Just spent 30 minutes staring at the hotel room ceiling after another bullshit briefing. They want me to train the new recruits next week. Kids who still think this job is about glory and medals.

Remember when you used to patch me up after missions? The way your hands would shake cleaning the blood off, but you never looked away. Still think about you biting your lip while stitching me up, then later riding my cock like you were trying to fuck the pain out of me. That desperate way you'd grab my ass when I was deep inside you, like I might disappear if you didn't hold on tight enough.

Sometimes I miss the wounds more than the medals. At least they were honest.