Meet and greet

by BRK   

Wayne, excited to finally come face-to-face with his favorite kpop idol, is startled by the intensity of their encounter.

Wayne waited in the long, twisting line with as much patience as he could muster, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he craned excitedly to peer down the queue toward the door to the special backstage room where the meet and greet was taking place. No matter how much his friends razzed him for it, Wayne had always refused to feel even the slightest bit ashamed of his manic love for Ji-Man, the swoony, ultracharismatic kpop dreamboat who’d managed to become even more popular breaking out as an international solo act after two years with the red-hot RHT6. And look at Wayne now! Here he was, in line to actually meet—and maybe even touch!—the very object of his self-admitted obsession, at the only U.S. stop on his victorious first world tour. And where were his buddies Josh and Dave right now? Slaving away at their computers, building code their non-coder bosses were always too stupid to understand or appreciate. Screw that!

Yeah, he’d had to take a couple unpaid vacation days. Sure, he’d dropped more than he’d wanted to on the event tickets, and the flights to L.A., and the not-so-nice room at the grotty Holiday-O-Rama Hotel he’d reserved blind on cheaptix-dot-biz. It didn’t matter. Here, now, whatever the scorch marks on his Coders Consolidated Credit Union MasterCard, Wayne knew he was a part of something. He’d felt it deep in his bones all through the premium-members-only concert as the intimate venue had built up this electrifying storm of buzzing, delirious enthusiasm, and it was even stronger now. The wild, torrid energy of the fans pulsed madly through him, as though the winding, tightly-packed queue were creating some kind high-capacity conduit made up of gushing, babbling, star-promoting superfans. The power was practically thrumming through him, crackling and mixing with his own inexhaustible passion, until Wayne felt like he was practically vibrating with the raw, heady potency of his devotion to his beautiful, sexy, one and only idol. The feeling was invigorating, exhilarating, and also—almost incidentally—deeply arousing. Wayne ignored his raging hard-on and the dizzying heat coursing through his veins, sure he was far from the only fan to be getting excited on multiple levels to be meeting Ji-Man face to face at last!

The line was moving quickly, which both thrilled and worried him—were the dozen or so people they were letting into the meet and greet room getting any time at all with Ji?—but he forgot all that as his turn came at last and he was ushered into the makeshift sanctum. The largish room was dark and unadorned, probably some kind of multi-use rehearsal room co-opted for today’s fan event, but Wayne barely noticed. Like the rest of the clutch of girls and guys he’d been let in with, Wayne only had eyes for his man.

He drank him in as the others filtered past the star one by one, gushing over Ji, taking selfies and asking him to sign all kinds of random things before they were politely signaled to move on by the star’s junior-management-team handlers, who passed out gift-basket swag and splashes of champagne in plastic flutes they could drink while they watched the others greet the star until it was time to the next group. All of that was peripheral to the star himself. Wayne was awed by Ji’s dominance of the space. The light in the room seemed drawn to the pop idol, so that he was almost aglow compared to the more shadowed and desaturated handlers and fans around him. Though Wayne of course knew that the star only had three inches on him, standing an even 5’10” compared to Wayne’s more compact 5’7”, in this crowd of short, boyish handlers and generally even shorter fans Ji came off as naturally, impressively, deliciously tall, and Wayne felt a shiver of deep, chaotic pleasure just from experiencing his dreamy stature in person.

His lanky frame was accentuated by a snug black sleeveless tee that made his defined arms and lusciously carved torso look almost as endless as his extra-long swimmer’s legs, his godly thighs and calves just hinted at by the satiny, not-too-loose sweatpants he wore. The whole ensemble was bookended top and bottom by a small silver dragon pendant on a black leather cord above, and chunky white basketball shoes below. Wayne tingled all over just looking at him, and that energy he’d been feeling was spiking and sparking inside him like crazy as he dared to lift his eyes to the star’s most exquisite feature, his intoxicatingly, sweetly beautiful face.

Though a fair number of kpop idols dyed their hair various colors to stand out in a massive field of mostly ephemeral celebs, Ji had kept his silky-thick jet black hair but tended to wear it shorter on one side than the other, providing an asymmetrical frame for his smooth, copper coloring and perfectly-proportioned features. His mouth in particular drew one’s attention, the way it seemed predisposed to break open in a winning, brilliant smile. His lips made you want to feel them against your skin, too, and it was only when the laser intensity of Ji’s soul-deep brown eyes were turned to him, piercing his heart and making his dick strain with a deep, shuddering craving, that he was able to tear his gaze from that mouth and up to the riveting orbs above.

