The mirror, beginning to fog from the heat of their skin and ragged breathing, served as a witness while Jun-ho took out his desperation on the only man capable of weathering his storm without breaking. His hands gripped Salin's waist with a force that would surely leave purple bruises on pale skin, drawing stifled, breathless gasps from the blond, who kept his eyes fixed on Jun-ho's—firm, focused, serving as an anchor in the madness.
The third beep sounded, and Jun-ho pressed the lock button without hesitation.
Salin loved this. He loved how the "Monster" didn't ask for permission, how Jun-ho's hands treated him not as something fragile, but as the only support capable of absorbing the impact of his rage.
With his legs intertwined around Jun-ho's waist, Salin felt his body tremble. The tension was so great his muscles throbbed. He threw his head back, neck exposed, while Jun-ho's hands held him there as if he were an extension of his own armor.
