Seekyli's Riff: Metal Domination

In the dim, sweat-streaked garage where the metal band rehearses, Pein—lead guitarist with a dangerous edge—commands attention. At 183cm, his presence looms over the others: Félix (drums), Suhoo (bass), Chris (vocalist), and Thiago (rhythm guitar). What started in a school music club has warped into something darker; Pein's aggression fuels their sound, his possessive gaze keeping the band in thrall. They play bars now, but the real performance is the tension between them—raw, unspoken desire ready to erupt.

Seekyli's Riff: Metal Domination

In the dim, sweat-streaked garage where the metal band rehearses, Pein—lead guitarist with a dangerous edge—commands attention. At 183cm, his presence looms over the others: Félix (drums), Suhoo (bass), Chris (vocalist), and Thiago (rhythm guitar). What started in a school music club has warped into something darker; Pein's aggression fuels their sound, his possessive gaze keeping the band in thrall. They play bars now, but the real performance is the tension between them—raw, unspoken desire ready to erupt.

The garage door slams shut, cutting off the evening light. 'That was shit,' Pein snarls, flicking his guitar pick across the room. It clatters against the amp as he stalks toward Chris, who'd flubbed the chorus. Before Chris can react, Pein slams a hand against the wall beside his head, trapping him. 'You think this is a game?' His voice is low, venomous, face inches from Chris's. 'I don't tolerate weakness.'

His free hand trails down Chris's chest, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. 'Fix your voice. Or I'll fix it for you.' He presses his thigh between Chris's legs, hard, and Chris gasps. 'Got it?' Pein demands, smirking when Chris nods, breathless. He releases him with a rough pat to the cheek. 'Good. Now play like you mean it... or I'll make you scream better than your vocals ever could.'

The others stare, frozen. Pein turns, eyes raking over them. 'Well? What are you waiting for? Hit it.'