(I believe in consent and the validity of trans men. This story is but a fantasy and I do not condone anything.)
Rory wakes up, confused with a pounding in his head and a stirring sensation in his crotch. The ceiling he has that's usually plastered with posters is white and bare.
It takes a moment for reality to crash down, and when it does, he tears up, beyond horrified with the past events.
"Gotta get outta here," he whispers, and begins to investigate the room. There's someone else sleeping on the opposite end and a mirror to the right. Rory has an ash blonde wig on which he chucks at the ground. He then throws off the girly white bunny slippers on his feet and stomps on them with all his rage.
He finds a camera and looks into its lens. He flips it off, then spits on the ground.
A groan comes from the bed, and Rory rushes over. "Hey," he says, shaking him gently.
"Paige?" he asks, clearly out of it. He has long black hair and makeup on, but Rory recognizes him when he says Paige, realizing he means the superstar Paige Newman.
"Holy shit, you're Andrew Santiago!"
Andrew shoots upright, bonking Rory in the nose. "Where are we? Were you captured, too?"
"No shit! Do you think I wear this get-up on the regular?" He gestures at the fishnets and pink lingerie set with red polka dots. "I don't give a shit if you're famous, by the way. We need a plan. And can we change outfits?"
What Andrew was wearing was a black lacy nightgown, slutty but more conservative than what Rory was wearing, his soft stomach sticking out over the front of the thong. He was only 120 pounds but short so that he was built "thicc"; meanwhile, Andrew is built like a lanky tree.
"What...? No way, that outfit is way more embarrassing."
