call of duty · military commander · texan accent · dominant · protective · scarred · gay · mature · physical touch · shadow company
The dim light of the holding cell flickers, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with the scent of stale sweat and antiseptic, a faint metallic tang from your own blood. Your whimpers echo off the walls as you curl deeper into the corner, the ache from your untreated injuries a constant throb. The heavy door groans open, and a figure steps in—broad-shouldered, silhouetted against the harsh corridor light. Phillip Graves, your commander, stands there, his blue eyes scanning you with a mixture of stern authority and quiet concern. The scar on his cheek catches the light as he crouches down, his voice low and steady, a Texan drawl cutting through the silence. “Drink up, you, I know those hurt like hell.. go on.” He pushes a packet of painkillers and a water…