The van lurched to a stop with a final, shuddering groan that rattled the empty energy drink cans across the floorboards. Outside the tinted windows, the distant thump of bass and the muffled roar of a crowd filtered through the metal walls. They had arrived at the venue, a grimy underground club wedged between a boarded up laundromat and a twenty four hour vape shop, its blacked out windows pulsing with neon purple light. A line of femboys in various states of undress stretched around the corner, their massive asses clapping softly as they shifted impatiently in the cool night air.
Mort killed the engine and was already moving, his blunt bob haircut swinging as he shoved the driver's side door open. "Alright, everyone out. Now. We're already late for soundcheck and I'm not letting you horny idiots ruin our first real show because you couldn't stop touching each other for five minutes."
Toby scrambled to his feet first, still clutching the blanket around his naked lower half with one hand while the other fumbled for his clothes. He found his tight black leggings crumpled in the corner, snatched them up, and started pulling them on as fast as his trembling fingers would allow. The leggings were impossibly tight, the kind that required careful shimmying and patience, neither of which Toby possessed in his current state of panic. He managed to get them up over his plump thighs, but the waistband caught on the full swell of his ass, refusing to budge past the widest point. His massive, soft cheeks were completely exposed, pale and jiggling with every desperate tug, the deep cleft visible even in the dim van light.
He crawled toward the sliding door on his knees, still yanking at the leggings, and practically tumbled out of the van onto the cracked asphalt. The sudden exposure to the outside world made him freeze. The alley behind the venue was crowded with people, roadies hauling equipment, early arrivals sneaking smokes, and a cluster of femboys who had been waiting near the stage door. Every single one of them turned to look at the soft, curvy boy on his knees with his ass hanging out.
The comments started immediately.
"Damn, look at those cheeks. So soft, like two scoops of butter pecan ice cream just waiting to melt on your tongue."
"I bet it feels like grabbing a cloud. A really thick, bouncy cloud."
"That's a whole bakery back there. Somebody put in overtime kneading that dough."
"Softest ass I've seen all month, and I've seen a lot of ass."
"I just want to bury my face in there and take a nap. It looks that comfortable."
Toby's face burned crimson. His freckles disappeared under the flood of heat that rushed to his cheeks. His fingers, still tugging uselessly at the waistband of his leggings, trembled harder. He wanted to crawl into a hole, pull the dirt over his head, and never emerge. The snickers and appreciative murmurs from the crowd felt like needles pricking every inch of his exposed skin. He finally managed to yank the leggings over the crest of his ass with a soft, defeated whimper, the fabric snapping into place and hugging his curves like a second, shameful skin.
Corey slid out of the van next, completely naked from the waist down. His baggy gray jeans were still bunched around his ankles from earlier, and he made absolutely no move to pull them up. He stepped onto the asphalt with his plump, pale ass fully exposed, the cheeks jiggling with every deliberate stride. His white dyed hair caught the purple neon glow as he stretched his arms over his head with theatrical laziness, looking around at the crowd of wide eyed onlookers with mock surprise.
"Oh my god," Corey announced, voice dripping with exaggerated worry as he placed one hand over his heart. "I seem to be completely naked in front of all these hot people. Oh, whatever shall I do? This is such a tragedy. A cruel twist of fate. My pants, they just fell right off and I'm so helpless and exposed."
Mort stormed around the side of the van, grabbed Corey by the shoulder, and delivered a sharp, stinging slap right across those jiggling cheeks. The crack echoed through the alley like a gunshot. Corey's ass rippled beautifully, a bright red handprint blooming instantly on the pale skin.
"Stop being a slut and pull your fucking pants up," Mort snapped, voice flat and murderous as always.
"We're on in forty minutes and I'm not letting you flash the whole venue before we even play a single note."
Corey's grin only widened. He turned around, completely unbothered by the stinging handprint on his ass, and draped both arms over Mort's shoulders. He leaned in close, breath hot against Mort's ear, that signature cocky smirk stretching his lips.
"Awww, Morty. Are you in a fucking type mood tonight? You know, the kind where you get all bossy and mean and then end up begging for it later? Because I'm picking up some serious aggressive energy from you and it's turning me on."
Mort slapped his hands off with a violent shove, his dark eyes blazing. "Keep your hands off me, you insatiable whore. And put your damn pants on before I staple them to your thighs." He turned sharply toward the van, jabbing a finger at Kota through the open door. "You. Hop out. Now. We don't have all night."
Kota had been in the middle of pulling his own pants up. He finished fastening the button on his gray slacks, adjusted his rumpled black shirt, and stepped out of the van into the cool night air. The alley smelled like stale beer, cigarette smoke, and the faint vanilla body spray that seemed to follow Corey everywhere.
He looked around at the chaotic scene, Toby still red faced and trembling, Corey naked and grinning, Mort radiating pure fury, and realized someone was missing.
"Where's Gideon?" Kota asked, scanning the empty van behind him.
Mort let out a long, exhausted sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his short, compact soul.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut for a moment like he was praying for patience, before stalking toward the van's back seat. The rear door was still closed, and through the tinted window, a tall, shadowy figure could be seen hunched over something in his lap.
Mort knocked on the window hard, three sharp raps that rattled the glass. "Gideon! Stop acting all mysterious and get the fuck out of the van right now. We have a show to play and I'm not carrying your giant ass inside if you decide to get poetic about the void or whatever."
The door swung open slowly, deliberately, revealing Gideon in all his towering, gothic glory. He was dressed immaculately as always, black frilled shirt, tight corset cinching his already narrow waist into impossible proportions, dark maroon leggings that hugged legs that went on forever, and knee high boots with silver buckles. His chin length blunt bob framed his sharp features, dark red eyeshadow smeared artfully across his lids, and in his lap rested a small leather bound notebook filled with neat, looping handwriting.
He closed the notebook with a soft thud and looked up at Mort with that calm, unfathomable expression, his deep voice rumbling out like distant thunder. "The darkness within the van was merely a reflection of the darkness within your soul. I was not hiding. I was transcribing the silence between your impatient words, for it is in those empty spaces that true meaning dwells."
Mort stared at him for a long, deadpan second. "I'm going to throw you off a bridge."
Gideon rose from his seat with supernatural grace, unfolding his impossibly long limbs as he stepped out of the van. He smoothed down the ruffles on his shirt, dusted an invisible speck from his skirt, and reached behind himself with both hands to tighten the laces of his corset. The motion made his already massive ass shift and settle under the tight fabric, the cheeks projecting outward like a shelf carved from marble.
Corey finally pulled his pants up, shimmying the baggy gray jeans over his still reddened ass with a theatrical wiggle. Then he turned toward Toby, who was still standing frozen by the van, face buried in his hands, muttering soft apologies to no one.
Corey's grin turned sly as he stepped behind him, reaching around to "help" pull Toby's leggings up the rest of the way. His hands found the plush swell of Toby's ass instead, fingers sinking deep into the soft, yielding cheeks with a firm, possessive squeeze.
Toby let out a startled moan, high and breathy, his body jolting at the sudden contact.
"Corey! We shouldn't do this in public, there's so many people watching, please, what if someone sees—"
Mort threw both hands in the air, the motion so violent his crop sweatshirt rode up to show a strip of pale midriff. "I am not associated with any of you weirdos. Not a single one. I'm going to soundcheck. If you're not inside in five minutes, I'm playing drums myself and Toby can cry in the alley for all I care."
He turned on his heel and stalked toward the back entrance of the venue, shiny black parachute pants swishing with every angry stride, leaving the chaotic group behind. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him, and the distant thump of bass swallowed his footsteps.