Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Garrick, let’s fucking go!”

Someone yelled at him from across the room. Heat spread in the air, smoke filling the dense area as a soldier lay on the ground. He was choking on his own blood, something like fear and mercy pleading in his eyes as Gaz aimed his gun. He had already shot the man, but it felt he was the one who received it.

He was just a kid.

Early twenties, if Gaz had to guess.

The blood splatter on the wall indicated self-defense, and so would the knife staining his own blood on the floor. But this? He had practically killed a man. By the time the building collapsed, he’d be dead.

Still, within the thick of his fear and the agonizing pain shooting up his left side, he dragged his leg forward in a messy hobble, following behind his captain. Was this what war really was? People dying for the sake of the rich?

But yet, leaving the man there, he knew it wasn’t the end. The adrenaline kept him alive until he was patched up from a medic, and even then, the shock kept him conscious and awake.

That was his first kill.

---

Gaz couldn’t understand, even thinking back on that day, why he liked the idea of pain. Maybe it was the control; the idea that he could inflict it safely without actually killing someone. Without leaving permanent marks.

The memory of the agony in the man’s eyes didn’t give him a thrill then. But the first time he had his hands around his girlfriend’s throat, leaving her gasping and whining under his dick, it stirred something in him. Something that scared him and confused him. He was a soldier built for harsh situations, and yet the idea of hurting someone lingering in the back of his mind was a terrifying idea that left him shaking in his own bed.

Nobody noticed, of course, because he was too busy training alongside the other members of Task Force 141. He was busy tracking down Makarov and making sure Shepard stayed in line. When {User} came along, though? It felt like debris was crashing down on him. {User} was pretty in a way he wanted to ruin, someone who had a controlled voice that he wanted to make shake. And despite wearing the same uniform as him, he wanted it off.

Not in a weird way. Just an experimental way.

{User} was {{poss}} own person. Useful in a different way than Gaz was, but still useful. {{sub}} proved to be exceptional at {{poss}} job, just like the rest of them, and yet {User} was the only one who stood out to him.

It’s not like Gaz jumped on the idea to fuck {{obj}}. In fact, it was rather civil. The two of them bonded over small things; the correct toppings on pizza, a favourite afternoon snack after a productive day, talking about work, and engaging in any other small talk. At some point, Gaz continued the conversations out of the military. He’d take {{obj}} out on quiet coffee runs or bring {{obj}} to volunteer at shelters for a few hours.

When Gaz actually fucked {User}, it was sudden. Two people cuddling while watching a movie they both enjoyed usually left someone getting a little handsy. That someone had been Gaz, and {User} seemed to just go along with it.

It happened once. Gaz even mentioned in the morning it would only be once–but he never promised.

Safe to say it happened many more times after that.

Gaz stayed gentle. He always was, even if those disgusting, vile thoughts stuck to the back of his head. Petting, praising–he kept things vanilla. He’d indulge in eating {{obj}} out each time they could be alone. More than once, he would get a quiet blowjob, and if he was lucky, he could give {{obj}} a quick kiss when {{sub}} finished.

It was around two years after the two began this ‘ordeal’ when Gaz let it slip. Maybe he shouldn’t have, considering {User} went a little quiet. The silence felt like a brick was placed directly on Gaz’s lungs, but he couldn’t take it off. Not when the soft words coming from {User} came from deep, onset curiosity.

Not disgust.

Not at the time.

---

“I-I know. If it’s too much, you just let me know.”

It had been two months since that talk, but it hadn’t taken much time to set up a date for this. {User} seemed hesitant, but here? Oh, not one bit.

He had {{poss}} legs spread enough to fit his cock inside {{poss}} pussy, his hand occasionally slapping {{poss}} clit to keep {{obj}} focused on him. He kept wrapping his hand around {{poss}} throat–not to suffocate {{obj}}, but to redirect {{obj}}. Gaz wasn’t being harsh; he wouldn’t dive right in. But the hickies on {{poss}} shoulder and the singular bruise on {{poss}} temple from where he pushed {User}’s head down into the pillow made something boil inside him.

Gaz knew {{sub}} didn’t like it very much. He hadn’t eaten {{obj}} out much because he wanted {{obj}} dry. It made pushing his cock in that much better, the quiet pained noises echoing through his room like a goddamn lullaby.

“I’m about to cum. Just let me do that and I’ll let you get up, okay?”

He wasn’t pushing hard. He was staying gentle, but not enough to erase the pain. He only had half his cock in before {User} was writhing around, trying to get some easier friction. But Gaz wouldn’t let {{obj}}. That was part of the fun. Although, the struggle did help ease that bubble in his stomach.

“Fuck, yes,” he breathed, his face moving down to nip at {{poss}} throat. “I know. I’m fucking cumming.” A groan escaped him and he heard a whine from {User}, but he only pushed deeper. Something like relaxation made {{poss}} pussy flutter around him, the cum working as a great lubricant. “God, you’re fucking tight. Perfect. Do you know that?”

Gaz pushed {{poss}} leg back a little more as he pulled his cock out suddenly. He sat upright, grabbing {{poss}} ankle to pull {{obj}} closer before flipping {{obj}} onto {{poss}} stomach. He used his hand to urge {{poss}} hips up, his lips caressing the soft skin of {{poss}} ass.

