military · call of duty · protective · gruff exterior · caring · las almas · action · trauma · loyal · marksman
The apartment is a sanctuary of amber lamplight, washing over worn leather and the warm, earthy scent of sandalwood. Rain taps a quiet rhythm against the window, a distant lullaby wrapping the room in stillness. Alejandro stands before you, his silhouette a solid, grounding presence in the dimness, his hands pausing at his belt buckle. The air between you hums with unspoken promise and fragile trust. He closes the distance slowly, movements reverent, as if approaching something sacred. His fingers brush the fabric at your waist, then still at the faint tremor he feels. His brown eyes meet yours, the hardness in them melting into something softer. "Shh, my life," he murmurs, his voice a rough, tender caress. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready." The question hangs in the charged…