Realization hit him, crowding past the slams of his deafening heartbeat. It was his turn.

He moved toward the other man as if in a dream, all the others falling away. Ji blinked in reaction, almost as if he’d touched a live wire, and Wayne imagined the energy he was barely keeping in must have jumped to the star like an arc of electrical power as they faced each other, linking them. This idea, fantasy though he knew it was, made him giddy, too full of excitement to hold anything back. “You’re so beautiful,” he gushed.

Ji beamed at him as though he might never have heard this before. Some cynical part of Wayne muttered something about all the social training Ji must have had—no doubt he was drilled in being genuine and engaging with fans, at least as much as he hit the weights to ensure his lithe, lickable muscle tone or tirelessly rehearsed all the complicated choreography for all those hundreds of high-intensity performances. But the rational part of Wayne was swiftly being drowned out by the glowing, seemingly mutual power of Wayne’s building fangasm. “You are,” Wayne insisted, encouraged. “You’re the hottest idol ever. You make all the guys hard and all the women wet.”

The crackling electricity Wayne was feeling sparked and surged invisibly between them, and Wayne suppressed a gasp at how good it felt. The heat in the little room increased abruptly, filled as it was by intensely aroused fans and equally boned young assistants, but Wayne was hardly aware of anything but him and Ji standing there, alone in the universe, as though Wayne weren’t the hundredth fan he was meeting that day, with a hundred more to go. This was, could only be, a unique and endless moment. The handsome star was giving him all of his attention, and Wayne thrilled as he saw Ji react to what he’d said with an expression that was half-cocky and half sheepish at the same time. “That may be true,” Ji admitted in fluent, slightly accented English. Something about the way he said it suggested that the star knew that they should not discuss the matter here despite an inexplicable temptation to do so anyway, and that got Wayne thinking about an even more intimate encounter someplace private, just the two of them. His cock throbbed and his heart seemed to twist at the very idea.

Sure enough, Ji wasn’t ready abandon the subject entirely. Instead he tilted his head slightly and, his dark-brown eyes glinting, asked softly, “Why do you think it is?”

Wayne flushed. Wasn’t it obvious how he turned everyone on? “You’re so beautiful,” he said again, panting faintly. “And tall. You must be the tallest kpop star ever! By at least a six inches, I’ll bet. Crazy, sexy tall.”

Ji held his gaze, apparently fascinated by Wayne’s bold praise. Of course, that direct eye-to-eye star wouldn’t be normally possible given Ji’s mouthwateringly elongated 6’10” stature, and Wayne was once again grateful that the organizers had actually built a little ramp leading up to a small riser for the fans, just so they could truly encounter the star face-to-face.

Someone was gently tapping Wayne’s arm, and he glanced over from Ji’s relative incandescence to see one of the young helpers from the management team, the man’s fat, obvious erection not at all concealed in his black jeans. He was motioning for Wayne to descend the other side of the ramp and let the next person have their turn, but Wayne quailed at this. “I’m not done,” he protested. “He wants to talk to me.” He looked back at Ji and saw confirmation of this in the star’s bright eyes and oddly shy expression, sending a rush of delirious pleasure through him. Ji did want to talk to him. Maybe even… not just at this event—? Was that possible?

Wayne remembered the other fans and felt bad. Turning back to the handler Wayne added hopefully, “The others don’t mind. Right?” He looked over worriedly at the other guests, but they all nodded happily, perfectly content to watch Ji interact a while longer with his biggest, most devoted fan.

He met Ji’s stimulating gaze again. Bolstered by all the encouragement, Wayne kept on about Ji’s height. “It’s no wonder you’re so tall,” he added, “with those ten-pack abs you have.” Without breaking their mutual stare, Ji coasted a hand down the tight boulevard of his famously long abdominals, and Wayne almost swooned. Ji touching himself, just for Wayne, was hotter than anything he could have imagined happening at this event.

“It’s almost a twelve-pack,” Ji agreed, his voice soft and almost sultry, and at the same time ever-so-slightly teasing.

Wayne grinned, delighted Ji was playing along with his fantasies. “It’s totally a twelve-pack,” Wayne said. He should know—he’d counted every one of those abnormally awesome abs many, many times while he was stroking off to full-screen images and videos of Ji shirtless in concert, his lighting-tinted sweat trickling down those granite bricks for all to see. He’d had to physically resist grabbing himself once he was actually experiencing it all live at the concert earlier that night… and now that Ji was playing up to his arousal it was only the fact that they weren’t alone that kept Wayne from shoving his hand into his jeans and grabbing his throbbing, desperate prick right then and there.

