Kota stepped out of the narrow hallway and followed the thunderous sound of rock music vibrating through the concrete floor. The heavy metal door to the main showroom was propped open, and the moment he pushed through, the full force of the concert hit him like a physical wall. The room was packed with about five hundred and fifty people, a sea of femboys with their massive asses swaying and bouncing as they headbanged in chaotic unison. The air was thick with sweat, cheap beer, and the electric crackle of a guitar solo that seemed to shred reality itself.
On stage was a one man concert, a single performer who commanded the entire space like he was born on it. He was tall and lean with dark, messy hair that fell over one eye, a sharp jawline, and arms corded with lean muscle that flexed every time his fingers flew across the guitar. He was shredding and singing at the same time, his voice a raw, gravelly howl that somehow stayed perfectly in tune while his hands worked the fretboard with insane precision. Sweat glistened on his bare chest under the hot stage lights, the only thing he wore being a pair of impossibly tight leather pants that hugged the dramatic flare of his hips and the monumental shelf of his ass. The crowd was losing their collective mind.
He was clearly near the end of his set, the song building to a crashing, violent crescendo, and the femboys in the audience were already fighting their way toward the stage. Security guards formed a thin, overwhelmed line at the barricade, but they were no match for the sheer desperation of five hundred horny fans. A shorter, slimmer femboy near the front managed to break through, scrambling up onto the stage with the frantic energy of a man possessed. His tiny frame was dwarfed by his own massive ass, the cheeks bouncing wildly in his ripped shorts as he sprinted toward the singer.
"DILLYN! I LOVE YOU! MARRY MEEEEE!" he screamed, voice cracking with pure, unfiltered adoration.
Security moved to intercept, two bulky guys in black shirts surging forward, but Dillyn raised one hand and gently waved them off. The guards hesitated, then stepped back as the singer separated himself from the chaos with an almost lazy grace. He walked up to the shorter femboy, towering over him, and hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his face up until their eyes met.
"What's your name, cutie?" Dillyn asked, his voice dropping into a low, husky purr that somehow carried over the dying feedback of his guitar.
The femboy's whole body trembled. His cheeks burned bright red, freckles vanishing under the flush as he stammered, "Ummm… Freddy. My name's Freddy."
Dillyn's grin widened, slow and predatory and full of promise. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of Freddy's ear, but spoke loud enough for the whole front row to hear. "Then I'm going to give Freddy a night he will never forget."
Before Freddy could squeak out a response, Dillyn closed the distance and kissed him hard. It wasn't a gentle, tentative press of lips. It was a full on, tongue deep, dominating kiss that made Freddy's knees buckle. Dillyn's hand slid down Freddy's back and grabbed a huge handful of his ass, fingers sinking deep into the plush cheek as he squeezed and kneaded right there in front of everyone. Freddy moaned into the kiss, his tiny hands clutching at Dillyn's bare chest for support.
The crowd erupted. The roar of cheers was deafening, but underneath it ran a current of pure, green eyed jealousy. Femboys screamed and shoved each other, desperate to be the next one pulled on stage.
"DILLYN! KISS ME TOO! I'LL DO ANYTHING!"
"I'LL STRIP NAKED RIGHT NOW! EVERYTHING OFF! PLEASE JUST LOOK AT ME!"
"I'LL BE YOUR STRESS RELIEVER FOR THE WHOLE TOUR! YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO PAY ME! I'LL FOLLOW THE BUS AND SUCK YOU OFF AFTER EVERY SHOW!"
"DILLYN PLEASE! I HAVEN'T BEEN FUCKED IN THREE MONTHS AND MY HOLE IS SO TIGHT! LET ME BE YOUR BACKSTAGE TOY!"
"MARRY ME INSTEAD! I COOK! I CLEAN! I CAN TAKE A FIST IN MY ASS WITHOUT WARMUP!"
