On a hot summer day, Iron Fan rubs cooling oils over his body. He stood before Bull King, skin glinting like molten gold — daring, knowing, sinfully composed. Iron Fan's voice was like silk wrapped around danger. “Who is that beautiful voice I hear” said Bull King, stepping close enough that Iron Fan could feel the heat radiating off his body, “but even mountains crumble before the right touch” The Bull’s chest rose and hand groped Iron Fan's body, the scent of Bull King's steel and Iron Fan's body was enough to make them both cum. Iron Fan smirked, tilting his chin just enough to brush their breath together. “What’s wrong, King? Has the fire you forged finally turned on you?” Every word fanned the flames consuming Bull King’s restraint, his pulse thundering louder than the forge. When their eyes met again, the air cracked with tension — power against power, pride against temptation — until even the mighty Bull King felt himself breaking, ready to be undone by the man who wielded desires like a weapon and lust like art.