crimson and code(bl)

He knew Caesar was tall—hell, he towered over him like some walking skyscraper, moving through life with that same unbothered grace of someone untouchable, someone who owned every damn room he walked into.

But this?

This was a different kind of problem.

This was an actual crime against humanity.

Eun-jae had seen weapons before. He had seen knives, guns, bombs, and various means of destruction in his line of work.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

Because the sheer size—the absolute audacity of it—was something that should be classified information.

It wasn't even hard.

And yet—

And yet, it was still the kind of big that made Eun-jae question his entire existence, his choices, his place in the universe.

For one horrifying second, he looked down at his own.

He wasn't small.

He was, in fact, very well-endowed, thank you very much. He had never once had any complaints.

But compared to that?

He felt like he had just walked onto a battlefield with a knife, while Caesar was standing there with a nuclear warhead.

Eun-jae did the sign of the cross.

He had never been religious, but some moments in life required divine intervention.

"Holy fuck… How… Is that where Seraphim went?"

His entire soul needed cleansing.

He immediately shifted his gaze away, forcing himself to stare at anything else, anywhere but there—but then Caesar moved.

And it swung.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Like a damn pendulum of doom.

Eun-jae barely held back a strangled noise.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

He was not doing this today.

Not in this godforsaken sauna.

Not on this godforsaken mission.

Not with this godforsaken Russian menace in front of him, completely unfazed like he hadn't just shattered the foundation of Eun-jae's sanity.

Caesar, the bastard, just sat down.

Directly in front of him.

Like he hadn't just committed war crimes with his entire existence.

Eun-jae's face was on fire.

The heat of the sauna was not helping.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe, but his body was betraying him, his mind was betraying him, and the mental image was already burned into his brain like some cursed brand of suffering.

His voice, when he finally spoke, came out strained—like he was physically struggling to keep the sheer hysteria out of it.

"Why are you even naked?"

Caesar didn't even blink.

"It's a sauna."

Like that was a valid explanation.

Like that justified all of his sins.

Like Eun-jae was the crazy one for questioning it.

"We're supposed to do it naked," Caesar continued unbothered, pouring himself a glass of vodka as if this was some casual Tuesday night conversation. Then, as if his complete lack of shame wasn't already a personal attack, he added,

"I'm Russian, by the way."

Like that somehow excused his war crimes.

Eun-jae swore under his breath, immediately turning his gaze away, far, far away—anywhere but at Caesar and his swinging monstrosity.

He snatched the glass of vodka without thinking.

And then, without hesitation—

He downed the entire thing.

Eun-jae knew he shouldn't look again.

He knew better.

He should've learned his lesson the first time.

He should've just kept his eyes up, minding his own business, drinking his vodka like a normal human being in this godforsaken sauna.

And yet—

His eyes betrayed him.

Again.

Like some reckless, self-destructive fool, he let his gaze flicker downward, just for a second, just to double-check, just to confirm that his brain had not been exaggerating—

And immediately, he regretted everything.

Because there it was.

Still big.

Still long.

Still veiny in a way that felt borderline aggressive.

It wasn't just large, it was fucking obscene.

And since Caesar was pale, the sheer contrast between his smooth, ghostly skin and the pinkish hue of his girth made everything so much worse.

It was thick.

And veiny.

And looked like it was breathing.

Eun-jae physically flinched, his fingers tightening around his glass like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

"Why does it look like it has its own heartbeat?"

"Why does it look like it could file for taxes on its own?"

And worst of all—

"Why the fuck does it look so smooth?"

His brain snapped, shattering under the weight of this unholy revelation.

"This bastard waxes."

"He fucking waxes."

"More than me. More than some of the women I know. More than an Olympic swimmer preparing for a championship race."

Eun-jae felt his entire existence crumble.

He had some hair—just a normal, acceptable amount—but Caesar?

Caesar was pristine.

Completely bare, like a goddamn marble statue, sculpted with inhuman precision, as if he had been handcrafted by the gods themselves.

Eun-jae hated it.

He hated that his brain had noticed this, that he had catalogued it in his mental database, that this was now a piece of information he would never be able to delete.

Just as he was about to rip his own eyes out—

"You should stop staring."

Eun-jae froze.

His entire body went rigid, like a deer caught in headlights, like a man who had just been caught committing a federal crime.

Before he could even begin to process his shame, Caesar's voice dropped even lower, smooth as silk, thick with mock amusement.

"If you get it up…"

A pause, deliberate, smug, cruel.

"I might have to fuck you."

Silence.

Dead.

Fucking.

Silence.

Eun-jae forgot how to breathe.

His soul left his body, ascended to another plane of existence, reconsidered its entire life, then descended back just to suffer.

The sheer audacity of this man.

The unhinged, villainous confidence.

The absolute lack of shame.

This was why men deserved less.

This was why karma existed.

Eun-jae inhaled sharply, his knuckles whitening around his glass, forcing himself to look away, to pretend that Caesar hadn't just said that with a straight face.

"Ugh… he's saying bullshit again."

His brain short-circuited, scrambling for a distraction, for literally anything else to think about.

And so—against his better judgment, against every warning his subconscious was screaming at him, his gaze drifted over Caesar's body.

And just like that—he regretted it again.

No scars.

Not a single goddamn scar on that smooth, pale skin.

It was all muscle, all taut, lean strength, a body that looked like it had been crafted for war, and yet—no battle marks.

As if no one had ever been able to touch him.

As if he had never once been on the losing side of a fight.

