The band walked out on stage, and the lights flared bright white before settling into a deep, pulsing purple that matched the venue's grimy aesthetic.
The equipment was mostly set up already from the previous act, amps humming with faint feedback, drum kit waiting on its riser.
Below the stage, the crowd was sparse but present, about fifty people scattered across the floor that had been packed with five hundred screaming fans just an hour earlier. The difference was stark, but Corey didn't seem to care. He strutted to the front of the stage with his bass slung low, white hair catching the purple lights, and grabbed the microphone like he was headlining a stadium.
"Wooow," Corey whistled, his voice echoing through the half empty room. "What a crowd, am I right? Look at all these beautiful faces. I've fucked at least forty five of you personally, so I know you didn't come here for the acoustics."
A few scattered laughs rippled through the audience. Someone near the back, a lanky femboy with visible hickeys on his neck and a bored expression, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Hurry up and fucking play so we can go home! Some of us have work tomorrow!"
Corey clutched his chest like he'd been shot, staggering backward with theatrical drama. His plump ass jiggled with the movement, the baggy gray jeans slipping another inch down his hips.
"That's soooo mean. And just when I was going to let my most loyal fan have a five minute quickie with one of us after the show. But I guess if everyone wants to leave so badly..."
The crowd erupted. The bored, sparse energy of fifty tired femboys transformed instantly into a frenzy of desperate, overlapping pleas.
"WAIT NO I DIDN'T MEAN IT I'LL STAY ALL NIGHT PLEASE!"
"I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING YOU GUYS SINCE THE BASEMENT SHOWS DON'T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!"
"FIVE MINUTES IS ALL I NEED I SWEAR I'LL MAKE IT COUNT!"
"I'LL DO ANYTHING! ANYTHING! I'LL SUCK OFF THE WHOLE BAND!"
"PLEASE COREY I'VE BEEN EDGING FOR THREE DAYS WAITING FOR THIS SHOW!"
Corey's pout melted into a pleased, blushing smile. He pressed one hand to his cheek, the other still gripping the mic, and let out a happy little sigh.
"Awww, you guys. I'm so glad everyone loves us so much. But now I'm curious." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he paced the front of the stage, hips swaying.
"Who do you love more? Let's do a little poll. Audience participation time."
He pointed toward Mort, who was standing rigid near the amps, his guitar already strapped on, his blunt bob haircut perfectly still as he glared at the crowd with open hostility.
"Who here wants to fuck Mort's feisty ass? Give him a big round of applause if you want a piece of that angry little package."
Mort moved faster than anyone expected. He snatched the microphone straight from Corey's hand with a violent yank, the feedback screeching for half a second before he brought it to his lips. His voice came out flat, cold, and utterly serious.
"I will bite the balls off of whoever even thinks of clapping."
The room went dead silent. Not a single pair of hands moved. Some femboys in the front row actually took a step backward. Mort's dark eyes swept across the crowd like a predator sizing up prey, and when he was satisfied that no one was stupid enough to test him, he shoved the mic back into Corey's chest with enough force to make him stumble.
Corey laughed it off, completely unbothered. "Okay, okay, feisty indeed. What about Gideon?" He gestured toward the towering gothic femboy who had taken his place at the mic stand, his corset gleaming under the lights, his dark red eyeshadow making him look like a vampire who had wandered into the wrong venue.
About five people cheered. It was a small but enthusiastic group clustered near the left side of the stage, all of them tall, all of them staring up at Gideon with unmistakable hunger. They clearly had a tall fetish. Gideon inclined his head toward them with that same calm, unfathomable expression, and one of the femboys in the group actually swooned, grabbing onto his friend for support.
Corey grinned and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his baggy gray jeans. He turned around slowly, giving everyone a perfect view of his plump, pale ass as he sensually lowered the fabric inch by agonizing inch. The waistband slid down over the swell of his cheeks, revealing the deep cleft, the soft flesh jiggling with every tiny movement. He stopped just before the fabric would have exposed his cock, the jeans hanging precariously on the very edge of indecency.
"And who wants to fuck me?" he purred into the mic.
Forty people clapped. It was loud, enthusiastic, and accompanied by a chorus of wolf whistles and shameless moans. Corey blew a kiss toward the crowd and winked.
