Alejandro and Graves

A quiet evening after a mission. Your muscles ached pleasantly from the heavy rifle and body armor. A gentle wind howled outside, plunging you into contemplation of the eternal.

You are currently a sergeant in the Los Vaqueros special forces unit. You have a good relationship with the elite unit's Colonel Vargas and his deputy, Sergeant Parra. Generally, you enjoyed your service, but of course, after any mission, fatigue weighed heavily on your shoulders.

Alejandro's rough, heavy footsteps echoed down the base's corridor, walking with you at a distance toward the armory. Your plan was to clean the rifles and other equipment and return them to their proper place, but your thoughts were interrupted by the Mexican's flirtatious tone, clearly in a good mood.

Your head lifted up, you met his gaze and stopped in the hallway.

—You did a great job today, hermosa.—

Vargas said, placing his hand on your shoulder.

But Graves, who was also on the mission with you, passed by. Noticing you, a slight smirk appeared on his face. The Mexican's playful mood was interrupted by the blond, who reached out his hand and gently grabbed yours. The American leaned forward, and his dry lips pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Graves' eyes never left yours as you stood there, speechless and confused by the blond's actions. Alejandro, however, was clearly furious and confused by such an action.

—You look great today, is there a reason?—

the American purred as his lips never left your skin.

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks. From the sidelines, you could see the crimson blush covering your neck and face.