should maintain some semblance of professionalism. But he physically can’t—not with the taste of Regulus’ sweetness lingering on his tongue.

Instead, he holds Regulus' gaze while sucking his fingers clean, hollowing his cheeks as his tongue chases every trace. Those storm-grey eyes never leave his, not even once. When Remus finally withdraws his fingers, he lets his lips drag over them one last time. A small, devious smirk follows.

Regulus' gaze drops from Remus' face to his crotch. His eyes widen at the prominent bulge straining against denim, lips parting in silent recognition. 

Heat floods Remus' body. He's been caught—not just tasting Regulus' essence, but visibly aroused by it. The rational part of his brain screams at him to leave, to maintain some fragment of professional dignity, but his palm betrays him, pressing against his straining zipper with shameless need.

From the bed, Regulus lets out the prettiest moan Remus has ever heard—a sound so sweet and needy it makes his cock throb painfully beneath his palm. James is still working his fingers inside the boy, but Regulus' attention remains fixed entirely on Remus. That moan... Remus likes to imagine it's for him—for the sight of his hand on his cock, for the knowledge that he's hard because of Regulus. 

His fingers tighten, gripping his length through his jeans in one last, unrelenting squeeze. The pleasure borders on pain, sharp enough to momentarily clear the fog of lust clouding his judgment. 

What the fuck is he doing?

Remus stands abruptly, adjusting himself with a deep, frustrated sigh. His legs feel unsteady beneath him as he moves toward the door.

Disgusting. Unprofessional. Perverted. 

Self-loathing floods his mind as he escapes the studio. The door seals shut with a heavy thud, cutting off Regulus' moans mid-crescendo. Remus slumps against the corridor wall, breath ragged, willing his pulse to slow and his body to cool. 

He's better than this—or at least, he's supposed to be.

He pushes away from the wall, heading toward his office with purposeful strides. His hand is already twitching at his side, anticipating the moment he'll close his fist around his aching cock. Behind his locked door, he'll queue up last week's footage—the one with Regulus bent over James’ lap, ass red as he’s spanked, those pretty whimpers escaping his lips. 

In the privacy of his office, he'll stroke himself to completion, guilt be damned.

----

Regulus doesn’t normally work Fridays or Mondays at Lupin Productions, so for four days, he doesn’t see Remus.

In those four days, he replays the same sixty seconds on loop: Remus' fingers in his mouth, brown eyes locked with his, that unmistakable bulge straining against denim. 

Regulus has touched himself every night since, fingers circling his clit as he imagines Remus' large hands on him, those thick fingers stretching him open. He comes with Remus' name on his lips, body arching off his sheets, wetness soaking his thighs. Then again in the morning, half-awake and aching with need. And again the next day, and the next, until his cunt feels tender and swollen from overuse. 

When he walks into the production studio on the fifth day, the receptionist looks up immediately.

“Regulus! Perfect timing. Mr Lupin wants to see you in his office.” She tips her head toward the hallway. “As soon as possible, he said.”

His heart rate increases. "D-Did he say what it was about?"

The receptionist shakes her head. "Just that it's important." She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's been in a mood all week. Whatever it is, I'd hurry if I were you."

The walk to Remus' office feels longer than usual, each step weighted with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Is this about what happened during the shoot? What if Remus is angry? What if he's being fired?

He knocks twice, his knuckles barely grazing the wood. 

"Come in," Remus' deep voice calls from within. 

Regulus pushes the door open, his pulse thrumming in his throat. Remus sits behind his massive mahogany desk, head bent over a stack of papers, reading glasses perched low on his nose. The sight of him—so professional behind his desk amid a pile of paperwork—makes Regulus' mouth go dry. He looks nothing like the man who palmed himself through his jeans five days ago, amber eyes burning with hunger as he licked Regulus’ wetness from his fingers.

Remus glances up. "Hi, sweetheart. Close the door behind you?"

Regulus obeys, the latch clicking softly behind him. He hovers near the entrance, unsure whether to approach or wait to be invited closer. He’s been in Remus’ office before. It’s spacious, and there’s usually a chair on the other side of the desk for guests—except, for some peculiar reason, it’s missing now.

Remus removes his glasses, setting them on the desk before gesturing toward the empty space beside him. "Come ‘ere."

Regulus crosses the room, fidgeting with the hem of his skirt—a flirty little plaid number that barely covers his ass. He'd chosen it this morning, thinking of Remus, hoping their paths might cross today.

Remus leans back in his oversized leather chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. The position makes his biceps bulge against the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down, veins trailing down his forearms like rivers on a map.

"This isn't working," Remus says, turning his chair to face him.

Regulus' heart plummets. "W-What isn't working, Sir?" 

"The current arrangement." Remus gestures vaguely between them. "We need to update your contract." 

Panic surges through Regulus' body. Is he being fired? Demoted? His mind races through possibilities, each worse than the last. "I—I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?" 

Remus shakes his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "No, no baby. You've been perfect." 

Regulus relaxes slightly, though confusion still clouds his thoughts. "Then what's the issue, Sir?"

Remus uncrosses his arms, leaning forward in his chair. "I… don't like watching you with James." 

"But Sir," Regulus protests, his brow furrowing, "I thought you said the videos were performing well? Better than others, even?" 

Remus nods absently. “They are. That’s not the issue.” He reaches out, fingers brushing the hem of Regulus’ skirt, staring at it for a beat before lifting his gaze back to the boy’s face. “The issue is, I don’t like watching you with him.”

He leans closer, voice dropping to a rumble. "Retirement has been fun, but I've been on the sidelines long enough. What do you say we give the viewers what they really want—you and me, together on camera?" His thumb presses soft circles to Regulus’ bare thigh. "Imagine the views we'd get, sweetheart."

Before Regulus can respond, strong hands circle his waist. With effortless strength, Remus lifts him onto his desk, parting his own knees to roll his chair between Regulus' spread legs. The movement is so swift and confident that Regulus can only gasp as he finds himself suddenly perched on the edge of the polished wood, thighs bracketing Remus' broad form.

Remus' hands rest on his bare knees. "What would the title be, darling? 'Pillow Princess Tries to Ride Veteran Cock'?"

Regulus' mind struggles to catch up with what's happening. His breath comes in shallow pants, heat crawling up his neck to stain his cheeks. "You mean...?" 

"I mean, I want to do a scene with you," Remus interrupts, his voice dropping to a gravelly rumble. "I want James and you unpaired, and I want to take his place instead." His fingers tighten on Regulus' knees, sliding up to his thighs, bunching the plaid fabric higher. "If I have to watch him stuff his cock in your pretty little cunt one more time, I think I'll go insane."

A whine escapes Regulus' throat. He wraps his arms around Remus' neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads nearly touch. His lips brush against Remus' ear as he whispers, "How about 'Little Twink Takes Daddy's Massive Cock'?" 

Remus lets out a low growl, throwing his head back against the leather chair. "Fuck. You are such a little slut," he says, eyes dark with desire. "You've been naughty, tempting me for weeks, haven't you?"

Regulus giggles, a coy smile playing on his lips. "If I’ve been naughty, why don't you spank me then, daddy?"

Regulus means it as a tease, really—just an innocent joke. He doesn’t expect Remus to actually do it.

Remus lets out a guttural sound, the wheels of his chair squeaking against hardwood as he pushes away from his desk. A surprised squeal escapes Regulus' lips as Remus guides him face-down across his thighs, one large hand spanning the small of his back to hold him in place. The plaid fabric of his skirt flips up, exposing Regulus completely. A shiver runs through him as cool air meets bare skin, and he can't help but grin into the crease of Remus' thigh, imagining the hunger darkening those hazel eyes as Remus discovers his little secret—he's not wearing underwear beneath that innocent schoolboy skirt. 

"Fucking slut indeed," Remus growls, palm connecting with the curve of Regulus' ass. 

The sharp crack echoes through the office, followed by Regulus' breathy moan. His legs part wider with each successive spank, offering himself up to Remus' punishing hand. When his thighs spread wide enough to expose his cunt, Remus' palm finds that sensitive flesh too, delivering stinging slaps that send pleasure and pain radiating through Regulus' core.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three loud knocks interrupt them. Remus freezes mid-spank, his hand still resting on Regulus' heated cunt. 

"Remus?" James' voice calls from the other side of the door. "You in there? We need to talk about next week's schedule." 

Remus curses under his breath, then quickly maneuvers Regulus off his lap. "Under the desk," he whispers urgently, already guiding Regulus toward the kneehole beneath his desk. "Quickly, angel." 

