IKRRR
The Green Room Grudge
The high of the Mnet stage had barely faded before the reality of the industry snapped back into place. For the public, the rivalry between H2H and Getty was a thrilling narrative of chart battles and fan wars. For Stella, it was becoming a physical ache that localized in her lower belly every time she saw Martin Cortis breathing the same air.
Three days after their encounter in the dressing room, both groups were backstage at Music Bank. The hallway was a frantic maze of stylists, cameramen, and idols in various stages of dress. Stella was standing by the catering table, picking at a fruit cup, when she saw him. Martin was leaning against a gear trunk, laughing with a female soloist from a rival company. He was looking at her with that same hooded, intense gaze he had used on Stella, his hand resting casually on the wall just inches from the other girl’s head.
Stella’s grip tightened on her plastic fork until the tines snapped. The jealousy was a sudden, sharp needle in her heart. It wasn't that she loved him—she still maintained she hated his guts—but the idea of those large, calloused hands touching anyone else made her vision swim with white-hot rage.
She tossed the broken fork into the bin and marched toward her dressing room, but a heavy hand caught her elbow as she passed a darkened equipment alcove. She was pulled into the shadows before she could even gasp.
"You look like you're about to commit a murder, Princess," Martin’s voice rasped against her ear.
Stella shoved at his chest, her palms meeting the firm muscle beneath his stage vest. "Go back to your little girlfriend, Martin. I’m sure she’s dying to hear more of your arrogant bullshit."
Martin didn't let go. Instead, he pinned her against the cold brick wall, his body a solid weight that instantly made her knees weak. "Jealousy doesn't suit you. Actually, wait—I lied. It makes your eyes turn dark. It’s incredibly hot."
"I am not jealous," she hissed, her chest heaving, her large breasts straining against the thin fabric of her silk camisole. "I just find your lack of discretion disgusting."
"Discretion?" He let out a dark, mocking laugh. "I wasn't the one looking at her. I was watching you the whole time. I watched you break your fork. I watched the way you bit your lip when I leaned in close to her. You were imagining it was you, weren't you?"
"In your dreams," she spat, though her breath was hitching.
Martin’s hand moved with lightning speed, grabbing her waist and hoisting her up. He didn't wait for permission. He sat her down on a stack of flight cases, spreading her legs wide so he could stand between them. "I don't need to dream about it when I can just take it."
He reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her stage shorts. Stella didn't fight him. She couldn't. The moment his skin touched hers, the anger vanished, replaced by a desperate, starving need. She reached for the zipper of his trousers, her movements frantic.
"Slow down," he commanded, his voice dropping into that deep, authoritative 'Daddy' tone that made her clit throb. "I want you to work for it today. You think you can just be mad and get what you want?"
"Shut up," she moaned, finally freeing his length. He was already rock hard, pulsing against her palm. "Just give it to me."
"No," he said, his eyes flashing with a cruel sort of playfulness. "Hop on, Stella. If you want it so bad, you take it."
He stood back just an inch, forcing her to lean forward. Stella groaned, her face flushed with heat. She shifted on the cases, her core aching and wet. She reached out, grasping his broad shoulders for balance, and guided him to her entrance. She was wearing thin lace underneath her shorts, and she didn't even bother to pull them off, just shoved the fabric aside.
She lowered herself slowly, her eyes fluttering shut as he slid inside her. He was even thicker than she remembered, a blunt force that stretched her tight walls until she felt like she might split. She let out a long, high-pitched moan, her head falling back against the brick wall.
"That's it," Martin encouraged, his hands moving to her hips to steady her. "Take it all, you greedy little thing."
Stella began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle. The friction was incredible, the lace of her panties rubbing against her swollen clit with every downward movement. She let out a series of broken whimpers, her fingers digging into the leather of his vest.
"More," she begged, her voice a breathless wreck. "Martin, please... harder."
"You're the one in control, Princess," he reminded her, though his own breath was coming in short, jagged bursts. "Show me how much you missed Daddy."
The word sent a jolt of electricity through her. Stella stopped the slow circles and began to bounce, her movements becoming frantic and hungry. Her heavy breasts jolted with every movement, the friction of her camisole making her nipples ache. Martin groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he felt her internal muscles clenching around him.
