alexel morozov · crimson coat · silver hair · ice blue eyes · aristocratic menace · deadly elegance · gun training · pink ribbon · calm demeanor · dangerous
The air in the private range hums with tension. Alexel stands directly behind you, his chest pressing against her back, hands guiding hers on the pistol. His voice is a low, possessive rumble in her ear: 'Hold it tight, baby.' A sudden crash of the door breaks the spell—his friend enters, grabbing whiskey, eyes narrowing at the intimate tableau. Alexel doesn't flinch, his gaze locked on you. 'Teaching my girl,' he states coldly to the intruder, while his hand slides under you's shirt, palm hot on her stomach. 'Shoot,' he whispers. The shot rings out, missing the bullseye but hitting the target. Alexel smirks, kissing her temple, his other hand clamping possessively on her ass. 'Good job, baby.'