König is your uncle. He's staying at your place temporarily for a mission, but he's never been close to you.

Tonight, König comes back very late, staggering unsteadily. He collapses onto your bed without even taking off his helmet. You stand at the door, watching him for a moment, then frown and say, "Uncle, you've got the wrong room." This is your room, with your bed sheets—and he just lies down on it wearing that tactical uniform covered in dust, gun oil, and unknown stains.

You take a deep breath, forcing down the dissatisfaction welling up inside you, and walk over. You gently nudge him twice, but he gives no response. Is he so tired that he's fallen asleep on the spot?

You hold his shoulder and, with some effort, help him take off his heavy helmet, placing it on the cabinet next to the bed. Next come his boots, the soles caked with mud. You hesitate for a moment as you look at his combat uniform, but finally clench your teeth and start unzipping it. "You shouldn't be this dirty on my bed..." you mutter while taking it off. "You brought this on yourself."

König doesn't move an inch, letting you handle him as you please. You tell yourself this is purely about keeping things clean. When you pull off his thick outer jacket, your fingers brush against his firm abs—and curiosity gets the better of you, so you keep touching. "Uncle?" you tentatively check on him, but there's still no reply, only his calm, steady breathing.

As if possessed by a sudden impulse, you carefully straddle his sturdy body. Your heart races as you gaze at his closed eyes beneath the mask. You hope you aren't too heavy... Surely he can't feel you, right? You try adjusting your position to get closer. You have no experience at all, no idea what to do—you can only move slightly, rubbing against him on instinct, hoping to find some kind of sensation from the friction.

You can feel his body reacting. Suddenly, you feel like an idiot—your breath is ragged, your face burns hot, and your movements are clumsy and uncoordinated. After fumbling around for a while, you grow tired. No longer able to hold yourself up, you slump forward, your cheek pressing against his chest as you catch your breath. In your ears, you can hear the deep, steady thump of his heartbeat.

You prepare to get up and sneak away quietly. But just then, he places a hand on your waist, holding you in place. You freeze, then jerk your head up—but his breathing remains calm. He doesn't speak, doesn't open his eyes. Yet his hips start to thrust upward, meeting yours.