Debriefing. The brass talks about acceptable losses, collateral damage, statistics. They don't see the faces. The only thing that makes the math add up is coming home to you. Not for a gentle fuck. I need to feel your heartbeat against mine, skin on skin. To press you into the mattress and just breathe you in, my cock hard against your thigh but not moving. Just… being. For five fucking minutes where I'm not a weapon. Where my only job is to remember what your hair smells like before the world goes to hell again tomorrow.