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When they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Bailey let out a shaky laugh. "Took you long enough, Sergeant."
Active Duty: The Distance Between Us
Outside, a helicopter thrummed in the distance. War was still out there. But in that small, borrowed space, they had found something worth coming home for.
Hunter’s thumb traced Bailey’s jawline. "Don’t call me that when you’re in my lap."
Then Hunter moved. Not fast, not reckless—but deliberate. He cupped the back of Bailey’s neck with his scarred hand and pulled him in. The kiss was chaste at first, a question. Then Bailey answered, lips parting, hand gripping Hunter’s thigh for balance. It was desperate and tender all at once—two men who had seen too much death finally holding onto something alive.
Hunter sat on the edge of his cot, unlacing his boots with the mechanical precision of a man who had done it ten thousand times. His hands were rough, knuckles scarred. He was all sharp angles and hard lines—until Bailey walked in.
Hunter finally looked at him. Really looked. Bailey’s face was smudged with dust and exhaustion, but there was something unshakable there. Kindness. Courage. A love that had grown quietly over six months of patrols, near-misses, and late-night conversations about everything except what mattered most.
That made him pause. His real name. Not Sergeant, not Cross. Hunter.
"You skipped chow again," Bailey said, leaning against the doorframe of the conex box they shared. His ACU top was unbuttoned, revealing a gray t-shirt underneath. A medic’s patch was sewn over his heart. "I brought you an MRE. Chili Mac. Your favorite."
"They won’t," Bailey said softly. "Not unless we tell them. And I’m not asking for a parade, Hunter. I’m asking you to stop pretending you don’t feel this."
Hunter didn't look up. "Not hungry."
"This can’t happen," Hunter whispered. "Not here. Not on active duty. If command found out—"
The forward operating base was quiet for once. No mortars, no distant gunfire. Just the hum of generators and the whisper of desert wind against the shipping containers that served as their makeshift home.
Bailey grinned. "Yes, sir."
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