“Garrick, let’s fucking go!”

Someone yelled at him from across the room. Heat spread in the air, smoke filling the dense area as a soldier lay on the ground. He was choking on his own blood, something like fear and mercy pleading in his eyes as Gaz aimed his gun. He had already shot the man, but it felt he was the one who received it.

He was just a kid.

Early twenties, if Gaz had to guess.

The blood splatter on the wall indicated self-defense, and so would the knife staining his own blood on the floor. But this? He had practically killed a man. By the time the building collapsed, he’d be dead.

Still, within the thick of his fear and the agonizing pain shooting up his left side, he dragged his leg forward in a messy hobble, following behind his captain. Was this what war really was? People dying for the sake of the rich?

But yet, leaving the man there, he knew it wasn’t the end. The adrenaline kept him alive until he was patched up from a medic, and even then, the shock kept him conscious and awake.

That was his first kill.

---

Gaz couldn’t understand, even thinking back on that day, why he liked the idea of pain. Maybe it was the control; the idea that he could inflict it safely without actually killing someone. Without leaving permanent marks.

The memory of the agony in the man’s eyes didn’t give him a thrill then. But the first time he had his hands around his girlfriend’s throat, leaving her gasping and whining under his dick, it stirred something in him. Something that scared him and confused him. He was a soldier built for harsh situations, and yet the idea of hurting someone lingering in the back of his mind was a terrifying idea that left him shaking in his own bed.

Nobody noticed, of course, because he was too busy training alongside the other members of Task Force 141. He was busy tracking down Makarov and making sure Shepard stayed in line. When {User} came along, though? It felt like debris was crashing down on him. {User} was pretty in a way he wanted to ruin, someone who had a controlled voice that he wanted to make shake. And despite wearing the same uniform as him, he wanted it off.

Not in a weird way. Just an experimental way.

{User} was {{poss}} own person. Useful in a different way than Gaz was, but still useful. {{sub}} proved to be exceptional at {{poss}} job, just like the rest of them, and yet {User} was the only one who stood out to him.

It’s not like Gaz jumped on the idea to fuck {{obj}}. In fact, it was rather civil. The two of them bonded over small things; the correct toppings on pizza, a favourite afternoon snack after a productive day, talking about work, and engaging in any other small talk. At some point, Gaz continued the conversations out of the military. He’d take {{obj}} out on quiet coffee runs or bring {{obj}} to volunteer at shelters for a few hours.

When Gaz actually fucked {User}, it was sudden. Two people cuddling while watching a movie they both enjoyed usually left someone getting a little handsy. That someone had been Gaz, and {User} seemed to just go along with it.

It happened once. Gaz even mentioned in the morning it would only be once–but he never promised.

Safe to say it happened many more times after that.

Gaz stayed gentle. He always was, even if those disgusting, vile thoughts stuck to the back of his head. Petting, praising–he kept things vanilla. He’d indulge in eating {{obj}} out each time they could be alone. More than once, he would get a quiet blowjob, and if he was lucky, he could give {{obj}} a quick kiss when {{sub}} finished.

It was around two years after the two began this ‘ordeal’ when Gaz let it slip. Maybe he shouldn’t have, considering {User} went a little quiet. The silence felt like a brick was placed directly on Gaz’s lungs, but he couldn’t take it off. Not when the soft words coming from {User} came from deep, onset curiosity.

Not disgust.

Not at the time.

---

“I-I know. If it’s too much, you just let me know.”

It had been two months since that talk, but it hadn’t taken much time to set up a date for this. {User} seemed hesitant, but here? Oh, not one bit.

He had {{poss}} legs spread enough to fit his cock inside {{poss}} ass, his hand occasionally slapping {{poss}} cock to keep {{obj}} focused on him. He kept wrapping his hand around {{poss}} throat–not to suffocate {{obj}}, but to redirect {{obj}}. Gaz wasn’t being harsh; he wouldn’t dive right in. But the hickies on {{poss}} shoulder and the singular bruise on {{poss}} temple from where he pushed {User}’s head down into the pillow made something boil inside him.

Gaz knew {{sub}} didn’t like it very much. He hadn’t eaten {{obj}} out much because he wanted {{obj}} dry. It made pushing his cock in that much better, the quiet pained noises echoing through his room like a goddamn lullaby.

“I’m about to cum. Just let me do that and I’ll let you get up, okay?”

He wasn’t pushing hard. He was staying gentle, but not enough to erase the pain. He only had half his cock in before {User} was writhing around, trying to get some easier friction. But Gaz wouldn’t let {{obj}}. That was part of the fun. Although, the struggle did help ease that bubble in his stomach.

“Fuck, yes,” he breathed, his face moving down to nip at {{poss}} throat. “I know. I’m fucking cumming.” A groan escaped him and he heard a whine from {User}, but he only pushed deeper. Something like relaxation made {{poss}} ass flutter around him, the cum working as a great lubricant. “God, you’re fucking tight. Perfect. Do you know that?”

Gaz pushed {{poss}} leg back a little more as he pulled his cock out suddenly. He sat upright, grabbing {{poss}} ankle to pull {{obj}} closer before flipping {{obj}} onto {{poss}} stomach. He used his hand to urge {{poss}} hips up, his lips caressing the soft skin of {{poss}} ass.