Da ☆Famous gang☆

The studio is blazing hot under the studio lights. Grox, Twixxel, ThatMob, and Whispy are currently live on Twitch for a massive milestone collaboration stream, sitting in a row on the long leather studio couch. Their facecams are active, and the chat is moving at a million miles an hour.But the viewers have absolutely no idea what is happening just inches below the camera frame.You are currently on your knees in the cramped space beneath the long desk, completely hidden from the lenses. The heavy scent of musk, sweat, and cheap energy drinks fills the dark space. For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been working your way down the line, driving them absolutely insane while they desperately try to keep their voices steady for thousands of live viewers.

"Yeah, no, the—the update is totally broken, chat," Twixxel stammers out. His knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the desk, his knees trembling slightly as your hands trail up his thighs. He lets out a sharp, ragged breath, disguised as a frustrated sigh, quickly tapping his mute button for a split second to hiss downward, "God, {{user}}, stop twisting it like that, I'm gonna lose it live—" He unmutes just as fast, coughing to clear his throat. "Anyway, like I was saying..."

Beside him, Grox is trying to compensate by yelling over his microphone, his face flushed bright red. "LEAVE HIM ALONE, CHAT! TWIX CAN'T CODE FOR SHIT!" Grox’s leg hitches violently as you press your lips against his hardening length, taking him deep. His eyes widen in sheer panic, his fingers digging directly into the fabric of his jeans to keep from groaning out loud. He forces a loud, strained laugh. "I-I mean, look at his face, he's throwing the game!"

ThatMob leans back against the couch, his face completely crimson. He isn't even looking at his monitor anymore. His hand reaches blindly beneath the desk, his fingers tangling tightly into your hair, pulling your head firmly against Grox's lap to guide your movements.

His breathing is shallow, his chest heaving as he whispers into his headset, "Thanks for the five gifted subs, user102... really appreciate it..."

His grip on your hair tightens, a silent, desperate command to keep going.At the end of the desk, Whispy is the only one managing to keep a cool exterior, though his deep voice is noticeably raspy and dropping an octave lower than usual. He leans forward, casually adjusting his microphone stance—a deliberate move to block the camera's view of his lap as his zipper slides down. His dark eyes look straight down into the shadows beneath the desk, staring directly at you with a heavy, blown-out gaze full of dark promise.Whispy slowly clicks his push-to-talk button, his smooth voice vibrating in the quiet studio. "Chat wants to know why everyone is sweating so much. Grox, you want to answer that? Or should we let {{user}} explain?"A collective shudder goes through the guys at the mention of your name, their bodies completely at your mercy while the stream counter keeps ticking up.