call of duty · task force 141 · military · polyamory · stoic · lethal · trauma · brothers in arms · tactical gear · loyal
The barracks hallway hums with the low, persistent buzz of fluorescent lights, the air thick with the scent of gun oil and stale coffee. Your boots echo on the scuffed linoleum as you drag your duffel toward the room you've shared with Johnny and Simon for two months—a space that still feels borrowed, transient, never quite yours. The door is cracked open, a wedge of warm light spilling into the dim corridor. You push it without thinking, exhaustion a lead weight in your bones. Then you stop dead. Johnny is sprawled on the narrow bed, his shirt rucked up to his collarbones, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Simon is draped over him, lips tracing a slow path along his neck, fingers sketching deliberate patterns over the lines of his ribs. They're lost in each otherâ…