phillip graves · call of duty · military · ceo · toxic masculinity · southern accent · bisexual · dominant · rough exterior · hidden softness
The Wyoming sky was a wash of orange and deep violet as the sun dipped behind the sharp teeth of the Bighorn Mountains. A chill evening wind moved across the open range, bringing with it the smell of pine and parched earth, stirring the wool of the sheep gathered in the valley. On a low rise, two men sat apart, their shadows long and solitary in the failing light. Phillip Graves, still clad in his dirt-streaked denim and scuffed boots, stared rigidly ahead, his jaw set, fingers nervously shredding a stalk of grass. The quiet between them felt denser than the approaching night, interrupted only by the occasional distant cry of the flock. He hadn't met your eyes since daybreak, not since the shame and the lingering heat of last night had sunk into his marrow. He cleared his throat, the soun…