"That's what I thought. I'll be picking five lucky fans to have some fun with after the show. So stick around."
He pulled his pants back up, but not before giving his ass one last deliberate jiggle for the audience. Then he turned his attention toward the drum riser, where Toby was sitting frozen behind his kit, drumsticks clutched in both hands like they were the only things keeping him anchored to the earth.
"And finally," Corey said, his voice softening just a little, "who wants to fuck Toby?"
The entire audience clapped and cheered and screamed and yelled. It wasn't the polite applause Gideon had gotten or the lustful enthusiasm Corey had inspired. It was a full throated, wall shaking roar of pure adoration. Fifty people sounded like five hundred as they erupted for the soft, curvy drummer with the ginger hair and the trembling hands.
"TOBY! TOBY! TOBY! TOBY!"
"I WANT TO FUCK HIM SO BAD HE'S SO CUTE!"
"THAT SOFT LITTLE ASS WAS MADE TO BE RUINED!"
"TOBY I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING YOU SINCE THE FIRST PRACTICE VIDEO YOU POSTED!"
"I WANT TO HEAR HIM MOAN WHILE I POUND THAT PLUMP LITTLE BOOTY!"
"HE'S SO PRECIOUS I JUST WANT TO HOLD HIM DOWN AND MAKE HIM CRY!"
"TOBY IF YOU LET ME FUCK YOU I'LL TREAT YOU SO GENTLE I PROMISE!"
"NO FUCK THAT I WANT TO WRECK HIM UNTIL HE CAN'T WALK!"
"TOBY PLEASE LET ME BE ONE OF THE FIVE I'M BEGGING YOU!"
Corey was blushing now, genuinely caught off guard by the intensity of the response. He blinked at the screaming crowd, then looked back at Toby, who was shrinking behind his drum kit like he wanted to disappear into the kick drum.
"Wow. Okay. I'm... actually surprised you guys like him that much. No offense, Tobs, but I thought for sure they'd be more into Mort or me. This is a lot."
Toby's voice came out small and shaky, barely audible even through the mic that Corey had angled toward him. "It's... it must be a misunderstanding. They probably meant Mort or Corey. Not me. I'm just the drummer. Nobody wants to... they don't want me. They can't."
Corey's grin returned, softer this time but no less mischievous.
"Well, it looks like they do want you, buddy. So here's what we're gonna do. I'll be picking five lucky fans to have an hour long quickie with Toby after the show."
The crowd went absolutely ballistic. Cheers and screams and stomping feet shook the floor. Femboys were hugging each other, jumping up and down, waving their hands frantically to get Corey's attention. Toby's face went pale, then bright red, his freckles vanishing under the flush.
"I didn't sign up for this!" he squeaked, drumsticks clattering against the snare as his hands shook. "Corey, you can't just volunteer me for... for... five people!"
Corey walked over to the drum riser, leaning in close so only Toby could hear him. His voice dropped low, intimate, the teasing edge replaced by something more genuine.
"But you want it, don't you, Tobs? Deep down. You love your fans. You want to be a good boy for them. I've seen the way you read their comments online. The way you blush when they call you cute."
Toby's breath hitched. His eyes darted toward the screaming crowd, then back to Corey. His voice came out in a tiny, trembling whisper that Corey made sure to catch with the mic. "I... I love my fans. And I want to be a good boy for my fans."
The crowd erupted again. "TOBY I LOVE YOUUUU!" someone screamed from the front row, and the rest of the audience took up the chant until the whole room was vibrating with it.
Corey smiled and ruffled Toby's hair before turning back to the crowd. "Alright, alright, that was all fun and dandy. But now it's time for the concert to actually start."
He slung his bass into position, fingers finding the frets with practiced ease. Mort grabbed his guitar, the instrument looking almost comically large against his compact frame, and shot Corey one last withering glare. Toby took a deep, shaky breath, adjusted his grip on the drumsticks, and sat up straighter behind his kit.
Gideon stepped up to the main microphone, his towering presence commanding immediate attention. The crowd fell silent, waiting. He gripped the mic stand with one pale, elegant hand, closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. His deep voice rolled out across the room like a storm gathering on the horizon.
"The night swallows us all in the end. Let us make it remember our names before it does."