Arm stumbled into the small bathroom, the intense moment with Mild having left him physically aching and mentally shredded. He locked the door, leaning his forehead against the cold tile. The combination of adrenaline, fear for Lina, and the shocking intimacy of the past hour demanded release.
He shed his briefs, his gaze distant, but as he sought solace in the solitary act, his thoughts refused to cooperate. Every image that surfaced was of Mild: the terrified look in the dungeon, the vulnerable position in bed, the frantic, caring focus in his eyes as he tended the wound on Arm's chest. The memory of the quickened heartbeat and the scent of antiseptic mingled with the raw, unspoken desire. Mild's face, his innocence, and the sudden, fierce denial were the only things Arm could visualize.
