The bathroom was filled with steam—thick, dense, as if the air itself and all the world's anxieties were dissolving in it. The water hissed softly, steadily, and drops ran down the white tiles, turning the walls into foggy, distorted mirrors.
The smell of smoke still clung to Do-jun's skin, embedded in his hair, his fingers, his breath.
Seungho took off his shirt, revealing his broad chest and shoulders. He stepped towards him and said quietly:
— Turn around.
The voice was even, but something more lay behind it—weariness, guilt, and something that sounded like care disguised as an authoritative command.
Do-jun obediently turned. A warm stream of water slid down his back, across his shoulders. Seungho slowly ran his palm along his neck, wiping away traces of soot, and then paused—for a brief moment, just to feel: alive, breathing, near.
The steam enveloped them, blurring the boundaries. Everything felt slowed down—movements, breathing, silence. Seungho's pheromones changed: from sharp, protective—to calm, warm ones that smelled of inherent safety.
— The smell is gone — he whispered.
— No — Do-jun replied, without turning. — It's inside.
Seungho said nothing. He simply stepped closer and pressed him to himself, entering from behind. His hot body nestled against the omega's wet back, and Do-jun felt the hardness of his erection and his desire as an act of cleansing.
He touched his lips to his shoulder, then his neck, lingering near the collarbones—gently, slowly—not for passion, but to erase the remnants of fear and re-brand him with his will. And in that touch was everything: an apology, a vow, a desire to restore life.
Do-jun turned in his embrace. Their foreheads met, and only steam and their mingled breath remained between them. He didn't say "I love you," but it was already resounding in his gaze.
Seungho responded in kind—with a touch, soft and confident. His wet hand slid across Do-jun's chest, then down, to his groin, which was already pulsating in response.
— I want you to feel only this warmth — Yun whispered, his fingers beginning an unhurried, dominant exploration.
Do-jun squeezed his hands onto his shoulders, and a quiet moan escaped his lips. It was an affirmation of his need for the Alpha, for his strength.
Seungho, without stopping the caress, applied aromatic oil to his fingers. He meticulously prepared Do-jun, gently stretching his anus and studying every curve until his body began to tremble with desire.
— Are you ready? — Yun asked.
— Yes — Do-jun exhaled. — Please.
Yun lifted him slightly, allowing Do-jun to wrap his legs around his waist. Seungho's arousal entered Do-jun slowly and deeply, in the hot, slippery water that acted as a catalyst for intimacy. It was a gentle, but complete possession. Yun moved smoothly, but with the weight and depth necessary to expel the last traces of anxiety from Do-jun. Do-jun pressed into him, his moans muffled by the steam, filled with trust.
Yun climaxed with a long, saturated exhale, feeling his hot semen fill the omega, cementing their bond and promising protection. He didn't withdraw, but stayed inside him, holding Do-jun against his chest until their hearts calmed.
— Now you are clean — Yun said, his voice low and hoarse.
And in that, there was neither pride nor pity—only a fact that became their new foundation.
⋆⋆⋆
In the morning, the air in the office was different. Without the usual bustle, without voices—only the rustle of papers and the quiet hum of the air conditioner. A diagram hung on the screen: company names, account numbers, arrows connecting them into a web.
— Here — Kim said, pressing a key. — "Grey Port." Formally belongs to a dummy structure registered on the islands. But the signatures are real.
— Whose? — Seungho asked, although he already knew.
Kim nodded. — Park's. But registered under Hwan's name.
Silence settled, heavy. Seungho leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Do-jun stood by the window, looking at the city—wet from the rain, reflecting light.
— So, a brother — he said quietly.
— Not just a brother — Seungho replied. — Half-brother. They share a father.
The words hung in the air like ash. Everything became clear: power, greed, a distorted form of inheritance. Hwan wasn't just playing on nerves—he wanted to destroy everything that belonged to Yun to reclaim what he hadn't received by blood.
— They want — Do-jun said — the world to believe that you did all this. That the network, the trade, the murders—are yours.
Seungho looked up. — Then let them know the truth.
He walked closer, took his hand. — We will see this through. But not through anger. Through clarity.
Do-jun nodded. In his eyes was not submission—but determination. The kind that appears in those who are no longer afraid of pain or the future.
At home, they didn't talk much. Documents, diagrams, and flash drives were scattered on the floor. Candles from the night before were burning down in the kitchen.
Seungho approached Do-jun, gently removing a strand of hair from his shoulder. — The next batch of people on the list... is already on the way. They are scheduled to arrive at the "Grey Port" in six hours. If we strike now, we save them. But this is a direct declaration of war.
— Save them — Do-jun exhaled, his hand resting on his abdomen. — We declare war.
Yun pressed himself against him, and in that touch was neither passion nor peace—only their shared breath, like a pulse.
The steam outside was rising again—the rain, reflected in the city light, made the night look like water. They stood by the window, as if in a promise.
And although a storm was outside the door, inside—was what saves. Not power, not strength. Just life.