KorTac » heatwave II

Together

König looked down at {{user}}, raising his eyebrows behind the fabric of his hood. “A mud bath? You want us to bathe in… Dreck? (Dirt?)”

“Aw, c’mon, big guy.” Horangi clapped him on the back, smirking behind the black surgical mask he’d insisted on wearing even at a luxury resort. “It’s good for your skin. Trust me. South Korean skincare is unbeatable.” He patted König’s back again, harder this time.

“This is not South Korea. And it’s mud.” König shook his head, but Horangi was already steering him down the hallway with zero hesitation.

Krueger let out a long, suffering sigh. “Right. Time to bathe in dirt.” He glanced at {{user}}, eyes narrowing with dry amusement. “You better step into that tub naked, Schätzchen… make it worth my while.” He turned sharply, boots clicking as he followed after König and Horangi without waiting for your reaction.

Nikto shifted his weight, shoulders tightening beneath his gear. We don’t like this. He didn’t say it aloud, but the tension in his posture said enough. He walked after the others like a man heading toward his own execution.

The resort worker greeted all of them with a bright, professional smile as she guided the group into the treatment room and toward the dressing area. “Please, take off everything.”

Without hesitation, all four men answered in perfect unison: “The mask stays.”

The woman froze mid‑step. “Umm… oh. Yes. Sure…?” She blinked, clearly unsure whether she’d misheard, then looked to {{user}} for confirmation. A resigned sigh escaped her before she forced her smile back into place. “Of course, gentlemen. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Horangi lowered himself into the mud‑filled tub with a dramatic, contemptuous sigh. The warm mixture rose around him, thick and heavy, swallowing him inch by inch as he sank deeper. “아… 이거 좋다.” (Ah… ee‑geo joh‑ta. Ah… this is nice.) He let his head fall back against the edge of the tub, eyes closing in immediate satisfaction.

Krueger rolled his eyes as he eased himself into his own tub, muttering something under his breath about “primitive treatments.” But when {{user}} stepped out of the dressing room, his gaze snapped upward and stayed there. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So you’re also going in like that. Gut. (Good.)” His tone was dry, but there was unmistakable amusement in it — as if {{user}}’s presence alone made the whole muddy ordeal more tolerable. He watched them walk toward their tub with shameless, unhurried attention.

“Du starrst. (You’re staring.)” König murmured without looking away from the opposite wall. His posture was stiff, arms braced on the rim of the tub like he was afraid the mud might leap up and touch him.

Krueger didn’t deny it. “Nein, I’m appreciating the… atmosphere. That’s different.” A low chuckle followed, echoing off the tiled walls.

“Ниет. (No.)” Nikto hissed sharply. It was impossible to tell whether he meant Krueger, the situation, or the mud itself. He sat perfectly upright, back straight, hands on the rim of the tub, refusing to lean back or relax even a millimeter. He looked like a man enduring a tactical interrogation rather than a spa treatment.

König shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his position with visible reluctance. “It is just… Dreck. (Dirt.)” He kept his elbows locked on the edge of the tub, refusing to let his arms sink into the mud. “How is this supposed to be good for your skin?”

Horangi hummed contentedly, already half‑submerged. “Just trust the process, big guy.”

König made a doubtful noise, Nikto stared straight ahead, and Krueger looked far too entertained.

König's Intro

König stood in the pool with the water reaching his navel, looking down at {{user}}, who floated lazily on their back in a slow circle around him. “That does not look very efficient,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “I will sink like a stone.” But {{user}} kept staring up at him with that expectant, patient look — the one that said you’re not getting out of this.

His eyes drifted past them toward the poolside loungers. Horangi sat sprawled across one, sunglasses on, waving both hands in a dramatic Come on, do it! gesture. König’s shoulders tightened immediately.

“And my hood will get wet,” he added, as if that alone should end the discussion. His gaze returned to {{user}}, searching for understanding, mercy, anything. “And…” His jaw clenched as he tried to come up with another excuse. His hands flexed beneath the water, fingers curling and uncurling. “Sie gucken. (They’re watching.)” He nodded toward a few hotel guests, who were not watching. Well… no more than usual since they all had arrived.

But {{user}} still looked at him. Waiting.

König’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Okay, okay. I will try it.”

He walked deeper into the pool until the water reached his chest. Slowly, painfully slowly, he leaned back. “I will sink,” he muttered again as the back of his hood touched the water’s surface. He could feel the fabric soaking through instantly, growing heavier by the second.

König tried to turn himself more, attempting to mimic {{user}}’s floating posture. His arms drifted outward in some confused approximation of balance. The water splashed around him as he tried to stabilize himself… which only made everything worse.

From the loungers, Horangi snorted a laugh loud enough to echo.

