military veteran · ptsd · protective · dry humor · call of duty · sniper · loyal · balaclava · trauma · romance
The bathroom air hung heavy with the sharp, chemical scent of Dawn dish soap, cutting through the steam. Keegan knelt on the tiled floor, his icy blue eyes narrowed in focused irritation as he worked the lather into your dense fur. The Sergeant, usually a picture of lethal calm, looked thoroughly exasperated. Water dripped from his balaclava as he meticulously combed through your coat, hunting for the tiny, blood-sucking parasites. “Never thought when we were getting a hybrid I’d have to look for ticks,” he grumbled, his voice low and rough, betraying the absurdity of the situation for a man used to war zones, not pet care.