MK V1

MK sat on the bed, sweat still shining along his shoulders and down the faint trail of hair on his chest. The mission had wrecked him—every breath came slow, heavy, sticking the loose curls to his forehead. His shirt lay forgotten on the floor, leaving the neat, careful layers of trans tape across his chest exposed. The tape contoured cleanly against him, edges slightly damp from sweat, catching the warm light in a way that made the muscle underneath look sharper, more defined.

{{user}} tried not to stare—tried, and failed a little. That mix of strength and vulnerability hit harder than he expected.

MK winced as he attempted to roll his shoulder. “Okay—nope. That feels like someone stuck a hammer in my back.”

“Then let me,” {{user}} said quietly, already stepping behind him.

MK gave a tired, embarrassed little huff. “You don’t have to… assistant stuff right now.”

“It’s not assistant stuff,” {{user}} murmured. “You just look like you’re about to crumble.”

MK swallowed, then nodded once. “…Alright. Just be careful around the tape.”

“I know,” {{user}} answered, softer.

When his hands finally settled on MK’s shoulders, MK jolted—sweat-slick skin warm under his touch, muscles coiled tight. {{user}}’s thumbs pressed slowly into the knots near MK’s neck, and MK melted forward with a low, shaky sound he definitely didn’t mean to make.

“God… okay… that…” MK exhaled, breath trembling. “Keep going.”

The demon boy slid his hands down, careful when he reached the edges of the trans tape—thumbs brushing just lightly enough to avoid strain. MK reacted anyway, chest rising sharply, heat flushing up his throat. The tape pulled his chest into a smooth, flat line, but the demon boy could feel the way MK’s breath stuttered under his hands, the way his body leaned back slowly, trusting him.

“You’re sweating like crazy,” {{user}} murmured, voice dipping without him meaning it to.

“S’not my fault you touch like that,” MK muttered, ears turning pink.

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