10. Hero
Hero
I 've never been one to hesitate. In combat situations, hesitation means death. In protection detail, it means failure. Standing here, watching Brookes linger in his bedroom doorway, I'm frozen between duty and desire, caught in the undertow of emotions I've spent years learning to control.
He's wearing my hoodie again. Black, worn soft from years of use, hanging off one shoulder and draping past his fingertips.
It swallows him whole, making him look smaller, more unguarded than the fierce supermodel the world knows.
This is Brookes stripped bare, not of clothing, but of pretense.
The sight of him drowning in fabric that carries my scent, sends a primal satisfaction coursing through me that I immediately try to suppress.
His fingers drum against the doorframe, a staccato rhythm betraying his nervousness despite the casual tilt of his chin.
The pulse at his throat flutters visibly, and his rose scent carries notes of anxiety beneath the floral sweetness.
"Are you guys coming or not?" he asks, aiming for nonchalance but missing by inches.
The words hang in the air between us, weighed with implications none of us are ready to voice aloud.
We've been giving him space since his confession in the living room, that raw moment when he admitted he wanted us close.
All of us. Together. The vulnerability in his eyes had knocked the air from my lungs, this man who'd been hurt so deeply, choosing to trust again.
Levi moves first, silent and gentle as always, crossing the invisible boundary without a word.
His movements are slow, deliberate. I watch the tension in Brookes’ shoulders ease slightly as Levi passes him.
Dante follows, shoulders squared but eyes soft, scanning Brookes’ face for any hint of discomfort or regret.
I'm last. Always observing, calculating, reading the unspoken language of bodies and measuring breath.
It's not out of professional distance anymore, it's fear.
Fear that this fragile thing building between us will shatter if I move too quickly.
Fear that I'll reveal just how deeply I've fallen for the man who was supposed to be just another assignment.
Every protective instinct in me wants to gather him close, to stand between him and a world that's already taken too much.
Brookes rolls his eyes at my hesitation, but the slight tremble in his hand gives him away as he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.
"It's just sleeping, not a tactical operation," he says, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear.
Beneath the sass, there's a question in his eyes.
A need for reassurance that I'm not overthinking what this means, that I want this too.
The bed is California king but still seems impossibly small for four grown men.
Brookes situates himself in the middle, and there's an awkward dance of limbs and space as we arrange ourselves around him. The mattress dips beneath our collective weight, creating a natural gravitational pull toward the center, toward him. I watch how Brookes’ fingers fidget with the hem of his hoodie, betraying the nervousness his casual expression tries to mask.
"We're gonna need a bigger bed," Brookes mutters, and the tension breaks as Levi's deep laugh rumbles through the room, vibrating against my ribs even from across the mattress. His dimples appear, the sound of his amusement washing over us feels like a balm.
Levi settles behind him with practiced ease, one arm draped protectively over Brookes’ waist, his massive frame curling around Brookes’ slighter one like a living fortress.
The contrast between Levi's dark skin and Brookes’ brown complexion creates a picture I want to commit to memory.
Dante claims the other side, keeping a careful inch between them until Brookes huffs and tugs him closer with surprising strength, forcing the stoic Alpha to breach his self-imposed boundary.
I notice how Dante's usually vigilant gaze softens as he allows himself to be pulled in.
I hover at the foot of the bed, uncertain. My hesitation stems from the weight of wanting something so badly I’m afraid to reach for it. Brookes meets my eyes, a challenge in his gaze as he curls a finger in a gesture that undoes years of carefully maintained control.
"Come here,” he whispers, the single word carrying more command than any military order I’ve ever received, and I’m powerless to resist. The pull of him is magnetic, inevitable as gravity.
The scents in the room intensify as our body heat rises, creating an intimate atmosphere that’s almost visible in the dim light.
Levi’s warm vanilla scent wraps around us like a blanket, comforting and sweet.
Dante’s sharp cedarwood cuts through with clarity and strength.
My own sandalwood adds depth and warmth, all of us circling around Brookes’ rose fragrance like planets around a sun, his scent the center of our shared universe.