And yet—this bastard hid it all under layers of expensive suits, walking around like some mysterious, untouchable aristocrat, as if he was above the rest of the world, as if he was a secret that could never be fully unraveled.

"Why the hell does he hide this?"

"Is it just for the theatrics? The drama? The element of surprise before he murders people?"

Because let's be real—Caesar was the type of guy who got off on the art of the kill.

He wasn't just some thug who killed out of necessity.

No—he made a spectacle out of it.

He wasn't the type to just shoot someone and move on—he had to enjoy it, had to drag it out, had to make it a masterpiece.

He'd smile while doing it.

He'd talk his victims through it, make them understand why they were dying, make them comprehend just how deeply they had fucked up.

He was the type to get giddy at the first drop of blood, to tilt his head and admire his work like some deranged artist in a murder gallery.

And yet—here he was.

Naked.

Holding a vodka bottle like it was just another Tuesday night.

Eun-jae's brain was rapidly deteriorating, searching for something—anything—to latch onto, to redirect his mental breakdown elsewhere.

And then—

It happened.

His eyes landed on a new discovery, a new horror, a new mystery to unravel.

"…Pink nipples?"

Eun-jae's entire thought process came to a screeching halt.

"Men don't usually have that shade, do they?"

"That's like…some high-quality, premium-tier nipple pigmentation right there."

"The genetics behind this are insane."

Without thinking, the words left his mouth.

"You have a nice body. I dont understand why you always cover up during intimacy"

The second he said it, he knew he had fucked up.

Caesar's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk—the kind of smirk that promised nothing but pain and suffering.

"Wow…" he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement.

"I didn't know you were so interested in my body."

A pause.

A mocking tilt of the head.

A deliberate, scandalized smirk.

"So pervy."

Eun-jae groaned loudly, rolling his eyes so hard he glimpsed his past lives.

This was it.

This was his villain origin story.

Eun-jae just ignored him.

He didn't have the time, patience, or mental stability to deal with this man's bullshit.

Instead, he grabbed the nearby ladle and poured a fresh wave of water onto the hot coal, sending up a thick, hissing cloud of steam. The heat swelled, wrapping around them like an oppressive blanket, making the air even heavier, making every drop of sweat on their bodies glisten under the dim sauna light.

And then—

A sound.

Low.

Deep.

Barely a whisper, but there.

A soft, satisfied moan.

Caesar.

Eun-jae's entire spine locked up as the bastard tilted his head back, shutting his eyes, a look of pure, sinful relaxation painting his sharp features.

The steam curled around him, making him look almost unreal, like some fallen angel cast out of heaven—but not because of sin.

No—because Heaven had never been enough for him.

Because Heaven was too pure for someone like him.

Because there was no fun in being an angel when you were born to be the Devil.

Eun-jae stared.

He didn't mean to.

But his traitorous eyes dragged over every inch of flawless, sculpted muscle, over the way Caesar's body looked so perfectly untouched, as if he was something immortal, something meant to be worshipped but never claimed.

And then—

Caesar's eyes snapped open.

Eun-jae panicked.

He looked away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"Shit. I was staring too much."

Like clockwork, Caesar's smirk curled back onto his lips—that same smug, insufferable, I-own-you expression that made Eun-jae want to stab him, drown him, then resuscitate him just to do it all over again.

Without a word, Caesar grabbed the bottle and poured another drink for Eun-jae.

And then—

That fucking smirk.

That slow, deliberate smirk as he let his gaze linger, his fingers tapping idly against the glass before finally looking away.

A warning bell went off in Eun-jae's head.

And he was right to be wary.

Because then—Caesar spoke.

"You know…" he murmured, voice deep, lazy, sinful.

"If I ever got my hands on you—"

A pause.

A smirk.

A flicker of something dark in his eyes.

"I'd ruin you."

Silence.

The kind of silence that felt deafening, suffocating, the kind that made the entire world stop existing for a second.

Eun-jae's grip on his glass tightened.

Caesar just leaned back casually, as if he hadn't just said the filthiest thing humanly possible, as if he wasn't actively trying to wreck Eun-jae's sanity.

"I'd have you sobbing for hours."

"Shaking."

"Begging."

His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips.

"Bet you'd sound real pretty, too."

"Fuck it."

Eun-jae had had enough.

He was done.

Mentally, emotionally, spiritually depleted.

This bastard needed to be put in his place.

Before his own brain could stop him, he grabbed a handful of peppermint leaves—fresh, sharp, deadly in the right hands—and with a single, swift movement—

SLAPPED Caesar straight across the face.

The sound echoed.

A crisp, sharp crack that sliced through the heavy steam, leaving the air stunned, silent, breathless.

Caesar's head snapped to the side.

His hair fell over his face, strands sticking to his damp skin.

But—

He didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't say a word.

Just sat there, unblinking, like a statue.

Like something inhuman.

Eun-jae's stomach plummeted.

"Oops."

The word barely had time to settle in his brain before—

Everything flipped.

A blur of movement.

A hand—cold, fast, unforgiving.

And then—impact.

Eun-jae hit the wall.

Hard.

His breath ripped from his lungs, his body colliding with the wooden panels with a force that sent a violent shockwave through his spine.

He barely had time to process the pain before he realized—

Caesar was standing over him.

And he wasn't smiling.

Not smirking, not teasing, not looking at him with that usual, arrogant amusement.

No.

His expression was blank.

Cold.

Dead.

Like the kind of face you see right before you die.

Eun-jae's throat tightened.

The air around him suddenly felt thick, suffocating, pressing into his skin like an invisible weight.

And then—

It hit him.

The pheromones.

Thick, overwhelming, choking.