"I'LL LET YOU USE ME AS A GUITAR STAND! JUST STAND ME ON STAGE AND REST YOUR GUITAR ON MY ASS WHILE YOU PLAY!"
The offers grew filthier and more desperate, overlapping into a wall of noise that vibrated through the sticky floor. Femboys were actually crying, tears of frustration and lust streaming down their faces as they reached toward the stage like worshippers at an altar. A few near the front started ripping their shirts off, tossing them toward Dillyn's feet. One particularly bold femboy managed to get his tiny shorts down around his ankles before security tackled him.
Dillyn finally broke the kiss, pulling back from Freddy with a wet, satisfied smack of lips. Freddy was completely dazed, eyes glassy, mouth still open, a thin string of spit connecting his swollen lips to Dillyn's. The singer turned to face the roaring crowd, one arm still wrapped possessively around Freddy's slim waist, and blew a kiss toward the audience with theatrical flair.
The femboys went absolutely feral. The screaming reached a pitch that made the speakers crackle.
Dillyn leaned into the microphone one last time, his voice cutting through the chaos with calm authority. "No meet and greets tonight, darlings. I've got other plans." He turned to Freddy, tilting his chin up again with one finger, and whispered loud enough for the mic to catch, "Let's go backstage, ay cutie?"
Freddy nodded so hard his whole body shook. "Yes. Yes. Please. Anything. Yes."
The crowd's energy shifted from adoration to despair. Fans who had clearly come to the show for Dillyn and Dillyn alone began shuffling toward the exits, their faces crumpled with disappointment. Some were still crying, wiping mascara streaked tears as they shot jealous glares at Freddy's retreating back. Within minutes, the massive showroom that had been packed wall to wall was nearly empty. A few scattered roadies moved around the stage, coiling cables and breaking down equipment. The floor was littered with crushed cups, discarded shirts, and a single abandoned shoe.
Kota stood near the back, having watched the entire spectacle with a mix of amusement and disbelief. The room felt cavernous now, the echoes of the screaming fans still ringing off the walls. He was about to turn and head back toward the Pure Despair green room when movement on stage caught his eye.
Dillyn hadn't gone backstage yet. He was still standing at the edge of the stage, one hand resting casually on his guitar strap, dark eyes locked directly on Kota. Freddy must have scurried off to wait for him, because the singer was alone now, and he was grinning.
He hopped down from the stage with the effortless grace of someone who had done it a thousand times. His leather pants creaked with every step, hugging the massive swell of his ass in ways that seemed almost obscene under the dimming lights. Up close, Dillyn was even more striking, sweat still glistening on his chest, the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones giving him an almost wolfish quality.
"You," Dillyn said, stopping a few feet away and tilting his head. "You didn't leave with the rest of them. Don't you want an autograph or something? A selfie? Most people would kill for a chance like this."
Kota shook his head, hands still in his pockets. "Nah. I'm apparently a manager for one of the other bands. Pure Despair. I'm just here to watch."
Dillyn's eyebrows rose. Then he laughed, a low, condescending sound that echoed through the empty room. It wasn't a cruel laugh, exactly, but it carried the unmistakable weight of someone who knew exactly where he stood in the hierarchy of fame. "Pure Despair? Those nobodies? The band that had to blow the venue owner just to get a slot on a Tuesday night?" He shook his head, still chuckling. "You're wasting your time with them, cutie. They're going nowhere. I've been headlining shows like this for three years. I've got a record deal, a tour bus, groupies in every city. Those guys? They're still playing for drink tickets and pocket change."
He stepped closer, close enough that Kota could smell the sweat on his skin and the faint trace of expensive cologne underneath. His voice dropped into a low, silky purr. "A cutie like you deserves better. Someone who can actually do something for your career. Someone who can show you what real success looks like." He leaned in, dark eyes sweeping over Kota's broad shoulders, the rumpled black shirt, the gray slacks that did nothing to hide the heavy bulge underneath. "What do you say? Want to be my manager instead? The perks are… significant."