"You're so fucking tight," he hissed, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts. He squeezed the soft, heavy mounds, his thumbs flicking over her peaking nipples through the silk. "Look at you. Riding your enemy in a hallway while your manager is twenty feet away."
"I don't care," Stella sobbed, her pace becoming a blur. The pleasure was coiling in her gut, a tight spring ready to snap. "I don't care about anything except this."
She was moving so fast now that the flight cases were rattling against the floor. Every time she came down, she felt him hit her cervix, a deep, blunt sensation that made her vision go white. She was loud, her moans echoing in the small space, but she couldn't stop herself. She needed the release like she needed air.
Martin’s patience finally snapped. He reached down, his thumb finding her clit and applying a brutal, rhythmic pressure while she continued to ride him. The double stimulation was too much. Stella’s body stiffened, her back arching as a violent orgasm tore through her.
"Oh god, Martin! Daddy!" she screamed, his name a frantic prayer.
She collapsed against him, her chest heaving, her internal walls pulsing around him in a rhythmic grip that finally pushed him over the edge. Martin let out a guttural roar, his hips jerking upward as he filled her, his forehead resting against hers as they both spiraled into the afterglow.
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the distant muffled music from the stage and their synchronized panting. Martin was the first to move, pulling back to look at her. His eyes were softer for a split second before the arrogant mask slid back into place.
"Better?" he asked, his thumb brushing a stray tear from her cheek.
Stella nodded, her voice still a whisper. "I still hate you."
Martin grinned, the predatory light returning to his eyes. "I know. That’s what makes it so good."
He helped her down from the cases, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment longer than necessary. As she adjusted her clothes and wiped her face, she felt the familiar weight of the world returning. The cameras, the fans, the rivalry—it was all waiting for them outside this small, dark corner.
"Music Bank starts in twenty minutes," Martin said, checking his watch. "Try not to look too satisfied on camera, Stella. People might start asking questions."
"I'm a professional, Martin," she retorted, though her legs were still trembling. "I can handle a little bit of acting."
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear one last time. "We'll see about that when we're standing next to each other for the finale. I might just have to remind you who you belong to."
He slipped out of the alcove first, leaving Stella to catch her breath in the dark. She leaned against the wall, her heart still hammering against her ribs. She looked down at her hands—they were still shaking.
She made her way back to her dressing room, passing the same catering table she had been at earlier. The female soloist was gone, and the hallway was empty. When she stepped inside, her stylist immediately descended upon her.
"Stella! Where have you been? Your hair is a mess!"
"Just needed some air," Stella said, sitting down in the chair and closing her eyes.
As the stylist began to work on her hair, Stella caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bright, her lips slightly swollen, and there was a glow to her skin that no highlighter could replicate. She looked like a woman who had just won another battle in a war that had no end in sight.
An hour later, H2H stood on the stage for their performance. The music was loud, the fans were screaming, and Stella moved with a grace and power that seemed to transcend the choreography. She felt invincible.
During the final stage, when all the artists gathered for the winner’s announcement, Getty stood directly behind H2H. Stella could feel Martin’s presence behind her like a physical weight. She didn't turn around, but she knew he was watching her.
When the winner was announced—H2H had taken the trophy—the stage erupted in cheers and confetti. Stella held the trophy high, her smile radiant for the cameras. As she turned to bow to the other artists, she passed Martin.
He didn't bow. He just looked at her, his eyes dark and full of a secret that made her skin tingle. As she walked past him, his hand brushed against her hip—a quick, firm squeeze that no one else saw.
"Congratulations, Princess," he mouthed, his voice lost in the noise of the crowd.
Stella didn't respond, but as she walked to the front of the stage to give her speech, she felt the faint, delicious ache between her legs. She looked out at the sea of fans, her heart full of a dark, complicated triumph.
The charts said H2H was number one today. But in the shadows of the music show, in the quiet corners where the cameras didn't reach, the victory belonged to something else entirely.
The rivalry was no longer just about music. It was a game of shadows and skin, a battle of wills that was far more addictive than any trophy. And as Stella looked at Martin one last time before the cameras cut to a commercial, she knew that neither of them was ever going to let the other win.
The war continued, and for the first time in her life, Stella didn't want it to end.