Dillyn's face went through about fifteen different shades of red in the span of three seconds. He scrambled to cover himself, grabbing a discarded jacket from the floor and holding it awkwardly in front of the strap on harness that was still very much strapped to his hips, the realistic dildo bobbing obscenely with every panicked movement. His dark, smoldering rock star persona had completely evaporated, leaving behind a very flustered, very embarrassed young man who looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
"What the fuck are you doing spying on us?"
Dillyn demanded, his voice cracking on the last word. The smooth, husky purr he'd used on stage and in his dirty talk was gone, replaced by something shrill and defensive.
"This is a private dressing room. You can't just barge in here like you own the place. Get out. Now."
Freddy, who had been blindfolded the entire time with a strip of black silk tied around his eyes, reached up and pulled the fabric down over his face. He blinked against the sudden light, his flushed cheeks still wet with tears of pleasure, his lips swollen from all the moaning. His eyes darted between Dillyn's panicked expression and the very obvious strap on harness, the realistic dildo that definitely did not match the tiny, flushed cocklet trapped against Dillyn's stomach.
"Wait," Freddy said slowly, his post orgasm haze clearing as confusion set in. "What's going on? Why is he laughing? What's—"
His eyes dropped to the harness. To the straps. To the dildo. His face crumpled.
"Wait. Dillyn. Is that... is that not real?"
Dillyn's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for water. "Freddy, I can explain—"
Kota processed what was happening, the blindfold coming off, the dawning realization on Freddy's face, and absolutely lost it all over again. He collapsed against the doorframe, one hand braced on his knee, the other pointing shakily at the two of them.
"AHAHAHAHAHA! FREDDY! YOU THOUGHT IT WAS REAL! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HE HAD YOU BLINDFOLDED AND EVERYTHING! OH MY GOD!"
He was rolling on the floor now, literally rolling, his broad shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter. The concrete was cold against his back, but he didn't care. The tears were streaming down his face again, his stomach muscles aching from the force of his cackling.
Freddy's expression shifted from confusion to disappointment to genuine hurt. He pulled away from Dillyn completely, grabbing the discarded shirt from the floor and holding it against his chest like a shield.
"What is real, Dillyn? Because that," he pointed at the strap on, his voice trembling, "is a dildo. A plastic dildo. Not your cock. You told me your cock was big. You told me it would split me open. You made me wear a blindfold and talked about how huge you were and the whole time it was just... just a toy?"
"Freddy, listen—"
"I thought my idol was a big dicked dom!"
Freddy's voice rose, cracking with genuine emotion. His freckled face was bright red now, but not from arousal. From humiliation.
"I've been following your music for three years! I've been to twelve of your shows! I have posters of you on my bedroom wall! I waited outside this venue for four hours just to get a spot near the front! And you... you lied to me! You made me think I was taking this massive, incredible cock when it was just plastic the whole time! Why would you do that? Why would you lie to someone who loves you this much?"
Dillyn ran a shaking hand through his dark hair, the sweat cooling on his bare chest. His voice came out defensive, almost petulant.
"It's not a big deal, okay? Lots of performers use props and stage personas. It's part of the show. The fans expect a certain image, a certain fantasy, and I give it to them. That's my job. I'm an entertainer. What difference does it make if it's real or not? You were enjoying yourself. You were moaning. You came, didn't you? So what's the problem?"
"The problem is you lied!" Freddy shouted, throwing the shirt down.
"You didn't say it was a fantasy. You didn't say it was a prop. You made it seem like it was really you, really your body, and you let me believe that while you fucked me and called me a slut and told me I'd never find another man like you. That's not entertainment. That's just being a liar. And it's mean. You're mean."
"I'm not mean! I'm giving you what you wanted. Every fan who comes backstage wants the same thing. The big cock. The dominant rock star. The fantasy. If I told them the truth, they'd be disappointed. They'd leave. They'd stop coming to shows. My career would be over. You think I want to use a strap on? You think I like pretending to be something I'm not? I don't have a choice!"
"There's always a choice! You could've just been honest with me from the start instead of treating me like I'm too stupid to notice the difference!"
Kota's laughter had faded as the argument escalated. He sat up on the floor, wiping the tears from his cheeks, and watched the two femboys scream at each other. Freddy's hurt was genuine, his idol worship shattered in real time. Dillyn's defensiveness was a thin mask over something deeper, something that looked a lot like shame. The whole scene was spiraling fast, and Kota realized with a sigh that he had accidentally caused this. His laughing fit had exposed a truth that probably would have stayed hidden, and now two people were genuinely upset.
He stood up, brushed the dust off his gray slacks, and stepped between them.
"Alright, alright, enough. Both of you. Shut the fuck up for a second."
Freddy and Dillyn both turned to stare at him, their argument stalling mid sentence.
Kota pointed at Dillyn. "You. You're not as experienced at sex as you pretend to be. That's fine. You built a dom persona because your fans respond to it, and you're good at it. The voice, the confidence, the way you command a stage. That's real talent. But you're insecure about your actual penis size, so you use a strap on to compensate. Also fine. Lots of guys do that. There's nothing wrong with using toys. The problem isn't the strap on. The problem is you lied about it."
He turned to Freddy. "And you. You're hurt because your idol wasn't honest with you. You feel tricked. That's valid. But let me ask you something."
He crossed his arms, tilting his head.
"If Dillyn had told you from the start that he has a regular small cock like everyone else, and that he likes using a strap on because it helps him feel confident, would you still have wanted to fuck him?"
Freddy's mouth opened, then closed. His cheeks flushed a different shade of red, this time from embarrassment rather than anger. He looked down at his feet, then back up at Dillyn, who was standing there looking miserable and exposed with the harness still strapped around his hips.
"No," Freddy admitted quietly, shaking his head.
"I wouldn't have cared. I still would've wanted to. He's still Dillyn. He's still my idol. The cock was never the most important part. It was him. It was always him."
Dillyn's defensive posture crumbled. His shoulders slumped, and he let the jacket fall away from his hips, no longer trying to hide the harness. He stared at Freddy like he was seeing him for the first time.
Kota clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp and final.
"Well, there you go. That's settled. Dillyn, stop lying to your fans. They like you for you, not for some fake big dick fantasy. Freddy, you're not mad about the strap on, you're mad about the lie, and now you've said your piece. So can you two please go back to fucking? Because honestly, the tension in here is killing me."
Freddy and Dillyn looked at each other for a long, awkward moment. Then Dillyn let out a shaky laugh, his rock star composure slowly returning.
"He's right. I'm sorry, Freddy. I should've been honest."
Freddy smiled, small but genuine, and stepped closer. "It's okay. Just... no more blindfolds. I want to see your face this time."
They came together in a softer, more tentative kiss than before, the anger melting into something warmer. Dillyn's hands settled on Freddy's hips, the strap on still jutting between them, but neither of them seemed to care anymore. Freddy reached down and gently unbuckled the harness, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. They kept kissing, slower now, more real.
Kota watched them for a moment, then remembered why he had followed the sounds in the first place. His hyperspermia. The constant, throbbing fullness in his balls. He had only cum four times today. He needed at least one more release before the pressure built into something dangerous. And here he was, in a room with two very attractive, very naked femboys who were clearly about to have make up sex.
He reached up and started unbuttoning his black shirt, the fabric falling away to reveal his broad chest and defined abs. His fingers moved to his belt next, the metal buckle clinking softly in the quiet room.
"Hey," Kota said, his voice casual but carrying an undertone of heat. "You two want the real thing instead?"