Regulus scrambles to obey, folding his small frame into the tight space. His heart pounds against his ribs, excitement mingling with fear as he tucks himself beneath the heavy mahogany desk. From here, he can see Remus' lap and the prominent bulge straining against his slacks. When Remus rolls his chair forward, Regulus finds himself enclosed in a dark cave formed by the desk above and Remus' thick thighs on either side blocking him from view.

"Come in!" Remus calls, his voice surprisingly steady. 

Regulus holds his breath as the door swings open, the sound of James' footsteps filling the room. From his hiding spot, all he can see are Remus' thighs on either side of him and a sliver of the office wall.

"Where's your visitor chair?" James asks, his footsteps pausing momentarily. 

Remus' legs shift slightly, one knee bouncing in what Regulus recognises as anxiety. "Missing.”

James huffs, and Regulus hears him pacing across the hardwood floor. "How am I supposed to sit down for our meeting?" 

“Firstly, we don’t have a scheduled meeting. You’re the one who knocked on my door. Secondly, you’re a big boy, Potter—standing for five minutes won’t kill you.” Remus rumbles, amusement threaded through his tone. 

Regulus presses a hand to his mouth to stifle a chuckle. His position is ridiculously compromising—his ass still stinging from Remus' spanking, his bare cunt wet and aching between his thighs, and now James just feet away, completely oblivious. 

"Fine, whatever," James sighs. His footsteps continue their restless circuit around the room. "I was looking at my schedule next week, and I think it's too similar to scenes we have already filmed. So, I'm here to propose an idea: daddy kink. Reg calling me daddy, begging so pretty for my cock." 

Regulus' eyes widen, and he has to bite his lip to keep from giggling. Just minutes ago, he'd called Remus "daddy" and suggested the very same thing. The coincidence is almost too perfect. 

Above him, Remus clears his throat. "You want Regulus to call you daddy?" The emphasis on "you" is unmistakable, dripping with barely concealed amusement.

"Yeah, why not?" James' shoes scuff against the floor. "I've got the build for it."

"James.... darling," Remus says slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “Having abs doesn't make you daddy material. Some things can't be earned at the gym."

"What's that supposed to mean?" James scoffs. "I totally have the daddy vibe! I'm tall, I'm built—" 

"You're twenty-eight," Remus counters. "A daddy needs authority and experience."

Their argument continues, voices rising and falling above Regulus' head as they debate the finer points of what constitutes a "daddy" in professional porn. Regulus quickly grows bored with their bickering. His gaze drifts to the bulge still straining against Remus' slacks, just inches from his face. 

A wicked idea forms in his mind. 

Slowly, he shuffles closer between Remus' spread thighs. His fingers find the zipper, easing it down tooth by tooth. The sound is lost beneath James' passionate defence of his alleged daddy qualifications.

Regulus slips his hand inside, fingers wrapping around the hot, hard length of Remus' cock. He tugs gently, freeing it from the confines of cotton and wool. His breath catches at the sight. 

It's impossibly large in his hand—thicker than his wrist, long enough that even with his fingers wrapped around the middle, there's still inches to spare on either end. But what truly captivates him is the head: a massive, pink, puffy mushroom crown that seems almost too big for the shaft it tops.

He remembers the videos he'd watched before his interview, how Remus' partners always struggled to fit that swollen head into their mouths. Now, faced with the reality, he understands why. 

Above him, Remus continues his conversation with James, though Regulus notices the slight strain entering his voice. "The aesthetic is completely wrong for you," Remus insists. "You're more the—" He pauses, his breath hitching as Regulus gives his cock a firm squeeze. "Um. The—the athlete type. College jock, you know?”

Regulus strokes him slowly, marvelling at how his fingers can't fully encircle the shaft. He needs to wrap a second hand around the base just to hold its weight properly. A pearl of pre-cum beads at the slit, tempting him.

James is still pacing, his footsteps moving from one end of the office to the other. "We could still film it though! That's what acting is about, right? Come on, just imagine how fucking hot it would be."

Remus' hand suddenly appears under the desk, reaching for Regulus' wrist as if to push him away. But Regulus isn't deterred. Instead, he leans forward, tongue darting out to kitten-lick the slit, tasting the salty sweetness of Remus' pre-cum. 

The effect is immediate. Remus' thighs tense on either side of him, and above the desk, his voice falters mid-sentence. "I—I think we should—" He clears his throat, recovering quickly. "Let me think about it, James. I need to review the quarterly projections anyway." 

"But—" James starts to protest. 

"We'll discuss it tomorrow," Remus cuts him off, voice firmer now, leaving no room for argument. "I have a call with investors in five minutes." 

Regulus hears James sigh dramatically. "Fine. But I'm telling you, the daddy thing would sell like crazy." 

"I'll think about it," Remus repeats, his tone clipped. "Close the door on your way out." 

The sound of retreating footsteps follows, then the soft click of the door. The moment it latches, Remus pushes away from the desk, his chair rolling back on its wheels as he looks down at Regulus between his thighs. His eyes darken, one eyebrow arched in silent challenge. Regulus peers up through his lashes, the picture of feigned innocence. His teeth press into his lower lip, suppressing a smirk.

"You are very, very naughty, darling. Clearly, that spanking did nothing for you."

Regulus lets out a petulant whine from his position on the floor, still nestled between Remus' thick thighs. "But your cock was right there, daddy," he protests, batting his lashes. "Really, it's your fault for tempting me."

A deep groan rumbles through Remus' chest. He leans forward, one hand gripping Regulus' chin to tug him closer while the other takes hold of his own cock. The massive head brushes against Regulus' cheek, leaving a glistening trail of precome across his milky skin. 

"I shouldn't be doing this," Remus mumbles, his voice thick with conflicted desire. "Shouldn't be touching you, angel, not with this big, dirty cock." Despite his words, he doesn't stop, continuing to paint Regulus' face with sticky wetness. 

Regulus whimpers, his small body rutting against the floor in desperation. He sticks his tongue out, eager and pleading, and Remus indulges him for just a moment—dragging the swollen tip across his tongue before cruelly pulling it away.

"But I wanna suck your cock, Sir," Regulus huffs, frustration evident in the furrow of his brow and the pout of his lower lip.

Remus lets out a deep groan, his head falling back against the leather chair. "Baby, you're so tiny," he says, his voice rough. "It won't even fit in your mouth." 

The challenge ignites something in Regulus. His eyes widen with determination as he lurches forward, chasing after Remus' cock with renewed purpose. 

Before he can reach his prize, Remus' large hand catches the hair at the nape of his neck, yanking him back. A surprised squeal escapes Regulus' throat, the sharp tug sending tingles down his spine. 

"You can give it a kiss, baby," Remus offers, his voice gentler now, as if meeting him halfway. 

Regulus sticks out his lower lip in a soft pout, staring up at Remus. He's not satisfied with this compromise, not when he's spent weeks fantasising about having this magnificent cock stretching his lips.

"Fine," Remus sighs, his resolve weakening. "Two sucks, baby. No more." His thumb traces the curve of Regulus' cheek. "I don't want to hurt you."

Regulus smiles triumphantly. He leans forward eagerly, pressing his lips to the swollen crown. The taste is intoxicating—salt and musk and something uniquely Remus. He opens wider, struggling to accommodate the girth as he takes the head into his mouth.

His jaw aches immediately, stretched obscenely wide around the angry, red mushroom of Remus' cock. The puffy head alone fills his entire mouth, its swollen ridge pressing against his inner cheeks, forcing his lips to stretch thin and pale around its girth. He persists, determined, tongue flattened beneath the intrusion as he manages to take just a fraction more before Remus' hand tightens in his hair, stopping his descent. 

"I’m counting that as two," Remus warns, voice strained. "Now off." 

Regulus whimpers around the intrusion but obeys, letting Remus' cock slip from his lips with an obscene pop. His tongue darts out to catch the string of saliva connecting them, and he stares up at Remus with undisguised hunger. 

"I can take more," he insists, his voice hoarse. "Let me try again." 

Remus shakes his head. "So greedy," he murmurs, his hand sliding from Regulus' hair to cup his cheek. "A little demanding brat." 

Regulus whines, his small hands wrapping around Remus' shaft again. "I want it. Please, daddy?"

Remus heaves a sigh, his resolve crumbling under those pleading eyes. "Fine." His voice drops to a gravelly rumble. "You can suckle the tip—just the tip, understand? That's all you get." 

He wraps his large hand around the base of his shaft, the veins along his forearm standing out as he begins to stroke himself. "Open your mouth, baby." 

Regulus practically vibrates with excitement, shuffling closer between Remus' spread thighs. His lips part eagerly, forming a perfect 'o' as he waits. 