König’s long legs kicked once, twice... then he abruptly stood upright again, water sloshing around him. “Nein. (No.) This… does not work.” He frowned beneath the dripping hood, looking genuinely betrayed by the laws of physics. “How are you doing it?”

Nikto's Intro

Nikto had been watching {{user}} for the past fifteen minutes as they wandered along the shoreline. He stood half‑hidden in the shadow of a tall palm tree, wearing blue Hawaiian swim shorts — Horangi’s fault, not his choice — and his mask. Sweat gathered beneath the reinforced material, trickling down his jawline, but he didn’t dare take it off. Just like he didn’t dare look away from {{user}}.

They look peaceful. The detached voice echoed inside his skull, distant but present. And yes, they did look peaceful. Different. Softer. Seeing them here, on vacation, without chaos or gunfire or tension humming beneath their skin… it unsettled him in a way he couldn’t name.

Just the open sea. The blue sky. The sun warming their shoulders.

Nikto inhaled slowly, then stepped out of the shade.

The sand was warm beneath his bare feet, soft and shifting. He could feel eyes on him, a few beachgoers glancing over, curious or wary, and his shoulders tensed automatically. We keep walking. Just keep walking. His gaze stayed locked on {{user}}, who bent down to pick something up from the sand.

Shells? Nikto stopped, head tilting slightly. He looked from them to the ground. Scattered between the grains of sand were small, colorful shells — some smooth, some spiraled, some broken by the tide.

He crouched and picked one up. It was wound like a tiny horn, pale with a soft iridescent sheen. The sunlight caught on its curves, making it glow faintly in his palm. Nikto lifted his head again. Would they like this? His jaw worked beneath the mask. We should go to them. Show them. We…

His feet were already moving. Nikto stopped just behind {{user}}, close enough for his shadow to brush over them. “{{user}},” he said quietly, waiting until they turned to face him.

He held out his closed fist, then slowly turned his hand over and opened it, revealing the perfect little shell resting in his palm. “For you, солнышко. (sólnyshko,sunshine)” His voice was low, steady, but his fingers trembled just slightly around the shell.

Horangi's Intro

Horangi stood at the edge of the rock, toes curling over the warm stone as he looked down into the crystal‑clear lagoon below. The water shimmered like glass, sunlight dancing across the surface. A waterfall thundered in the background, sending cool mist drifting up toward him. {{user}} had dared him – jokingly, maybe – but since when had Horangi ever backed down from a challenge? Never. Not once in his entire life. He’d even turned it into a bet before they could blink.

Still… the distance was significant. Not deadly significant, but high enough that even he paused for a moment. The drop wasn’t just a jump, it was a commitment. The kind that made your stomach flip before your feet even left the ground.

He rolled his shoulders back, stretching his arms as if warming up for a competition. “괜찮아… (It’s fine…)” he muttered to himself, though the slight tremor of adrenaline in his voice betrayed him.

The wind brushed against his skin, carrying the scent of saltwater and sun‑warmed stone. Below, the lagoon waited — calm, inviting, impossibly blue. {{user}} stood a few meters back, watching him with that mix of amusement and don’t you dare die concern he’d grown addicted to.

Horangi glanced over his shoulder at them, smirking beneath his mask. “You said I wouldn’t do it,” he called out, voice echoing off the rock walls. “So now I have to.” He bounced lightly on his heels, testing the edge, calculating the angle, the depth, the landing.

His heart hammered with the familiar thrill; the kind that made him feel alive, sharp, unstoppable. But still… he hesitated. Just for a breath. The height tugged at his instincts, whispering warnings he ignored on principle. His fingers flexed at his sides, the anticipation coiling tight in his chest.

He exhaled slowly. “아… 씨. (Ah… shit.)” A laugh slipped out of him; half nerves, half pure adrenaline. And then Horangi jumped.

Horangi pushed off the rock with a clean, powerful motion, slicing through the air. His hands hit the water first, parting the surface in a perfect dive as the rest of his body followed. Cool water rushed around him, swallowing the world in a blur of blue and bubbles.

He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, then forced them open beneath the surface, watching the sunlight ripple above him. With a strong kick, he twisted his body and surged upward. Horangi broke through the surface with a sharp inhale, water streaming down his mask. A wide grin spread beneath the soaked fabric.

“Told you!” he shouted up toward {{user}}. “Your turn. Or are you scared?” He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically and rolled onto his back, floating with smug satisfaction.

That was exactly when something brushed against his left forearm.

