Chapter Text
Graves looked tiredly at the tequila shot in front of him, which he twirled between two fingers in his hand. It had been a long day for all of them, with lots to do and even more paperwork that was surely going to keep him up for quite some time.
Leading an elite unit was demanding and not something you could do in a hurry. He loved his job, he really did, but sometimes it was just a bit much, especially when he saw how his men could spend the evenings relaxing together while he sat in his office sorting through never-ending files. Sometimes he wished he could go to bed early and not sit at his desk late at night, but that was his job. Besides, he hasn't worked his ass off for nothing, because at the end of the day everything he did was for his Shadows.
Graves was proud of his unit. He was proud to be able to say that all members of his Shadow Company had a close relationship based on the deepest respect, which was reflected in the fact that they often drank together after work. He was also proud that he didn't end up becoming one of the COs where you have to be afraid to speak up when you were troubled or when you had problems with anyone like he experienced back in his military days.
There was nothing in his life he remembers as clearly as the horrors he encountered in these years. Always alone with his problems because talking about them was 'gay', always having a constant distrust between his team which destroyed them from the inside out, and always feeling like he didn't belong. Graves never felt safe or comfortable entrusting his life to men who couldn't care less, but he had no choice. He was expected to accept that his biggest enemies were his own superiors and comrades and just carry on as if nothing had happened.
His commander at the time, Hickman was his name, was a power-obsessed asshole who ruthlessly exercised his sadistic traits on his men. For Hickman, like many other men in the upper military ranks, it was all about power. Power over countries, power over your troops, power over innocent civilians, and power over money. As a result, Graves endured a hell of a ride under his lead from which, to be honest, he never really recovered.
During those horrible years, he swore to himself that if he were to become a commander himself, he would never be an asshole like the narcissistic and sadistic bastards he had to suffer from. He had been humiliated, beaten, and a victim of the monster that claimed to be his superior. He was treated like something not worthy of being called “human” and he would be damned if he treated his own men like that.
Because of that, it gave him the deepest satisfaction to watch his soldiers and see how happy and comradely they were with one another, not just existing like robots to carry out orders. To him, his Shadows weren't just interchangeable puppets that did your dirty work or a tool you could use at will but brave men who protect the people they love.
Just because they were in the military didn't mean it was fine to break the soldiers without any care. They needed support, not only physically but mentally, too. Creating shelters in which to withdraw and process what had happened was not “soft” but a natural reaction to the exceptional situations they were confronted with. Dealing with all the shit that kept punching their psyche took time and understanding, not violence and threats. Of course, one could expect more from a hardened soldier than from a normal civilian, but they were still human beings with quite a fragile soul, and that respected Graves.
When thinking back to the times when all he needed was someone to hold him, telling him that's it going to be ok, his heart tightened in his chest. Just some sympathy, some rest, and permission to suffer was all he wanted but never allowed to have. The horror of the battlefield and the degrading treatment from his superior left marks that he didn't want anyone to see. He didn't want to show that those assholes managed to hurt him. He didn't want to admit that his urge to do better than them was because he will walk around with wounds in his soul for the rest of his life, always reminding himself of times too dark to think about.
Graves never really supported the rank-based power system within the military, which gave his COs back then a free pass to do whatever they fucking wanted without ever having to face consequences for it. His ideas on how things should work collided with the conservative views of his commanding officers more than once.
"Someone like you will never make a good commander if you cry like a little girl whenever shit gets nasty!"
"Your subordinates must respect and fear you, otherwise you have failed as a commander!"
"You are way too weak for me to ever trust you with a unit!"
These were phrases Graves had heard more than once over the years, Hickman made sure they were etched into his memory for all eternity. As a conservative old white man with beliefs from a bygone era, he saw no reason to change anything about the system that had brought him to the position he was in now. It's been done that way for centuries, so why change it, right?
The man seemed to hate anyone below him in rank, seeing them as subhumans that could be crushed like insects, but Graves always seemed to be a particular thorn in his side. When Hickman mistreated his soldiers, he tormented Graves. Admittedly, he had put himself quite in the line of fire at the time with all his ideas and innovations that would strip people like his narcissistic commander of their power, and with that, he had crossed a line he shouldn't cross. Since Graves also aspired to become a commander himself, his fate was sealed the moment the old geezer found out about it. In his eyes, the young Texan would ruin the special forces under his "woman-like leading strategy, based on empathy and flowers".
Unlike Hickman, Graves felt that soldiers should have a healthy disrespect for their superiors and not just do everything without questioning it, like some kind of mindless robot. Excessive boot licking had always repelled him, especially since it was so obvious and fake most of the time. He wanted to treat his subordinates as equals and not pretend to be a better kind of person because his badge indicated a higher rank. In addition, the thought the relationships within the team were a major priority because entrusting someone with your life required immense faith in the other person.
