MasukTravis leaned back in the booth at the upscale restaurant, the clink of glasses and low hum of chatter fading as he watched the trio across from him, Dave, Henry, and Carla, celebrate Dave’s acceptance into Matilde’s workshop.
The dinner was Henry’s idea, a rare moment of pause in their relentless schedules, and Travis, dragged along as Henry’s plus-one, felt like an outsider peering into a world he’d only glimpsed.His perspective on them was sharp, colored by years of navigating the industry’s underbelly, his loyalty to Henry, and a growing unease about the tangled bonds unfolding before him.Henry was radiant, his laughter warm as he slung an arm around Dave, his pride palpable.“To Dave,” he said, raising his glass, “for proving he’s got the chops, no strings attached.”Dave flushed, his usual polished mask softened, his eyes catching Henry’s with a mix of gratitude and something deeper, love, maybe, though Travis wasn’t sure he wTravis leaned back in the booth at the upscale restaurant, the clink of glasses and low hum of chatter fading as he watched the trio across from him, Dave, Henry, and Carla, celebrate Dave’s acceptance into Matilde’s workshop. The dinner was Henry’s idea, a rare moment of pause in their relentless schedules, and Travis, dragged along as Henry’s plus-one, felt like an outsider peering into a world he’d only glimpsed. His perspective on them was sharp, colored by years of navigating the industry’s underbelly, his loyalty to Henry, and a growing unease about the tangled bonds unfolding before him.Henry was radiant, his laughter warm as he slung an arm around Dave, his pride palpable. “To Dave,” he said, raising his glass, “for proving he’s got the chops, no strings attached.” Dave flushed, his usual polished mask softened, his eyes catching Henry’s with a mix of gratitude and something deeper, love, maybe, though Travis wasn’t sure he w
Henry stepped into the recording studio, the air humming with anticipation. Travis trailed behind, already rattling off schedules, but Henry’s focus was on the mic waiting for him. Jamal and Paulina were there, a surprise visit, their presence a jolt of validation. “Kill it, man,” Jamal said, clapping Henry’s shoulder. Paulina flashed a grin, her voice warm. “Heard the buzz. This single’s gonna blow up. Good luck.” They left as quickly as they came, their schedules pulling them away, but their words lingered, fueling Henry’s fire.The single was raw, a piece of his soul poured into lyrics about Dave, veiled enough for the world, but unmistakable to the man himself. Every chord, every shift in tone, was a confession, a map of their stolen moments, their tangled hearts. Henry stepped to the mic, guitar in hand, and let it flow. No take-twos, no stumbles. His voice carried the weight of Dave’s tear
Dave’s penthouse was a sanctuary of shadows, the morning light still hours away as he pulled Carla closer, his voice low but resolute. “One last time, Carla. You, me, Henry. A final goodbye to selling ourselves.”Carla froze, her eyes flicking to Henry’s naked form, his cock still hard, dwarfing Victor’s or Carlos’s. Her cheeks flushed, a mix of shame and desire. Henry’s brow furrowed, his gaze darting between them. “Why her, Dave? What’s this about?”Dave’s eyes burned with conviction. “Defiance. You’re our light, Henry. You give us courage to start over. This is for Carla, to erase every trace of those deals, to feel something real.”Carla’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away as Dave began unbuttoning her blouse, her skirt sliding to the floor. Naked, her body bore the evidence of Victor’s “meeting” his cum still leaking from her pussy, a stark reminder of her sacrifice. Henry’s jaw tightened, but he moved wi
Dave’s chest tightened, Carla informed him she was still chaining herself to Victor’s bed, clawing to keep their lifeline intact now that Victor’s interest in Dave had withered. Alone, the penthouse felt like a tomb, its luxury mocking his fragility.On impulse, he texted Henry: Come over. I’m falling apart. He didn’t expect a reply. Dave curled into the silk sheets, exhaustion pulling him under again, until the midnight doorbell pierced the haze. He stumbled to the door, heart lurching at Henry’s silhouette, guitar slung over his shoulder, sweat beading on his brow, stage makeup glittering like a warrior’s warpaint under the hallway lights.“Got your text late,” Henry said, voice rough with urgency. “Was guesting, three songs. Ran as soon as I read it.” His eyes, dark and searching, held Dave’s, seeing the cracks beneath his polished surface.Dave’s throat tightened, a flicker of warmth cutting through the cold sham
The hotel suite was a gilded cage, its opulent decor a stark contrast to the raw desperation filling the air. Dave sat among the six hopefuls, four women and another man, all draped in thin robes, their faces a mix of resignation and hunger. They knew the drill, just as Dave did. The industry was a beast, and Carlos Taylor was its latest gatekeeper. Dave’s edge was Carla, his connection sharper than the others’, but in this room, they were all equals, selling their bodies for a shot at the screen.Kaila, Carlos’s assistant, moved with clinical efficiency, her wedding ring glinting as she handed out briefing packets. Her voice was flat, practiced. “Mark what you’re willing to do. Carlos expects compliance. Stick to orgies and group play, he needs rest after this.” Her eyes flicked over them, unjudging but weary, a woman who’d seen this game too many times.Dave scanned the papers, a checklist of Carlos’s kinks, some
Henry lingered in the studio's wrap lounge, the air still buzzing with the afterglow of the Dare to Breakfree finale. The director, a wiry man with a perpetual coffee stain on his tie, clapped Henry on the back, his eyes gleaming with that opportunistic spark Henry had come to recognize. "Kid, you've got the voice, the look, the whole package. We're talking a spin-off segment. Solo spotlight. You perform originals, maybe collab with a rising act. Airs next quarter, prime slots. Travis, get the contracts rolling."Travis nodded, already scrolling his phone, but Henry's mind raced. A solo segment meant exposure, real, unfiltered, not tied to Dave's polished charm or the show's gimmicks. It was the break he'd clawed for, ever since those grimy open mics in dive bars, scraping by on tips and sheer grit. Just his guitar, his voice, and the crowd's roar. But as the director droned on about ratings and demographics, Henry's gaze drifted to t