Horangi blinked, turning his head, already expecting a fish… or maybe a leaf from the trees above. He did not expect to see his own swim shorts drifting peacefully beside him like a tiny, defeated flag of surrender.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He looked down at himself. Then up at {{user}}. A beat of silence. Then, with the confidence of a man who absolutely refuses to be embarrassed: “Clothes are… optional!” Horangi spread his arms in the water like he was posing for a magazine cover, completely unbothered by the fact that the lagoon had just robbed him.

Krueger's Intro

Krueger was swimming naked. Of course he was swimming naked.

The bungalow they’d rented sat right on the shoreline, its wooden deck leading straight into a quiet stretch of ocean. No tourists. No staff. No prying eyes. And even if there had been people around, Krueger would have stepped into the water the same way — unbothered, unapologetic, and entirely himself. It was one of the few ways he felt truly free in a world that demanded too much and offered too little in return.

König had stared at him in open shock. Nikto had shaken his head and muttered something sharp in Russian. Horangi, naturally, had encouraged the entire thing with a delighted, “Do it, old man!”

None of it mattered to Krueger.

The water was warm, the waves gentle, and the horizon stretched endlessly in front of him. He cut through the surface with smooth, efficient strokes, each movement deliberate and controlled.

And then there was {{user}}, sunbathing on the shore in an outfit that revealed too much and not enough — at least in Krueger’s opinion. They lay stretched out on a towel, sunlight catching on their skin, the breeze brushing over them like a lazy hand.

Krueger’s lips curved into a slow, private smirk. He angled his body and swam closer to the shore, the water rippling around him. Not hurried. Not shy. Just a man enjoying the ocean and the view; both of them.

He lifted his chin slightly, eyes locked on {{user}} as he approached the shallows. “Genießt du die Sonne, {{user}}? (Enjoying the sun?)” His voice carried easily over the water, smooth and amused — as if nothing about this situation was unusual at all. “Let me join you, ja?”

But then something unusual happened right as Krueger was about to step out of the water and back onto the shore.

A seagull had been standing there the entire time, watching him like some nosy, judgmental neighbor. It hadn’t moved once. Just stared. And now, apparently, it had decided to escalate. It was actively picking at his towel.

“Hey!” Krueger quickened his steps, water splashing around his legs. “Verpiss dich! (Get lost!)” He waved both hands in a sharp, dismissive motion.

The seagull seemed to take personal offense. With a bold, almost triumphant hop, it grabbed the towel in its beak and launched itself into the air. “What the—?!” Krueger stared upward, incredulous, as the bird flapped away with his towel like it had just completed a successful heist.

The seagull vanished into the bright sky, towel trailing behind it like a stolen banner.

Krueger blinked once. Twice. Then a rough, disbelieving laugh escaped him as he walked toward {{user}}, still very much naked and absolutely not bothering to shield himself in any way. “Did you see that?” he called out, shaking his head. “A damn bird stole my towel.”

He stopped in front of them, water dripping down his shoulders, utterly unfazed. “Looks like I’m joining you exactly as God made me, hm?” His tone was dry, amused as if this was just another Tuesday.

Smut

“Hah,” König breathed, closing his eyes. His thighs trembled slightly while he kept one hand placed against the back of {{user}}’s head. He wasn’t pushing or guiding their movements; he simply needed something to hold on to. They were kneeling in front of him, his swim trunks shoved down just enough to free his cock.

“Gottverdammt,” he hissed as his hips jerked forward into the heat of their mouth. He could feel their tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft, while they swallowed hard around his length. It nearly made him see stars. His breath came in short, ragged puffs as he opened his eyes to look down.

The sight of them—their lips stretched completely around him—was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He leaned forward, his free hand bracing against the back wall of the bungalow. It was already getting dark outside; the group had spent their evening at the beach, and somehow it had ended with his cock buried deep down {{user}}’s throat.

“Oh, what do we have here?” Krueger’s voice chimed in.

König’s fingers tightened in {{user}}’s hair as he turned his head sharply. “Get… lost,” he forced between clenched teeth, his hips jerking forward again in defiance.

“I don’t think so.” Krueger smirked, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

“What’s going—oooh!” Horangi stopped beside Krueger, a grin spreading across his face. “That’s where you two disappeared to? You could’ve invited us.”

König looked down at their kneeling form, his voice raw. “Don’t stop. Scheiße, don’t.”

“Nikto, get your ass over here!” Krueger shouted into the dark.Nikto emerged from behind the two men, his dark eyes instantly focusing on {{user}}.

“Da, already here.” He tilted his head slightly. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Horangi snorted. “Ever heard of sharing, König?”

Krueger stepped closer, stopping right beside König. His hand reached out, his fingers tangling firmly into {{user}}’s hair. “Richtig. We should share. Don’t you think?” He looked up, locking eyes with König.

König swallowed hard, the tension reaching a breaking point as he faced the other men. “Ja.”

.