"That's it," Remus murmurs, guiding the swollen, mushroom head to Regulus' waiting mouth. "Just the tip, darling. Be a good boy now." 

The moment that puffy crown pushes past his lips, Regulus moans around it. His jaw stretches wide, accommodating the girth as he begins to gently suckle. His tongue swirls around the sensitive head, exploring the velvety texture with obvious delight.

"Look at you," Remus growls, his fist working faster along his shaft. "Such a desperate little whore for my cock. Been thinking about this, haven't you? Probably dreaming about having this fat head stretching those pretty lips." 

Regulus whimpers in agreement, his eyes fluttering closed as he hollows his cheeks around the sensitive glans. The salt-sweet taste of precome floods his mouth, encouraging him to suckle harder.

"Careful," Remus warns, his free hand coming to rest on Regulus' head. "Don't get greedy. Just the tip, remember? That's all your little mouth can handle, baby. Trust me, daddy knows best."

A defiant noise bubbles from Regulus' throat as he tries to take more, but his ambition immediately backfires—his throat constricts in protest, eyes watering as he chokes around the impossible girth. Remus' grip in his hair tightens, yanking him back with a mixture of concern and authority. 

"See, baby?" Remus chuckles, stroking himself faster. "Bet your tight little cunt is dripping wet right now, isn't it? Just from having the tip of my cock in your mouth, knowing you physically can’t take any more."

Regulus moans in confirmation, his thighs pressing together as if to relieve the ache between them. His tongue continues its dedicated worship, tracing the sensitive slit where precome steadily leaks onto his eager tongue. 

"That's it, sweetheart. Good boy," Remus praises, his breathing growing ragged. "Fuck, your mouth feels incredible." 

The praise sends shivers down Regulus' spine. He redoubles his efforts, alternating between gentle suction and teasing flicks of his tongue against the underside of Remus' cockhead. 

"Fuck," Remus hisses, his hips jerking slightly. "Gonna come soon, baby. You want that? Want me to feed you my load?"

Regulus' eyes fly open, locking with Remus' amber gaze as he nods enthusiastically, the movement limited by the massive head still stretching his lips. His tongue extends slightly past his bottom lip, making it clear he's ready to receive whatever Remus gives him. 

Remus groans, his entire body tensing. He pulls back just enough to let his cockhead rest on Regulus' outstretched tongue. "Open wider, angel. Show me how badly you want it."

Regulus obeys instantly, jaw dropping as his tongue stretches out flat. The first rope of come lands hot and thick across his waiting tongue, followed quickly by another and another. Some spills over his lips and down his chin, but he doesn't flinch or pull away. Instead, he moans at the taste, eyes never leaving Remus' as he's marked and tainted. 

When the last pulse subsides, Remus guides his cock back between those sweet lips, letting Regulus clean the sensitive head with gentle, reverent licks. 

"Swallow. You were so greedy for it, after all," Remus commands softly. 

Regulus closes his mouth and does as he's told, his throat working visibly as he consumes every drop. When he opens his mouth again to show Remus his clean tongue, there's a look of such satisfaction on his face that Remus can't help but groan. 

"Perfect," Remus murmurs, thumb wiping a stray drop from the corner of Regulus' mouth before pushing it between his swollen lips. "Absolutely fucking perfect."

Regulus sucks Remus' thumb clean, his eyes heavy-lidded with lingering desire. When Remus finally withdraws his finger, Regulus looks up at him with a shy smile, cheeks flushed pink. 

"Did I do a good job?" he asks, his words coming out slightly slurred as his jaw readjusts to normal proportions.

Remus smiles, his large hand cupping the side of Regulus' face. "You did so well, sweetheart." His thumb strokes along Regulus' cheekbone. "But you're still a naughty, disobedient little thing. Daddy told you—just the tip."

Regulus preens, leaning into Remus' touch like a cat seeking affection. "But I wanted more."

"I know you did," Remus chuckles. "And you're going to get more. But not today."

The promise of more sends a shiver down Regulus' spine. He shifts on his knees, suddenly aware of how wet and aching his cunt still is, how the plaid skirt has ridden up around his waist, leaving him completely exposed on the office floor.

Remus notices his squirming and raises an eyebrow. "Something you need, baby?" 

Regulus bites his lip, suddenly shy despite what they've just done. "I'm... I need..." 

"Use your words," Remus encourages.

"I need to come," Regulus whispers, heat flooding his cheeks. "Please, daddy." 

Remus' eyes darken as he tucks himself back into his pants. He pushes his chair back, creating space between himself and the desk. "Come here," he says, patting his lap.

Regulus rises on shaky legs, his knees stiff from kneeling on the hard floor. When he steps forward, Remus guides him to straddle one thick thigh, his large hands spanning Regulus' waist. 

"Grind on me," Remus instructs, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "Show me how desperate that little cunt is." 

The rough fabric of Remus' slacks against his bare, wet folds makes Regulus gasp. He clutches Remus' shoulders for support as he begins to rock his hips, dragging himself along the firm muscle of Remus' thigh. 

"That's it," Remus encourages, his hands sliding down to grip Regulus' ass, guiding his movements. "Use my thigh, baby."

Regulus rocks harder, his wetness soaking through the expensive fabric of Remus' slacks. Each drag of his cunt against the firm muscle sends another jolt of pleasure coursing through him. He buries his face in Remus' neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of cologne and musk. 

"Please," he whimpers, his movements growing frantic. "Please, Sir, I'm so close." 

Remus' large hands tighten on his ass, guiding him into a faster rhythm. "Look at you," he growls against Regulus' ear, "so desperate you'll hump my thigh like a filthy little slut. Couldn't even wait for my cock, could you? Just needed something, anything to rub that needy cunt against." One hand slides between them, thick fingers finding Regulus' clit.

The direct contact is all Regulus needs. His body goes rigid, thighs clamping around Remus' leg as pleasure crashes through him in violent waves. He cries out, the sound muffled against Remus' shoulder as his hips jerk uncontrollably. Wetness floods from him, soaking through Remus' pants.

When the last aftershock subsides, Regulus slumps boneless against Remus' chest. Remus' arms wrap around him, holding him close as he presses soft kisses to Regulus' temple.

"Good boy," he whispers. "So fucking good, aren’t you?"

The praise sends a delicious shiver through Regulus, making him squirm involuntarily in Remus' lap. Strong fingers immediately tighten at his hip, stilling him.

"Careful, sweetheart," Remus chuckles. "I'm not twenty anymore. Even I need recovery time."

For several minutes, they stay like that—Regulus curled in Remus' lap, Remus' hands stroking soothingly up and down his back. The office is quiet, save for their gradually slowing breaths. Eventually, Regulus lifts his head, his cheeks flushed and eyes still glazed with satisfaction. 

"So," Regulus says, voice still slightly breathless. "About that new contract..." 

----

One week later, Regulus paces the dressing room floor, his reflection flashing in the mirrors with each turn. His stomach flutters with a mixture of excitement and nerves. In the week since that moment in Remus' office, everything has changed. The contract's been updated. The shoot schedule's been rearranged. And today he's finally filming with Remus.

The door swings open, and James barges in without knocking, his lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. 

"I still can't believe he's stealing you from me," James whines, flopping dramatically onto the makeup chair. "After all we've been through together." 

Regulus rolls his eyes, unable to hide his smile. "It's one scene, James." 

“One scene turns into two, then three, four, five,” James whines. “Trust me. Once that dirty old man gets his hands on you, he’s never letting go.” He sighs, long and theatrical, then latches onto the only argument he’s got left. “You know I’m buffer than him, right?” he adds, voice filled with hope as he flexes his biceps. 

"Obviously," Regulus agrees, his tone placating as he approaches James. He reaches out, patting James' stubbled cheek with mock sympathy. "Poor thing. So neglected." 

James grins up at him, catching his wrist. "You'll miss me." 

“Terribly,” Regulus promises, leaning in to press a soft kiss to James’ cheek. “I’m sure I’ll be back to shoot with you next week. I hear you’re with Lily in the meantime—she’s lovely, James.”

But even as he says it, he isn’t sure he believes it. Remus had amended the contract—adding himself to the list of co-stars Regulus could be paired with—yet James’ name was still there too.

Still… surely there was truth in what James had said. Remus was a possessive man. Regulus can’t imagine he’ll find it easy to share.

He slips his wrist from James' grasp and skips toward the door, nerves buzzing beneath his skin. The truth is, he has no idea what to expect today. Typically, a detailed script arrives at least twenty-four hours before filming, outlining positions, dialogue, and transitions. But no script was delivered to him.

When he asked Remus about it yesterday, the older man had simply smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Do you trust me?" he'd asked. 

"Yes," Regulus had answered without hesitation. 

