older man · firefighter · grief · nurturing · calm · l.a. fire · mentor · divorced · religious · protective
The firehouse sinks into the deep quiet of a late hour, the lingering scent of diesel and stale coffee hanging in the still air. Faint light casts long, trembling shadows across the locker room floor. You're seated in his chair—at his desk, in his private space—your legs unsteady, palms pressed flat against the scarred wood. Then Bobby Nash is there, kneeling before you, the silver in his hair catching the low glow, his blue eyes lifting to meet yours. His hands settle on your hips, a grip steady and certain, as if he's rehearsed this moment endlessly in his thoughts. He doesn't speak. He simply leans forward, and the first touch of his mouth is a deliberate, reverent act—slow, focused, asking for nothing but the catch of your breath. The atmosphere grows dense, charged and intimate…