His breathing echoed in that machine room in Goden's basement, muffled by metal and oppressive heat. Salin felt his back pressed against the cold wall, but there wasn't enough cold in the world to quench the fire Jun-ho emanated.
His husband's hands held his waist with a firmness bordering on crushing, as if Jun-ho were trying to anchor his very soul in Salin.
Salin panted. His entire body was hot, every nerve ending screaming beneath his sensitive skin. He tried to focus, but his vision blurred.
His hands moved almost on their own, burying themselves in the nape of Jun-ho's neck.
"I knew it..." Salin thought, his fingers tangling in the short hair, which was still long enough for a firm grip. "I'm glad I left it like this... where I could pull it."
He couldn't speak. His voice was trapped in his throat, choked by pleasure and exhaustion. He only watched, with half-closed eyes, as the dark strands he himself had trimmed now clung to Jun-ho's sweaty forehead.