Remus had pressed a soft kiss to his lips—their first—and murmured, "Then dress pretty, and I'll take care of the rest."

Now, Regulus stands before the wardrobe rack, fingers hovering over the options. What does "pretty" mean to Remus? Innocent schoolboy? Sultry vixen? Something in between? 

He finally selects a white pleated miniskirt so short it barely qualifies as clothing, paired with a cropped white button-up that ties just beneath his chest. The white thigh-high socks he pulls on next make his legs look endless, the elastic bands hugging his thighs just below where the hem of the skirt falls. He leaves the top three buttons of his shirt undone. When he turns to check the mirror, the outfit frames his waist perfectly, the strip of exposed skin between shirt and skirt drawing the eye. Each time he bends even slightly, the skirt rides up to reveal the lacy emerald thong underneath, the green a striking contrast against the pristine white.

A quick glance at his phone shows it's almost time. Regulus checks his reflection one last time, smoothing down the pleated miniskirt and adjusting the cropped button-up. The emerald thong peeks out when he turns, a deliberate flash of green beneath pristine white. 

Perfect.

His heart thunders against his ribs as he makes his way through the corridor. Studio 3 this time. He remembers it well—the same room where he first met Remus, where those amber eyes had appraised him from head to toe, and his life was changed with the offer of a contract.

The familiar door looms before him. Unlike the other studios with their busy crews and elaborate sets, Studio 3 remains simple and intimate. Just that plush white rug and the red velvet couch. 

With a deep breath, he turns the doorknob and steps inside.

The sight that greets him sends heat rushing through his veins. Remus reclines on the red, velvet couch, one ankle crossed casually over his knee, the worn leather of his boots gleaming under the studio lights. His shirt hangs half-open, revealing a tantalising strip of salt and pepper chest hair. The fabric of his pants stretches tight across thick thighs, leaving little to the imagination.

Regulus freezes in the doorway, suddenly aware of the red lights blinking on the many cameras positioned around the room. They're already rolling. His confusion must show on his face because Remus' lips curl into a knowing smirk, eyes darkening as they rake over Regulus' outfit.

"Welcome, sweetheart," Remus drawls. "You here for the audition for Lupin Productions?"

Understanding clicks into place. The missing script. The familiar setting. Remus wants to recreate their first meeting—only this time, with a very different ending. 

He steps fully into the room, letting the door close behind him.

"Yes, Sir," he says, voice deliberately soft and uncertain. "I'm here for the audition." 

Remus' brown eyes gleam with approval as he gestures toward the plush white rug before him. "Come here, darling. Right in front of me, where I can see you properly."

Regulus crosses the room with small, hesitant steps, playing his part perfectly. His feet sink into the familiar, soft white carpet as he comes to stand directly in front of Remus.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Remus asks, his voice a deep rumble that sends shivers down Regulus' spine. 

"Regulus, Sir." 

Remus leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as his gaze travels slowly up and down Regulus' body. "Pretty name for a pretty boy." His eyes linger on the exposed strip of skin between Regulus' cropped shirt and tiny skirt. "Tell me, Regulus, have you ever done any adult work before?" 

Regulus fidgets with the hem of his skirt, feigning nervousness. "Just some solo content on OnlyFans, Sir. Nothing professional." 

"I see." Remus' tongue darts out to wet his lips. "And what made you decide to audition for Lupin Productions?" 

"I've heard you treat your performers well," Regulus answers truthfully. "And... you have a very hands-on approach—always making sure your actors are taken care of."

Remus' mouth curves into a predatory smile. He sits back, spreading his thighs wider as he settles deeper into the couch. He hums in acknowledgment. "Would you undress for me, darling? I need to see what I'm working with."

Heat floods Regulus' cheeks, the blush entirely genuine despite how many times he's been naked on camera. Something about Remus watching him—about recreating their first meeting with this new, charged energy between them—makes his fingers tremble as they reach for the knot of his shirt. 

He unties it slowly, letting the fabric fall open to reveal his bare chest, two red lines marking his top surgery. Next, he reaches for the zipper at the side of his skirt, tugging it down before letting the pleated fabric pool around his ankles. He steps out of it, now standing in nothing but the emerald green thong and white thigh-high socks.

Remus' nostrils flare as he takes in the sight. "Very pretty," he murmurs, his voice rougher than before. "Turn around for me, baby. Let me see all of you." 

Regulus complies, pivoting slowly on the balls of his feet. When his back is to Remus, he glances over his shoulder, catching the older man's heated gaze fixed on his barely-covered ass. 

"Such a pretty little thing," Remus praises as Regulus completes his turn. "The socks are nice. Keep them on." 

Regulus catches his bottom lip between his teeth, looking up at Remus through his lashes. "Can I keep my panties on too, Sir?" he asks, voice dripping with faux innocence. 

Remus chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. "I'm afraid not, sweetheart. The audition requires a full examination." His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. "We need to make sure you're... compatible with our actors." 

The words send a thrill through Regulus' body. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his thong, slowly dragging it down his thighs until he can step out of it. 

"Perfect," Remus breathes, his gaze burning over every inch of exposed skin. "Now, let me see you touch your toes." 

Regulus bends at the waist, purposefully angled toward the camera, folding himself nearly in half as his fingertips graze the plush carpet. The position leaves him completely exposed, and he can feel the cool air of the studio against his wet folds. 

"You can straighten," Remus commands after a moment. When Regulus obeys, Remus continues, "Put your hands on your head, elbows out." 

Again, Regulus complies, lifting his arms to interlock his fingers atop his head. The position pushes his chest forward, angled toward the camera.

"Good boy," Remus praises. "Now, I want you to come kneel on the couch. Bend over the arm and spread your cheeks for me."

A genuine gasp escapes Regulus' lips, his eyes widening at the request. It's exactly what Remus had warned him against during their first meeting—the classic trap of predatory producers. He stammers.

"I—um—I was told by a friend, Sir, that you should never bend over in an audition like that," he says, voice trembling slightly. "Because th-that means the producer might be trying to take advantage of you." 

Remus' expression darkens, his features rearranging into something hungrier, more predatory. The lecherous producer persona takes complete hold. Without warning, he rises from the couch, closing the distance between them. His strong arms encircle Regulus' waist and lift, drawing a surprised squeal from Regulus as his feet leave the ground. 

Remus deposits Regulus onto the couch with a firm thud, ignoring the boy's surprised whimpers as he manhandles him into position. He turns Regulus over, bending him at the waist, guiding him to kneel on the cushions with his ass facing out. 

Regulus feels the heat of Remus' gaze scorching his bare skin. His heart hammers against his ribs as he glances over his shoulder, finding Remus towering above him, brown eyes dark with hunger.

"Tell me, sweetheart," Remus says, voice dropping to a dangerous rumble, "would you buy a couch before sitting on it?"

The question catches him off guard. Regulus blinks, mind racing to understand what Remus is really asking. He considers his answer carefully before responding. 

"No, Sir." 

Remus hums, one large hand coming up to stroke his salt-and-pepper stubble thoughtfully. The scratching sound fills the quiet room. 

"So why should I hire you without first inspecting the little hole that my actors are going to put their cocks into?" 

Heat floods Regulus' face. His cunt pulses between his legs, already slick with arousal. The crude words in Remus' sophisticated voice make his thighs tremble. 

"I-I'm sorry, Sir," he whispers, voice small and innocent even as desire pools in his core.

"Spread your cheeks," Remus commands. 

Regulus hesitates for only a second before reaching back with both hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his ass as he pulls himself open. Innocence radiates from his posture even as he exposes himself completely. 

A loud groan tears from Remus' throat at the sight of Regulus' holes: his tight little star puckering nervously and his cunt glistening with wetness. Strong hands join Regulus', calloused fingers overlapping with his own to spread him even wider. 

Without warning, Remus pulls one hand away and brings it down in a punishing slap directly against Regulus' exposed cunt. 

Spank!

Regulus gasps, the sharp sting radiating through his core. His arms fall away as he instinctively slams his thighs shut, trying to protect himself from another blow. 

"How am I meant to finish my inspection, baby?" Remus tuts condescendingly, large hands already working to pry Regulus' legs back apart. "Open them up." 

Regulus obeys, spreading his thighs once more. He feels a fresh wave of wetness soak his folds—embarrassment and arousal mingling into a heady cocktail that makes his head spin. Remus must see it too; his hand wanders back, this time pulling Regulus' pussy lips apart, exposing him to the cool air of the studio. 

