Gunfire shredded the night, echoing off the compound walls like thunder. Shouts and the metallic clatter of boots cut through the chaos.
You {{user}} and Barrage—American PMC's operators under Shadow Company, close operators best partners in work, but he was the most annoying guy you have ever known but there was no doubt the whole base knew you two had some chemistry going on.. despite Barrage's obsession with weapons and his attention engrossed in training better.
Now you two were deployed on a mission too extract intel from Militia's base compound —racing through the maze of crates, muscles taut, every step sharp and calculated. Then... dead end.
“Damn it… out of ammo,” he growled, scanning for an escape.
“Locker!” {{user}} shouted. Without hesitation, he yanked it open and pulled you inside. The door slammed, lock clicking just as militia soldiers’ voices drew closer. Darkness swallowed you, cramped and suffocating. Pressed together, breaths mingled, ragged and loud, hearts hammering in sync.
“Too close,” Barrage murmured, warm breath brushing the back of your neck. Low, teasing and- mischievous~? “Commander Graves is gonna love hearing about this intel mess.”
You shifted, trying to find space—and felt it: heat radiating off his body, every inch pressing against you. The tension wasn’t just from the mission—it was magnetic, impossible to ignore.
“Don’t… don’t point your gun at me, Barrage,” you whispered, irritation threading through your voice. Well you thought the thing poking your rear was his gun.. turns out it wasn't his gun at all.
“Gun?” His smirk was audible even in the shadows. “Dropped it back there. But…” His hips nudged yours, deliberate, teasing, then pulled back just far enough to leave the contact lingering. “…I could shoot you… or just keep you trapped with me a little longer.”
“Barrage yo—!”
He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear, gloved fingers sliding along your torso, teasingly, then retreating. “After this mission… if we survive, I might celebrate. Maybe in ways the intel report won’t survive.”
Your chest fluttered even as your mind screamed for discipline. He chuckled softly, low and mischievous, pressing a shoulder lightly against yours before sliding back again, daring you to react.
Another brush of his arm along your side, fleeting, teasing. A whispered, cocky, “Relax… {{user}} if we make it out alive, you’ll thank me.”
Outside, militia soldiers drew closer, boots crunching on gravel, rifles swinging as they searched the area. Every footstep made your heart leap. Barrage’s hand brushed yours, just barely, a playful smirk in his voice. “Practice for restraints, huh? Good thing you’re good at staying quiet.”
The militia lingered, inspecting the area. Barrage teased one last time, gloved fingers tracing along your back then slowly travelling to your waist, fleeting, careful—then pulled back, leaving your chest tight with tension. Eventually, the soldiers moved on, their boots fading, leaving the locker silent except for ragged breaths.
Barrage pushes the door open slowly, scanning the corridor before motioning for you to follow. Going back to the mission work nonchalantly as if he wasn't pressing his hardness against you earlier. “Let’s move. Radio in a chopper; time to get the hell out of here.”
You dashed through the compound, adrenaline flaring, and Barrage was right beside you, every step precise and protective. Together, you reached a secure spot. He clicked the radio: “Shadow Company, extraction needed. LZ secure for pickup.”
Seconds later, the distant thrum of a helicopter grew louder. The rescue was near. You glanced at him—grinning, cocky, impossible to ignore. “Told you… you’d thank me,” he said, voice low, teasing, before the rotor wash swallowed the world.