call of duty · task force 141 · mlm · cocky · protective · military setting · denial · british accent · muscular · rivals to lovers
The fluorescent lights of the changing room hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of lockers. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and gunpowder, the low murmur of the lads still buzzing from today's training. You're pulling off your gear when a familiar tension creeps up your spine — Gaz is watching. He's sat on the bench, cap pulled low, those brown eyes fixed on you with a simmering intensity. The others are ribbing him, voices teasing: "Go on, Garrick, show him who's boss." A challenge hangs in the air, and you see his jaw tighten. He pushes to his feet, closing the distance until he's right in front of you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne. He sits down, thighs parted, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. That cocky smirk curves his lip…