"How am I meant to inspect this little hole when you're dripping on my hand like a slut?" Remus asks with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Regulus whimpers, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Three sharp slaps land in quick succession against his sensitive cunt, each one harder than the last. Regulus' vision blurs with tears of mingled pain and pleasure as Remus complains about the inconvenience, about how difficult Regulus is making this simple inspection. 

Then suddenly, without warning, one thick finger plunges deep into Regulus' hole. He cries out at the intrusion, back arching as Remus works the digit inside him, gathering his slickness before withdrawing completely. 

Before Regulus can catch his breath, that same finger—now coated with his own wetness—pushes between his lips and into his mouth. Remus rubs it against the inside of his cheeks, forcing Regulus to taste himself. The tangy flavour of his own arousal floods his tongue as Remus' finger explores every corner of his mouth.

"Filthy little thing," Remus chastises, "getting this wet over an audition." 

As Remus withdraws his finger from Regulus' mouth, he wipes the remaining saliva across Regulus' flushed cheek. His eyes darken as he takes in the debauched sight before him: Regulus bent over the arm of the couch, ass raised high, thighs still quivering from the spanking.

Remus lets out a theatrical sigh and turns to his clipboard and pen resting on the other end of the couch. He scribbles something quickly, his broad shoulders blocking Regulus' view of whatever he's writing. The pen scratches against paper, each stroke making Regulus more aware of how exposed he remains, how vulnerable his position is. 

A sudden ringing cuts through the tension. 

Brrr. Brrr. Brrr.

Remus sighs again, deeper this time, as he pulls his phone from his pocket. His eyebrows lift slightly as he glances at the screen. 

"I have to take this," he says, looking down at Regulus. "Stay there and hold my pen. Don't drop it." 

Regulus turns, expecting Remus to hand him the pen, his palm already opening to receive it. Instead, a large hand presses against his lower back, pushing him further against the arm of the couch. Before he can process what's happening, something slim and cool slides between his folds. 

His breath catches as Remus pushes the pen inside his cunt. The intrusion is nothing compared to what his body craves, but the sheer audacity of it—the casual way Remus has decided to use his body as a pen holder, like an object—makes his inner walls clench with desire.

Remus steps away, moving to the side of the room as he answers his phone. "Lupin speaking," he says, his voice shifting to something more professional.

Regulus can feel the ballpoint tip hanging out, a ridiculous tease compared to how open and ready his hole is. His arousal has made his cunt bloom wide, wetness coating his inner thighs. The pen feels absurdly small, a toothpick where he needs a log. 

Is Remus genuinely on a business call? Or is this just another layer to their game? Regulus can't tell from the clipped, professional tone of Remus' voice as he discusses something about "quarterly projections" and "talent acquisition." 

What Regulus does know is that he's dripping wet, his slick making it nearly impossible to keep the pen in place. He tries to clench around it, muscles working desperately to hold onto the smooth plastic, but it's no use. Gravity and his own wetness work against him as the pen begins to slide. 

His heart hammers against his ribs as he feels it slipping, centimetre by centimetre. He tries to shift his hips, to angle himself better, but the movement only hastens its descent. With a soft clink that seems deafening to his ears, the pen falls to the floor.

Regulus sucks in a sharp breath, turning to face Remus who's still on the phone, looking away toward the window. Maybe he didn't hear. Maybe he could reach down quickly and grab it, slip it back inside before Remus turns around. He'd never know. 

His fingers twitch with indecision. He's about to reach for it when Remus' voice cuts through his thoughts. 

"I'll call you back," Remus says into the phone, then turns back to face Regulus. "So sorry, sweetheart. That was rude of me, I—" 

Remus stops mid-sentence, his eyes dropping to where Regulus kneels on the couch, staring at the fallen pen. The air in the room seems to thicken, growing heavy with tension as Remus' expression shifts from apologetic to something darker and more perverse.

"I told you to hold my pen." His voice drops to a low grumble.

Before Regulus can stammer out an excuse, Remus stalks over, his large frame casting a shadow as he looms above. Strong hands grip his hips, pushing him further over the arm of the couch until his ass is raised high, completely at Remus' mercy. 

The first spank lands directly on his cunt, the sting radiating through his core and to his tummy. Regulus gasps, his fingers digging into the velvet upholstery as a second blow follows, then a third, fourth, and fifth—each one drawing a loud yelp from his throat.

The pain transforms into a deep, throbbing pleasure that makes his toes curl inside the white thigh-high socks. His labia swell under Remus' punishing hand, puffing up until his clit is hidden from view, protected by the engorged flesh. 

"I'm sorry," Regulus whimpers, though his body betrays him as he pushes back into Remus' hand, silently begging for more. 

Remus hums, his palm now gently rubbing away the sting, soothing the reddened, sensitive flesh. The tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply with the punishment that preceded it.

"Such a naughty boy," Remus murmurs, his fingers sliding between Regulus' folds, gathering the wetness that's practically dripping from him now. "Couldn't even follow one simple instruction." 

Remus' ministrations suddenly cease, leaving Regulus' cunt throbbing and desperate. The abrupt absence of those skilled fingers makes Regulus whine, his body instinctively arching back, seeking the return of that delicious pressure. He twists his neck, looking over his shoulder to find Remus staring down at him with an expectant expression. 

"What do you say to me, Regulus?" Remus asks, his voice deceptively soft despite the authority it carries. 

Regulus blinks up at him, mind racing through possible responses. His lashes flutter as he tries to discern what Remus wants to hear. 

"Um, s-sorry?" he stutters, the word lifting into a question at the end, betraying his uncertainty.

Remus hums. His massive hand returns to Regulus' pussy, palm covering it entirely as he begins to rub with slow, deliberate strokes. A mocking chuckle escapes his lips.

"Good start, darling, but not what I'm looking for..." Remus murmurs. 

His middle finger dips inside Regulus' hole, just once, just deep enough to make Regulus gasp before it withdraws completely. The emptiness that follows makes Regulus' inner walls clench around nothing, desperate for more. But instead of returning, Remus' hand lifts and falls against his cunt with another deafening slap that echoes through the studio.

Spank!

"I'm taking my time to correct your naughty, disobedient behaviour," Remus emphasises, as if the task is truly cumbersome, a burden he must bear. "What do you say to me?" he asks again, expectant.

Regulus swoons as Remus returns to rubbing his cunt. The older man isn't even targeting his clit, but his hand is so massive that as he palms Regulus' entire pussy, stroking up and down, pleasure shoots through Regulus' core like lightning. Each pass sends waves of heat radiating outward from his centre, making his thighs tremble against the velvet.

"T-thank you, Sir," Regulus stutters out between moans.

Remus hums in approval, the sound deeper now and more satisfied. "Thank me for what?" he prompts, fingers continuing their maddening path across Regulus' swollen folds.

A humiliated whine escapes Regulus' throat as he realises what Remus wants. His cheeks blaze pink, the heat spreading down his neck and across his chest. The words stick in his throat, but the steady pressure of Remus' hand between his legs coaxes them free.

"Thank you for spanking my cunt, Sir," he manages.

Remus rewards him with another pleased hum, his palm pressing harder against Regulus' swollen folds. "Good boy," he murmurs. 

The praise washes over Regulus like warm honey, sweet and thick. He preens beneath it, his body melting further into the couch as Remus continues his ministrations. The older man's fingers slide through his wetness, circling his entrance without ever pushing inside.

"Tell me, darling," Remus says, his voice deceptively conversational, "do you think you deserve to be hired after such a poor performance? Dropping my pen, being unable to follow simple instructions..." He tsks. "Not very professional, is it?"

Panic flutters in Regulus' chest. "Please, Sir," he whimpers, pushing back against Remus' hand. "I'll be good, I promise. I can be professional."

"Can you?" Remus challenges. His fingers finally—finally—slide inside Regulus' aching hole, two thick digits stretching him open. The intrusion pulls a broken moan from Regulus' throat, his inner walls clenching greedily around Remus' fingers. "Because right now, all I see is a desperate little slut who can't even hold a pen in his cunt without getting so wet it slips out."

"I—I'm so sorry, Sir," Regulus stammers, pushing back against Remus' fingers. "I promise I can be good. Please give me another chance." 

Remus studies him for a long moment, his fingers still buried deep inside Regulus' cunt. Then, with a swift motion that leaves Regulus gasping, he withdraws completely and steps back. 

"Hmmm," Remus says, wiping his glistening fingers on his slacks. "Very well.”

Without warning, Remus grasps Regulus by the waist, lifting him effortlessly from the couch. Regulus squeals, his hands instinctively grabbing Remus' forearms for balance. The older man's strength is startling—he handles Regulus as if he weighs nothing at all, depositing him onto his knees on the plush white rug.