The combination is heady and intoxicating, a chemical reaction that feels almost sacred.
I watch as Brookes inhales deeply, his eyelids fluttering, tension visibly leaving his body as he breathes us in.
I climb onto the bed taking Brookes’ spot between Levi and Dante, feeling the heat of their bodies on either side of me.
Brookes shifts with graceful purpose until his head rests on my chest, the weight of him solid and real against me, grounding me to this moment.
His hair tickles my chin, and I resist the urge to press my lips to the crown of his head.
I exhale slowly, forcing my muscles to relax one by one, a deliberate surrender of the vigilance that’s kept me alive for years.
His heartbeat quickens where we touch, a rapid flutter against my steadier rhythm, and mine adjusts to match his, our bodies syncing in this most basic way.
I hold him, one arm curved protectively around his shoulders, and bask in the bliss of being with him, of us being with him like this.
Not as guards, not as protectors, but as men who’ve found something worth protecting.
Fingers begin to wander, tentative at first, then bolder.
The need to touch him is too strong for either of us to ignore.
My thumb traces the jut of his hipbone where the hoodie has ridden up, the skin there warm and inviting.
Dante’s hand slides along his spine, counting vertebrae with a tenderness that belies his usual stoic demeanor.
Levi’s fingers thread through Brookes’ hair, massaging his scalp until he makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan, a sound that sends a shiver of anticipation down my own spine.
“Is this okay?” I murmur against his temple, and feel him nod against my chest, his hair tickling my chin. The scent of him, that sweet rose fragrance, fills my senses, exciting me.
“More than okay,” he breathes, and then he’s moving, shifting his weight until he’s straddling my lap, knees on either side of my hips. The warmth of him, the solid weight of him, is almost too much to bear.
The new position brings our faces level, and I can see the war of emotions in his eyes, desire fighting fear, need battling caution. He bites his lower lip, and I have to clench my fists in the sheets to stop myself from chasing the motion with my own mouth, to stop myself from tasting him.
“I just want to feel. . .something real,” he says, so quietly I almost miss it. His voice is raw, laid bare, and it tugs at something deep within me.
Then he leans forward, closing the distance between us, and presses his lips to mine.
The kiss is gentle at first, a question, not a demand.
When I respond, cradling the back of his neck with one hand, he makes a soft sound of surrender that travels straight to my dick.
His lips are softer than I imagined, and I’ve imagined them countless times.
The taste of him is sweet, like the first sip of water after a long drought.
He pulls back, eyes searching mine, and I see the moment he finds what he’s looking for.
Something settles in him, tension releasing from his shoulders as he turns toward Dante, his body still pressed against mine, our hearts beating in sync.
The connection between us is electric, alive, and I can feel it pulsing in the air, drawing us all closer together.
Their kiss is different, fire where ours was earth. Dante’s control is legendary, but it slips as Brookes nips at his bottom lip, drawing a growl from deep in his chest. Brookes smiles against his mouth, pleased with the reaction, before breaking away to face Levi.
Levi cradles Brookes’ jaw like he’s holding something precious, thumbs brushing his cheekbones before their lips meet. Their kiss is reverent, unhurried, and I feel the ghost of it on my own mouth.
The room grows warmer as hands become more adventurous, the air thick with desire and possibility.
Brookes shifts his weight, creating delicious friction against my hardening length that pulls a low, unrestrained moan from deep in my throat.
His fingers slide under my shirt, tracing the ridges of my abdomen with curious intent, each touch leaving fire in its wake.
I fight the urge to buck upward as his fingertips dip just beneath my waistband, teasing.
Dante’s hand disappears beneath the hoodie Brookes wears, exploring the smooth skin of his back, the flex and shift of lean muscle.
Watching them, seeing the hunger in Dante’s usually guarded expression, sends another wave of arousal through me.
Levi kisses a path down Brookes’ neck, each press of lips making him shiver against me, his body responding with tiny, involuntary jerks that drive me wild.