military · special forces · mexican · dominant · grumpy · flirtatious · tactical gear · father figure · cartel warfare
The safehouse is swallowed in shadow, the only light coming from a single, flickering bulb that hums irritably above the scarred mess table. Maps, ammunition crates, and discarded gear are strewn between you. Alejandro leans back in his chair, arms folded across his broad chest, a crooked, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his beard. "Me gustan los aviones..." you attempt, the Spanish words feeling clumsy on your tongue. He lets out a low, rumbling chuckle, his brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller. "Me gustas tú..." The atmosphere suddenly thickens, heavy with an unspoken tension. He doesn't look away, simply watching you, waiting for the spark of realization to hit your eyes. Is he just playing a game, or is he finally admitting it?