Regulus lands with a soft thud, his thighs still trembling from the spanking. He gazes up at Remus, eyes wide and adoring. Something about being manhandled so easily makes his heart race and his cunt throb with renewed need.

"This is part of the inspection too," Remus explains as he kicks one shiny brown boot forward until it rests just inches from Regulus' knees. "I need to make sure you can ride, after all… What good would it be if I hired a pillow princess?" He laughs, the sound deep and mocking.

Regulus frowns, confusion clouding his features as his gaze darts between Remus' smirking face and the extended boot. The polished leather gleams under the studio lights, its surface smooth and unblemished. His eyes travel across the room, landing on a table he hadn't noticed before—one laden with an array of sex toys, including several dildos of varying sizes. 

Tilting his head to the left, Regulus furrows his brow. Surely Remus doesn't expect him to...? But the older man simply looks at him, and then pointedly at his shoe, expectation written across his features. 

"But, can't I ride one of those toys instead, Sir?" Regulus asks, gesturing toward the table of sex toys, his voice small and uncertain. 

Remus chuckles. "Those are for the little boys who don't get wet from being spanked and punished." He leans forward, his brown eyes burning into Regulus'. "So, no, darling, you can prove to me you can ride by rubbing your dirty little clit against my boot."

A soft whine escapes Regulus' throat, but he doesn't protest further. Instead, he shifts forward on his knees until he's straddling Remus' shiny brown boot, his bare cunt hovering just above the polished leather. There's something deeply salacious about the way Remus watches him, hunger laced through every feature as his eyes track Regulus' every movement. The massive bulge tenting his pants is impossible to miss, visual proof of how much this degradation excites him. 

Heart hammering against his ribs, Regulus lowers himself, giving a teasing drag of his folds against the boot. The immediate pleasure that shoots through him is surprising—the drag of his clit against the polished leather sends sparks racing up his core.

"Oh!" The sound escapes him before he can stop it, loud and unfiltered. His fingers scramble for purchase, gripping Remus' thighs for balance. Even through the fabric of Remus' pants, Regulus can feel the solid strength beneath—his thighs are so thick that Regulus' hands don't even span their width. 

Remus watches, lips curled in a predatory smile as Regulus begins to move more deliberately. "Look at you," he mocks as Regulus drags himself along the length of the boot again, "so desperate you'll fuck anything, won't you? Even my dirty old boot." 

The words should make Regulus feel ashamed, but they only intensify the heat building in his core. He whimpers, increasing his pace as his wetness begins to coat the polished leather, leaving glistening trails in his wake. 

Just as he's finding his rhythm, Remus seems to lose interest. The older man pulls his phone from his pocket, his attention suddenly withdrawn as he stares down at the device, tapping away furiously at the screen. The dismissal should be insulting, but instead, it sends another rush of arousal through Regulus' body. 

He whines, grinding against Remus' boot with increasing desperation. Each slick drag sends sparks racing up his spine. Being ignored—treated like a mindless thing whose pleasure is inconsequential—shouldn't make his thighs tremble, shouldn't make his breath catch. Yet there's something delicious in this dismissal, in knowing he's nothing but a toy for Remus' idle amusement. His cunt clenches with need, empty and aching. 

The minutes stretch on, marked only by the obscene wet sounds of his movements and his increasingly ragged breathing. 

When Remus finally pockets his phone, his dark gaze rakes over Regulus' flushed face, taking in every detail of his desperation with predatory satisfaction. 

"Turn around, sweetheart," Remus commands. "Hands and knees, cunt facing me."

Regulus scrambles to comply, pivoting on his knees with an eagerness that betrays his desperation. He positions himself on all fours, back arched and thighs trembling slightly. Before he can settle, Remus' palm presses firmly between his shoulder blades, forcing him down until his cheek meets the plush white rug. In this position—face down, ass up—he's utterly vulnerable, his most intimate parts exposed and glistening under Remus' hungry stare.

The cool leather of Remus' boot returns, this time the tip rubbing directly against Regulus' swollen clit. The pressure is exquisite—firm enough to send waves of pleasure coursing through him but not enough to push him over the edge. 

Regulus falls into a barrage of whines and moans, his legs spreading wider of their own accord, presenting himself shamelessly. The position is humiliating, but he can't bring himself to care. Not when every brush of Remus' boot against his clit brings him closer to the release his body craves.

A low, mocking chuckle sounds from behind him. "Look at you," Remus says, his voice dripping with feigned disgust, "spreading your legs, letting me rub my filthy boot against your cunt." 

Regulus whines, rutting back against the pressure, desperate for more friction. 

"Presenting like a bitch in heat," Remus continues, his boot pressing harder now, the tip circling Regulus' entrance. 

"Please," Regulus gasps, his fingers clawing at the plush rug beneath him. "Please, Sir, I need—" 

"What do you need, darling?" Remus interupts, his voice deceptively gentle despite the cruel teasing of his boot. "Tell me what you're so desperate for." 

"I need to come," Regulus admits, shame and arousal burning through him in equal measure. "Please, daddy, let me come."

"Daddy?" Remus whispers, testing the word, acting surprised by it before letting out a loud groan. 

The sound vibrates through the studio, and Regulus feels it in his bones—that deep, guttural noise of pure want. Remus' boot withdraws suddenly, leaving Regulus' cunt aching and empty. Strong hands grip his shoulders, flipping him over and repositioning him until he's on his knees, facing Remus directly. 

"You want to call me daddy, little one?" Remus asks. His fingers trace Regulus' jaw, tilting his face upward. 

Regulus nods eagerly, his gaze locked on Remus' as the older man begins to undress. First, the buttons of his shirt fall open one by one, revealing the expanse of his chest—salt and pepper hair covering firm muscle. The fabric slides from his broad shoulders, pooling on the floor behind him. 

"You're lucky I don't make you lick my boot clean," Remus says, nodding toward the leather now glistening with Regulus' arousal. "Look how wet you've made it, filthy little thing." 

His hands move to his belt next, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper. The button of his slacks pops open, followed by the slow descent of his zipper.

"Would you like that?" Remus continues, letting his pants fall to his ankles before stepping out of them and his boots. "For daddy to make you lap up your own mess?" 

Regulus whimpers, unable to form words as Remus stands before him in nothing but tight black boxer-briefs. The fabric strains obscenely around his cock, the outline leaving nothing to the imagination. 

"No," Remus decides, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his underwear. "I have something better for that pretty mouth." 

He pushes the fabric down, and his cock springs free—impossibly thick, so long it curves slightly under its own weight. The head is swollen and angry red, already leaking precum from the slit. 

Regulus stares up at him, transfixed by the sight of Remus fully naked. There's a softness to his middle that only emphasises the strength beneath—solid muscle under a layer of comfort. His thighs are thick and powerful, dusted with the same salt and pepper hair that trails down from his chest to his groin. 

Remus wraps one hand around his shaft, giving it a slow stroke. His free hand tangles in Regulus' hair, tugging his head back to force eye contact. "Fuck. Look at you," he groans, "with that pretty little cunt of yours. So tiny and tight, yet I bet you're so wet and ready I could slip this massive cock right inside you, stretch that delicate pussy until you're crying." 

Before Regulus can respond, Remus bends down, hands sliding beneath Regulus' arms. He lifts Regulus off the floor as if he weighs nothing at all. Regulus gasps, arms instinctively wrapping around Remus' neck as he's carried the short distance to the velvet couch.

Remus tosses him down. Regulus lands with a soft "oof," his back hitting the cushions as he bounces slightly on impact. He has no time to recover before Remus is on him, large hands gripping his thighs, pushing them up and back until his knees touch his chest.

Regulus is completely folded in half, exposed and vulnerable beneath Remus' hulking frame. He feels so small beneath Remus, so utterly at his mercy.

"Who does this cunt belong to?" Remus asks, voice dangerously low. The head of his cock slides through Regulus' folds, teasing but never penetrating. "Tell me, baby."

Regulus whimpers. "Y-you," he gasps. "It's yours."

Remus guides the swollen head of his cock to Regulus' entrance, his large hands gripping Regulus' thighs to keep them spread wide. The pressure is immediate and intense as that massive mushroom tip pushes against his hole. 

"Mine," Remus growls, his eyes locked on Regulus' face. "All mine." 

Regulus is so fucking wet, his hole so stretched by his own arousal, so ready to mould around Remus. His body wants this—has wanted this since that first day in the audition room. But Remus is massive, impossibly so. The head of his cock alone is wider than anything Regulus has ever taken before.

The pressure builds as Remus pushes forward, the swollen crown stretching Regulus' entrance beyond what seems physically possible. A burning sensation radiates outward, pleasure and pain intertwining until Regulus can't distinguish between them. 

