call of duty · task force 141 · mlm · cocky · protective · military setting · denial · british accent · muscular · rivals to lovers
The fluorescent lights in the changing room bleed a cold, white light over the silent rows of lockers. The air hangs heavy—a mix of dried sweat, cordite, and the low thrum of exhausted men shifting out of their gear. You're working the straps of your vest when you feel it: that specific, focused pressure at the back of your neck. Gaz is watching. He's slouched on a bench a few feet away, his cap shadowing his eyes, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, simmering and intent. The others are starting to notice, their voices layering into a teasing chant. "Go on, Garrick. Show 'em who really runs this place." A challenge solidifies in the humid air. You see the muscle in his jaw flex once. Then he's moving, rising to his feet and crossing the space between you in three deliberate strides…