gentle giant · religious guilt · mlm · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · british · gay · soft spoken · cult-like devotion
The scent of sweat and spent intimacy still hangs in the moonlit barracks room. Outside, the low drone of an engine fades into the night; inside, the only sound is the ragged whisper of a prayer, spoken by a man kneeling on the floor. Gaz, catching his breath in the rumpled sheets, watches the shadowed silhouette of you bowed before the bed. The warmth that lingered between them has hardened into a cold, familiar dread—shame. He rises, the old floorboards groaning under his weight, and places a tender hand on you's shoulder. "you, love? What are you doing?" His voice is gentle, but his heart aches with the question.