"Wait," Regulus gasps, his hands snaking around Remus' neck, fingers digging into the solid muscle of his shoulders. "I-I can't, daddy, it's too big, it really is. It's not going to fit." 

Remus groans, his hips stilling immediately. Something shifts in his expression—the predatory hunger giving way to genuine concern as he looks down to where their bodies are trying to join. The realisation dawns on his face: holy fuck, it's genuinely not going to fit!

A small sob escapes Regulus, the frustration overwhelming him. A tear rolls down his cheek as he struggles beneath Remus' weight, torn between wanting to pull away from the painful stretch and wanting to force his body to accept more. 

Remus' expression softens, the hardened exterior of his character melting away. His thumb gently brushes the tear from Regulus' cheek. 

"Hey, baby, don't cry," he whispers, his voice tender now, nothing like the demanding growl from moments before. "Daddy will stop if it's hurting you." 

Regulus whines, unwilling to give up so easily. His hand snakes between their bodies, fingers wrapping around Remus' shaft, trying to guide it forward. With a determined push, the head slips in just slightly, half of the puffy mushroom crown now inside his hole.

"Not hurting," Regulus insists, though his voice wavers. "Just... just want... want..." He can't seem to form the words, frustration making his throat tight.

Remus smiles fondly, understanding. "You just wanted daddy to be able to fuck you, didn't you, darling?"

Regulus nods, pouting, he ruts against Remus to feel the velvety head inside him. The sensation is maddening—not enough to satisfy, but too much to ignore.

"Daddy will make the tip fit, baby," Remus promises, stroking Regulus' hair back from his forehead. "How about that? You're too small for all of daddy's cock, but he'll fuck you with the tip, yeah?" 

The compromise makes Regulus' heart flutter. He nods eagerly, relief and anticipation mingling in his chest. "Yes, please, daddy. Just the tip." 

Remus adjusts his position, bracing one arm beside Regulus' head while the other guides his cock. He rocks his hips in tiny movements, working just the crown of his cock in and out of Regulus' entrance. Each shallow thrust stretches Regulus a little more, his body gradually yielding to the intrusion.

"Look at you," Remus praises. "Taking daddy's cockhead so well." His free hand slides between them, thumb finding Regulus' swollen clit and circling it.

The dual sensations—the stretch of Remus' cock and the skilled touch against his clit—send waves of pleasure cascading through Regulus' body. His back arches off the couch, a high, needy moan escaping his lips. 

"That's it, baby," Remus encourages, continuing the shallow, controlled movements. "Let daddy make you feel good."

Regulus' hands clutch at Remus' shoulders, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in the older man's skin. Each tiny thrust feels more intense than the last, his body gradually adjusting to the size. 

"More, daddy," Regulus begs, even as his inner walls clench and flutter around the intrusion. "Please, just a little more." 

Remus hesitates, concern etched in the lines around his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, sweetheart." 

"You won't," Regulus insists, though he has no way of knowing if that's true. His body craves more despite the burn, desperate to be filled completely by this man who's consumed his thoughts for months. 

Carefully, Remus pushes forward another inch. The ridge of his cockhead finally slips fully inside, the tight ring of muscle closing behind it. Regulus gasps as the puffy mushroom head fills his cunt with a pop!

"Fuck," Remus growls, his composure slipping as Regulus' tight heat engulfs the most sensitive part of his cock. "You're so fucking tight, baby."

Regulus can barely process the praise, his mind overwhelmed by the fullness. He feels split open, stretched beyond what should be possible. And yet, as Remus begins to rock gently, never pushing deeper but working the head of his cock in tiny circles, pleasure starts to build. 

"Oh," Regulus breathes, surprise colouring his voice as that massive cockhead drags against something inside him that makes his toes curl. "Right there."

Remus’ right hand works Regulus' clit in tight circles while his left grips his own shaft, stroking the considerable length that couldn't fit inside. The visual of Remus pleasuring them both simultaneously pushes Regulus rapidly toward the edge.

"That's it, baby," Remus encourages. "Show me how you'd come on camera. Remember, this is still your audition—I need to see if you can sell it when you fall apart."

The reminder of the cameras—the red lights still blinking around the room—sends a fresh wave of heat through Regulus' body. He's being filmed, his most vulnerable moment captured for strangers to see. Somehow, that knowledge only intensifies his arousal. 

"Daddy," Regulus whimpers, feeling the tension coiling tighter in his core. "I'm close, I'm so close." 

Remus increases the pressure on his clit, his movements growing more deliberate. "Come for me, sweetheart. Show everyone how good daddy makes you feel."

The command is all Regulus needs. His body seizes, inner walls clamping down hard on the head of Remus' cock as pleasure crashes through him. His vision blurs, mouth falling open in a silent scream as the orgasm rips through him with unexpected intensity. 

Remus groans at the sensation of Regulus' cunt pulsing around him. "Fuck, baby, that's it. Squeeze daddy's cock, just like that."

Through the haze of his climax, Regulus feels Remus' rhythm falter. The older man's jaw tightens, a vein pulsing in his neck as he fights for control. 

With a sudden groan, Remus pulls out, leaving Regulus empty and aching. The loss is immediate—a hollow absence where that perfect fullness had been just seconds before. Regulus whimpers, his body instinctively chasing after the sensation as his hips lift off the couch. 

Remus wraps his large hand around his shaft, stroking himself with quick, desperate movements. His cock looks impossibly big in his fist, veins standing out along the length as he pumps himself. Beads of sweat roll down his temple, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. 

Before Regulus can mourn the emptiness further, Remus leans down, claiming his mouth in a desperate, carnal kiss. Their teeth clash, tongues sliding against each other in a frantic dance. Regulus moans into Remus' mouth, his small hands clutching at broad shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch and flex beneath his fingertips.

Between their messy kisses, Remus shifts his weight, guiding his cock back between Regulus' legs. The massive head nudges against his entrance. With a careful push, the swollen mushroom crown slips inside, stretching Regulus' hole once more.

"Ah!" Regulus yelps against Remus' mouth, the sound swallowed by another lewd kiss. 

Remus breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against Regulus' as he pants against his lips. "Gonna fill you so much," he growls, "you'll be leaking my come for hours."

Remus' entire body goes rigid above him. A deep, guttural groan tears from his throat as his orgasm crashes through him. Regulus feels it immediately—hot pulses of come flooding his insides, so much of it that it has nowhere to go but out. Warm wetness seeps from his stretched entrance, trickling down between his ass cheeks and onto the velvet couch beneath them. 

"Fuck," Regulus moans, his own body shuddering with aftershocks as Remus continues to fill him. There's something deeply primal about it—being marked from the inside out, claimed in the most intimate way possible. 

Remus stays locked against him, his massive frame shaking with the force of his climax. His cock jerks inside Regulus' cunt, pumping more and more come into the already overfilled space. For several heartbeats, they remain connected, both panting and trembling. 

Slowly, Remus pulls back. His cockhead slips free with an obscene, wet sound that makes Regulus' cheeks burn with heat.

Remus shifts immediately, turning toward one of the cameras positioned at the foot of the couch. He adjusts Regulus' legs, spreading them wider, making sure the angle is perfect before looking down at the mess he's made: a delicious creampie.

Regulus feels utterly exposed as Remus' come trickles from his puffy, over-stretched hole—his body trying to contain what Remus has given him but failing, as pearly rivulets escape him.

"Look at you, darling. So pretty with my come leaking out of you."

Regulus stares up at Remus' face, watching as the older man admires the mess he's made. The words feel like they're coming from far away, and something shifts inside Regulus. The confidence, the playfulness, the heated desire—it all starts to dissolve, leaving him feeling strangely dazed. His limbs feel heavy, his mind foggy. The bright studio lights suddenly seem too harsh, the cameras too intrusive.

A shiver runs through him. He's cold now. So cold. 

"Remus?" His voice comes out small and uncertain.

Remus' expression changes instantly. The hunger in his eyes softens to concern as he studies Regulus' face. "You okay, baby?"

Regulus tries to nod, but his head feels too heavy. A strange emptiness washes over him, making his chest tight and his throat constrict. To his horror, tears begin to well in his eyes. He doesn't even understand why he's crying—everything was perfect, wasn't it? He got what he wanted. Remus wanted him. So why does he suddenly feel so... lost? 

"Cut!" Remus calls out, his voice echoing through the studio. The red lights on the cameras blink off one by one. "Everyone out. Now."

Regulus barely registers the sounds of the crew shuffling out, the door opening and closing. All he knows is that one moment he's lying exposed on the couch, and the next, Remus is wrapping something warm and soft around his shoulders—a thick, fluffy blanket that smells like Remus' cologne. 

