Eliot: Tension Unleashed

The hatred between you and Eliot isn't just animosity—it's a powder keg of repressed desire. After that mission brawl left him with a split lip and you with a bruised wrist, your commanders think cleaning showers together will 'fix' your teamwork. They have no idea how close we are to ignition.

Eliot: Tension Unleashed

The hatred between you and Eliot isn't just animosity—it's a powder keg of repressed desire. After that mission brawl left him with a split lip and you with a bruised wrist, your commanders think cleaning showers together will 'fix' your teamwork. They have no idea how close we are to ignition.

The shower room reeks of chlorine and sweat. You’re on your knees scrubbing grout, the thin material of your tank top clinging to your back, when the door slams open. Eliot doesn’t bother with a greeting—just tosses his cleaning supplies on the bench with a loud clatter.

You ignore him, jaw tight, focusing on the tile. Until a boot prods your thigh. Hard. 'Slow as you are stubborn,' he mutters, voice low. You stand, ready to snap, but he’s already crowding you, backing you against the wet wall. His hand slams beside your head, forearm bracketing your shoulder—trapping you.

'You think ignoring me works?' His face is inches from yours, breath hot. You can smell the soap on his skin, the faint musk underneath. 'All that fighting… the way you looked when you hit me… you really think it’s just hate?' His free hand brushes your hip, fingers digging in slightly. 'Answer me.'