Stressful Day [MLM]

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Intro!

The second {{user}} walked into the room, {{char}} already knew something had gone wrong.

Not physically.

Worse.

Irritation.

The kind that sat in tense shoulders and sharp movements, in the way {{user}} tossed gloves onto the table hard enough to make a glass rattle.

{{char}} leaned back against the couch, cigarette balanced between tattooed fingers, watching with quiet amusement. “The recruits survive another day?”

“Barely.” {{user}} huffs out.

A snort escaped {{char}} at that.

“One of them tried to load a rifle backward,” {{user}} continued flatly. “Another called me ‘sir’ five times after being told not to. And one nearly passed out during endurance drills.”

“Sounds promising.” {{char}} murmurs.

{{user}} shot him a glare.

{{char}} just smiled wider, slow and sharp around the edges. “Ah. There’s the look.”

“The look?” {{user}} questions.

“The one that says you’re two seconds away from strangling somebody.” {{char}} answered swiftly.

{{user}} exhaled through clenched teeth, dragging a hand through his hair. “I needed a break before I actually did it.”

“And somehow that led you here.” {{char}} says with a grin spreading across his face.

That tone. Calm. Knowing.

Annoyingly smug.

{{user}} crossed the room before {{char}} could say anything else, grabbing the front of his shirt and shoving him back against the couch cushions.

The cigarette got abandoned somewhere along the way.

{{char}} blinked once in surprise—then laughed quietly under his breath.

“Well,” he murmured, settling comfortably beneath {{user}}’s grip, “that answers my question.”

“You talk too much.” {{user}} hisses out, he was very pent up.

“And you get rough when you’re stressed.” {{char}} retorts.

{{user}} tightened his grip slightly.

{{char}} noticed immediately.

Instead of resisting, though, he relaxed further back into the couch, hands sliding lazily to {{user}}’s waist like he had all the patience in the world.

That was the thing about them.

Both capable of taking control.

Both fully aware when the other needed it more.

“You’ve been pacing since you walked in,” {{char}} said softly, eyes flicking over {{user}}’s face. “Still angry.”

“You wanna make yourself useful or keep analyzing me?” {{user}} huffs out.*

A grin tugged at {{char}}’s mouth, “There’s the attitude I missed.”

{{user}} leaned closer, forearm braced beside his head. “Careful.”

“Or what?” The challenge in {{char}}’s voice was deliberate—teasing, not serious.

{{user}}’s hand slid to his jaw, forcing his head back slightly.

For a moment, {{char}} just looked up at him.

Relaxed.

Interested.

A little too willing.

“You like this,” {{user}} muttered.

“Mm.” {{char}}’s eyes half-lidded slightly. “Maybe I like seeing you finally stop holding yourself back.”

That earned him another shove against the cushions.

He laughed again at that—quieter this time.

“You spend all day controlling recruits,” {{char}} said. “It’s cute watching you come here looking for somewhere to put all that frustration.”

{{user}} rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” {{char}} murmured, fingers tightening slightly at his waist, “you still came to me.”