"There we go," Remus murmurs, his voice gentle as he tucks the blanket around Regulus' trembling form. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're just dropping a little." 

Regulus nods vaguely, not really understanding but trusting Remus implicitly. He curls against the older man's chest, suddenly craving closeness more than anything else. 

"Remmy," he mumbles, letting his head drop against Remus’ shoulder.

Remus scoops Regulus up, blanket and all, cradling him against his chest. The blanket trails behind them as Remus' footsteps echo across the studio floor, Regulus' face tucked safely against his neck.

"Come on, little one, let me get you cleaned up."

A week later, the video goes live with a salacious title splashed in bold: INNOCENT TWINK CAN’T HANDLE DADDY LUPIN’S MONSTER COCK. Within five days, it shatters records—twenty million views and counting.

----

ONE MONTH LATER

Remus leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his bare chest, watching Regulus with a mixture of fondness and desire. The boy stands naked in front of a mirror, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he holds up two different thongs—one black lace, one pink satin—clearly torn between which to choose. The indecision creates a little wrinkle between his brows that Remus finds irresistibly endearing. 

He clears his throat, making his presence known. Regulus jumps, spinning toward him with wide eyes before his expression melts into a shy smile, that plump bottom lip still trapped between his teeth. 

"You're running very late, sweetheart," Remus rumbles. 

The fluorescent light overhead casts harsh shadows across his exposed torso, highlighting the salt and pepper hair that covers his chest and trails down to disappear beneath the waistband of his worn denim jeans. The softness of his belly contrasts with the firm muscle underneath.

Regulus shrugs innocently, the gesture so deliberately coy it makes Remus' cock twitch against his zipper. He steps further into the room, a devious smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The wooden floorboards creak beneath his weight as he approaches, not stopping until they're chest to chest, Regulus' small frame dwarfed by his larger one. 

"You know we're shooting a penetration scene today, baby," Remus says, his voice dropping to that gravelly register he knows makes Regulus weak. "Have you even prepped yourself?" 

Without waiting for an answer, he reaches between Regulus' legs, fingers finding his cunt. It's wet, but nowhere near as wet as he needs to be.

"Tsk tsk, naughty boy running very late indeed." The reprimand rolls off his tongue.

Remus can't help but marvel at how far they've come. It had taken five full scenes before they'd managed to make his cock fit inside Regulus properly. The first attempts had been exercises in frustration—Regulus stretched on thick dildos before each shoot, his body technically prepared but never quite ready enough. The toys stretched him, yes, but they didn't turn him on the way a real cock did. They didn't create that fluttering in his stomach, that melting sensation that naturally widened his body to accept more. 

The solution had been staring them in the face all along: James bloody Potter. 

James' cock is massive—not anywhere near Remus' size, but still substantial enough to stretch Regulus and open him up. And Regulus responds beautifully to the attention, his body fluttering and cunt dripping with wetness as James fucks him open before shoots, preparing him to take Remus' enormous cock. 

The first time they'd tried it, Remus had been sceptical. But when his cock had slipped inside Regulus during their scene—more than just the tip, albeit still with considerable effort—he'd been converted to the approach. So now, this is their routine: Regulus shoots scenes exclusively with Remus, but James is the one who fucks him open beforehand. 

A routine that Regulus is currently disrupting with his tardiness. 

Remus plucks the pink satin thong from Regulus' fingers and shoves it in his worn denim pocket. "This one. Decision made." 

Without warning, he bends down and scoops Regulus into his arms, then hoists him over his shoulder like a bag of flour. The boy's naked body dangles against his back, soft skin warm against Remus' bare chest. 

"Remus!" Regulus squeals, his small fists pounding against Remus' back as he carries him into the hallway. "Put me down!"

Remus chuckles, one large hand splayed across Regulus' bare ass to keep him secure. He feels the boy's struggles, half-hearted at best, more playful than genuinely resistant. "Stop squirming or I'll spank you right here in the hallway where anyone could see." 

That only makes Regulus kick his legs harder, which tells Remus everything he needs to know.

He strides down the corridor, passing several closed doors before stopping at the one he wants. Regulus continues his theatrical protests, giggling between demands to be released.

Remus pushes open the door to James' dressing room. Inside, James lounges completely naked on the worn leather couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, phone in hand. The dragon tattoo across his chest seems to roar as he looks up, eyes crinkling with amusement at the sight of them.

"You're late," James says, setting his phone aside. 

Remus finally lowers Regulus, keeping him pressed back-to-chest against his body for a moment. He watches over Regulus' shoulder as the boy's eyes meet James', a delicious blush spreading across his cheeks. 

"Hi Jamie," Regulus mumbles, suddenly shy despite having been fucked by the man countless times.

"Hi darling," James responds, smiling,

Remus rolls his eyes at their little performance. 

With an exaggerated sigh, Remus effortlessly scoops Regulus up again and drags him toward James. He plops the boy directly onto James' lap, positioning him so he sinks straight down onto James' waiting, half-hard cock.

Regulus gasps, his back arching as he's impaled. His hands fly to James' shoulders, steadying himself as his body adjusts to the sudden intrusion. 

This has quickly become one of Regulus' favourite games—when Remus treats him like a little toy to be positioned and placed, plopped onto James' dick whenever Remus feels like it. The first time had been an accident of sorts. Remus had grown impatient with their flirting and simply manhandled Regulus into position. The boy's reaction—that sharp intake of breath, the way his eyes had rolled back, the immediate wetness that had soaked onto James’ dick—had made it clear how much he enjoyed being handled this way.

"There we go," Remus says, satisfaction evident in his voice as he watches Regulus settle onto James' lap. "Much better than standing around trying to pick out underwear, isn't it?" 

James grins up at him, hands already finding their place on Regulus' hips. "He was being indecisive again?" 

"Black lace or pink satin," Remus confirms, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches them. "As if it matters when they'll be off within minutes anyway." 

Regulus whimpers, his hips already starting to move in small, grinding circles. "I like to look pretty for you both," he protests, voice breathy. 

"You're pretty no matter what you wear, baby," James says, leaning forward to place a kiss on Regulus' shoulder. 

Remus moves to the armchair opposite the couch, settling in to watch as James' hands guide Regulus into a slow rhythm. This is his favourite part of their arrangement—watching James work Regulus open, preparing him for what comes next. There's something deeply satisfying about seeing someone else pleasure what belongs to him, especially when he's orchestrating every movement… admittedly, he doesn’t mind watching James either.

Remus sighs as he watches them a moment longer, his cock hard in his pants. The sight of Regulus bouncing on James' lap, those tiny gasps escaping his parted lips, the way his small hands clutch desperately at James' shoulders—it's almost too much to bear. His own arousal throbs painfully against his zipper, demanding attention he can't give it yet. 

He stands up with a reluctant groan, adjusting himself in his pants. "Faster, James, we're already behind schedule."

James complies immediately, his hands tightening on Regulus' hips as he thrusts upward with more force. Regulus' head falls back, a broken moan escaping his lips that shoots straight to Remus' cock. 

Remus smiles, turning to leave and finish getting ready himself. There's still makeup to check, lighting to approve, and a dozen other tasks that require his attention before they can start filming.

"Remus?" James' voice perks up, stopping him in his tracks. 

He turns, eyebrow arched in question. James' gaze washes over him, taking in the bulge in his jeans, the pudge of his stomach, the strength of his arms, and the pool of salt and pepper chest hair and stubble. There's something appreciative in that look, something that makes heat curl in Remus' belly. 

"Wanna get a beer after work, the three of us?" 

The invitation catches Remus off guard. In all their months working together like this, they've kept things strictly professional—well, as professional as one can be while manhandling and fucking the same boy. They've never socialised outside the studio.

"Don't drink beer," Regulus whines, the words coming out broken between moans as James continues to pierce him up and down. 

James and Remus chuckle in unison, their eyes meeting as they notice their shared fondness. Something warm and unexpected blooms in Remus' chest.

"I'll buy you something fruity and sweet, okay, darling?" James promises, his voice tender and soft.

Regulus nods, turning his head to face Remus, eyes wide with hope. 

Something shifts in Remus' perception. He's spent all these weeks viewing James as a tool—a cock that warms Regulus up for him, the body that stretches his boy open. Now, watching James cradle Regulus with such tenderness, thumbs stroking small, adoring circles on those narrow hips, Remus finds himself wondering if, perhaps, he’s been thinking about this all wrong.

He smiles, nodding. "Yeah..." he says, trailing off. His eyes take in James' body, his turn to gawk now—noting the toned muscle and wild tufts of silky hair. 

"I'd like that a lot actually."