“Of course your legs are extra-long as well,” Wayne heard himself say, as he stared deeper into Ji’s fathomless eyes. “Everything down there is… extra long.”

There were some half-shocked, half-delighted gasps from behind him, and the young, excited, boner-sporting handler who’d tried to move him on before gasped out an urgent “Sir!” But Ji was unmoved, still holding Wayne’s gaze as a slight smile twitched on those red, tantalizing lips, and that reinforced Wayne’s determination not to hold back. “We all know about it,” he told the star firmly. “We all talk about it. We can all see it.” Which was true: sometimes it was coded, sometimes more open, but all the fans were as acutely aware of Ji’s equipment as they were of his height and his beauty and his abs and everything else about him.

“Can you?” Ji asked, eyes glinting.

“Dude, it’s huge!” Wayne said, still grinning. It was normal to talk about it—or at least, that was how he felt in the moment. He felt feverish and disconnected from reason, which might have been what prodded him into wildly exaggerating to make his point. “It’s like this wrist-thick bulge reaching past your knee—how could we miss that?”

Not that that was much of an exaggeration, he thought. Actually, it wasn’t an exaggeration at all. Wayne almost thought he could sense it, thick and radiating heat and sex from the leg of those satiny, not-hiding-anything extra-long track pants Ji was wearing to the event. Sometimes he bound his heavy prick to his thighs for concerts, Wayne knew—there was a thriving black market in behind-the-scenes stories about Ji and everything extra about him—but right here, right now, it was hanging loose, obvious, imposing, and unavoidable, its ponderous length supremely visible down the right leg of his pants. It was the first thing Wayne had noticed when he’d been let into the room, and he was sure the same was true for every fan at the event.

All at once Wayne felt a pang of real panic—a wang like that would get a lot of love from a lot of people. His throat dried instantly, but he managed to get out, “But there’s only one fan you share it with.”

Wayne’s heart was pounding violently in his chest. He knew Ji had been weirdly amenable so far, but surely he had to slam on the brakes at this. Wayne braced himself for a polite rebuff followed by a gentle but insistent escorting from the venue, so he was utterly floored when Ji, still in that playful, half-sexy tone, said, “Is that you?”

Wayne took a shuddering breath. Was he… hypnotizing Ji, or something? That might explain at least some of what was going on—and if that was what was happening, there was no avoiding the fact that in his current mental state Wayne was literally incapable of not taking advantage of such a possibility. “It is me,” he rasped, staring as hard as he could into those deep, brown eyes. “You like me, Ji. You want me. I’m everything you think is sexy and desirable. You want to kiss me, and make love to me, and—and—devote yourself to me—”

Wayne wasn’t able to extend his litany any further, because Ji chose that moment to slide a long-fingered hand behind Wayne’s neck and pull gently him in for a slow, sweet, deeply sensual kiss, to the rapturous applause and delighted screams of the other fans (and some of the handlers, Wayne was sure). Wayne was so shocked by this demure attack it took a second of Ji’s tongue sliding tauntingly along his lips before Wayne opened for him. Ji thrust in, making Wayne quake with near-orgasmic pleasure as Ji’s tongue pressed deep into his mouth. When Ji broke the kiss, Wayne just stared at him, damp-lipped and dazed. “Your tongue is so looong…” he murmured, sounding half-drunk to his own ears. Well, it was true—Ji’s tongue was as extra as the rest of him.

Ji smiled, seemingly enjoying the effect he was having on him. His eyes sharpened as he caught Wayne’s blurring attention. “Wait for me?” he asked.

Belatedly, Wayne remembered that his star, his man, was in the middle of an event, with hundreds still waiting for the encounter they’d paid for, just like Wayne. “Of course,” he said, giving Ji a bashful smile. Ji bit his lip, still adorably half-shy and half-rakish as he looked over Wayne’s hard-muscled, extra-limber, and slightly stretchy bod, no doubt cataloguing all the ways they could enjoy each other as Ji proved his devotion to his favorite fan. Finally the awed, probably permaboned handler drew him respectfully to one side where Wayne would watch and wait until the meet and greet was over and he and Ji could begin their lives of pure and intertwined pleasure together.

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