These opinions clashed with those of his commander, and while he believed that someone like Graves would never be able to lead his own unit, the young man worked hard to achieve just that. Maybe it was just to prove that asshole wrong, maybe it was to make himself believe that all the nights where he cried himself to sleep weren't for nothing, maybe it was the need to protect other soldiers from experiencing the same hell... he wasn't sure what exactly spurred him on, but in the end, he managed to archive his goal.
"Commander, why are you sitting here all alone?" The voice that suddenly appeared next to him startled him out of his thoughts.
“I'm just pretty tired, Sergeant. I'll probably just have another shot or two and then leave. When I'm gone you can celebrate without your superior breathing down your neck”, the older man said smiling and the sergeant, whose name's Roswell, just raised an eyebrow.
"Sir, everyone here would be happy if you would join us," he said and Graves looked at him a bit confused.
"You don't have to feel bad just because I'm sitting here alone, ok? I know that when you're a soldier, you enjoy a break from your CO when he's been yelling at you all day", he said, laughing, finishing his shot before looking at the man next to him.
"I won't force you if you don't want to, but that doesn't change the fact that we love having you around, sir. Everyone here likes you,” he said, and the commander felt himself blush a little at the words, blaming it on the alcohol.
"Even if I wanted to, I can't. I still have a large batch of files on my desk from our last mission that I need to work on, so I'm going to leave, but I wish all of you a nice evening. Drink something and celebrate, you deserve it." With a friendly slap on the shoulder, he said goodbye to the younger man and walked out of the bar.
That one of his men managed to catch him off guard like that was embarrassing, but it wasn't the first time he'd been so deep in his thoughts. A few weeks ago he had a meeting with General Shepherd regarding a top-secret mission he was entrusted with and as luck would have it, Hickman was there as well. Of course, the moment this piece of shit had a chance to pounce, he did. All it took was one conversation for him to rip open wounds that had taken a long time to heal, smiling that psychotic smile that he still remembers from his nightmares. One conversation to start the circle of never-ending self-doubt all over.
Despite what happened back then, the Texan always feared that Hickman might be right about some things, wondering if he was a little too easy on his men sometimes. Just because he wasn't as strict as others in his position doesn't mean that they could forget that he is still their commanding officer, who of course has responsibilities to his subordinates. He doesn't want to be too strict with them but where was the line? Where did they cross the line of mere professionalism and step into dangerous territory? Of course, he himself also enjoyed the atmosphere that arose between them when they sat together and celebrated a successful mission, but was it really ok to be that close with his men? Sometimes he questions himself about it, questions himself whether what he does can still be justified as "being friendly" or can already be marked as "unprofessional".
Thoughts like these kept him awake at night. Maybe he wasn't a good commander and Hickman was right in his opinion that being too friendly with your men makes them lose their respect for you. Ever since he met that prick again he felt like he couldn't stop the train of thoughts running loose in his brain every day. It felt silly to worry about something like that, but if there was even a small chance he was right if there was even a small chance his men would suffer from his incompetence...
It annoyed him that the shadows of his past still had such an impact on him that all it took was one interaction with his personal nightmare to question himself. The rational part of him knew that Hickman was just playing his mind games with him again because he enjoyed watching him suffer. He knew that it was just another punch in the face because this bastard couldn't accept Graves' success, and yet he can't help himself but fall into the same mantra as over 20 years ago. The older man had always been good at destroying one's confidence, he should be used to it by now.
The fresh night air helped him to wake up a little when he arrived to unlock his office to work on the last few files before he could go to bed himself. Inwardly, he hoped that if he threw himself headlong into work again, he could get off the merry-go-round for at least a few hours, knowing that it was only a short-lived fix.
In fact, he did everything faster than he first thought. Instead of it taking him until 2 AM to work through everything, it was just 11:32 PM when he locked his office again and made his way to his room. He'd actually managed to distract himself pretty well over the past few hours and so he tried to keep it that way by thinking about everything but whether or not he was worthy of being a commander.
The corridors of the barracks were now empty, hardly anyone was outside, so Graves enjoyed the ease that the peaceful night brought with it. Despite his tiredness, he took his time to get to his room. He knew that once he was in bed his thoughts would start circling again and he wanted to delay this for as long as possible. So he ended up stopping at a window to watch the moon illuminate the world with a blue light.
It was quiet, comfortable, and also a bit surreal. He didn't know how long he stood there, but he let the idyll that stretched out before him sink in. It wasn't often that he had the time or opportunity to really enjoy a moment to the fullest, and that made moments like this even more precious. For a short while, there was nothing to think about, no work to do, so he decided to just switch off. The night was beautiful, the sky was clear and the moonlight cast a calm glow over the world.
