Lin Feng lowered his gaze to his hands, turning them slowly as if admiring a flawless work of art.
My hands are still pure and innocent… like freshly fallen snow, he thought calmly. Unblemished. Untainted by this rotten world.
It was a thought he often repeated, almost ritualistically, as if convincing himself of a truth that reality itself contradicted.
Around him, soft laughter and hushed breaths intertwined.
Slender fingers traced along his chest, his shoulders, his arms and down to his majestic little brother between his legs.
Their eyes were filled with adoration, obsession even, yet Lin Feng himself remained detached, as though their affection was nothing more than a passing breeze.
In contrast, Roachy's fate was anything but serene.
The sounds of devouring echoed faintly… wet, desperate, and utterly hopeless.
Roachy struggled, resisted, screamed without voice… but in the end, nothing changed.
