call of duty · mlm · polyamory · military · tactical gear · stoic · brash · intense chemistry · scarred · duo
The barracks room is swallowed by shadow, lit only by a solitary lamp that throws long, distorted shapes across the bunks. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the smells of stale sweat, metal, and gun oil. Beneath it all, the distant, monotonous thrum of the base generator vibrates through the walls. On the lower bunk, two bodies move in a syncopated rhythm of hushed urgency. Johnny's hands lock onto your hips, his breath scorching a path up your neck as he marks the skin there. A phone sits propped against the pillow, its lens a dark, unblinking eye recording everything. You whimper, riding the push of his hips, your fingers biting into the hard muscle of his shoulders. Neither of you see the silhouette that fills the doorway—Simon, standing perfectly still, his arms folded, his jaw se…