He allowed the memories to flood into his head. The memories of the warm summer nights in Texas at his grandma's, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Only the chirping of the grasshoppers and the croaking of the frogs, which were up to mischief in the nearby pond, destroyed the otherwise so peaceful scene. He often sat on the roof, climbed out of the window with a blanket, and bathe in the bright moonlight while looking over all the stubble fields that surrounded the tiny house his grandma lived in. Nights like these, when there was no cloud in the sky, giving way for the moon to cast wide shadows, almost had something nostalgic for him.
He felt like he was slowly drifting, the alcohol in his veins making him relax and so he kept his eyes unfocused as he continued to stare out the window. Maybe it made him look weird and maybe it was weird, but it was the only bit of "home" he still had these days.
It might be pathetic for a man his age to be clinging to childhood memories, but when your life started to become a mixture of shit and self-hatred the moment you reached your 18th birthday without another day of provided comfort, you have to take what you can. It's not like he can pick and choose.
He blinked a few times to break his trance and continued walking toward his room with a sigh. He wasn't really expecting to run into anyone else, as it was long past rest time and his soldiers were undergoing some of the most intense training the military has to offer today. Graves was a bit taken aback when he figured out that a few of them still had the energy to drink together after he went to the bar himself to grab some drinks. However, as he passed his men's rooms, he suddenly heard voices.
The door of one room stood slightly open, not wide enough to see inside, but wide enough for the words to echo from the room into the hallway. Graves didn't want to eavesdrop and walked faster, but the men, who seemed to be drunk, made it pretty hard to ignore them.
“Did you see him fight today? He put fucking Miller on the m<at with ease, no one has managed to do so before. He wasn't even sweating like it was no big deal to him! And he looks so damn good doing it. We can really show off with our commander."
The American's eyes widened when he heard that and his face turned bright red. Nope, this conversation was definitely not meant for his ears. As quickly as humanly possible did he make his way to his room before he ripped the door open and shut it right after himself. He took a deep breath and leaned against the wooden door, processing the whole situation.
What the hell was that? Were they joking or did they think he was good-looking? Automatically, he looked a lot in the mirror, which made him cringe immediately, and went to his bathroom to take a shower.
I'll just ignore it, I don't even know the whole context, he tried to tell himself, just ignore it, Phillip, you don't need to think about this, too
A few days later it turned out that this incident, as absurd as it was, would not be the last one. It was as if Graves had gained the ability to have incredibly bad timing on that night because how else can you explain the amount of bad luck he must have? Walking past his soldier whenever they talked about him was certainly not an ability he wanted to gain.
Don't get me wrong, he didn't care what the soldiers said behind his back about him or the training he puts them through. Graves knew how annoying his superiors could be and how often he and his comrades got upset about them, so he didn't mind if his men weren't 100% happy with him all the time. But that wasn't even a problem because they weren't angry with him or fed up with the training, quite the contrary. He heard praise for his skills, admiration for his abilities on the field, and compliments all week, and it shouldn't be a problem, really... but he had no idea how to react to this amount of positive feedback?
Everyone was at least a little happy when their hard work was appreciated and recognized by others and Graves was no exception. But he wasn't used to it, he doesn't know how to react to people genuinely liking him or his methods and even though he feels happy about it, he also feels overwhelmed.
He should feel thankful for it, for his men unintentionally helping him with his insecurities and making him feel less like shit, but despite everything, he couldn't get the conversation he had overheard a few days before out of his head. It was like his brain was searching for the one negative thing between all the positive things and when he found it, it would bite into it and not let go.
With "negative things" he didn't mean finding out that at least one of his men is attracted to men in any way, especially since he was gay himself. From the age of 16, he figured that he didn't really find women attractive at all and that he tended to focus on strong and well-built men's bodies rather than feminine curves, which was a bit upsetting for him at the time. It was just weird to be the only one in the friend group who couldn't share their crushes or preferences. He felt incredibly alone with his sexual orientation, felt wrong . It took a lot for him to overcome the hate he felt for openly homosexual people but in the end, he was fine now.
However, just because Graves accepted his men's sexualities didn't mean he enjoyed listening to them talking about their crushes, especially when HE was the person in question. It just felt wrong for him, as CEO of the Shadow Company, to snoop around in the private lives of his men who didn't even consent to it. But to be honest, it was their own fault for just starting to talk without checking their surroundings first.
With that all aside, it was predictable that something would happen sooner or later. With Graves' newfound skill to get into situations that turned out to be quite unpleasant and his Shadow's inability to check their surroundings, shit's hitting the fan sooner than he thought it would.
Graves sat on one of the seats by the bar and sipped some of his gin. The alcohol warmed his insides and helped him switch off a little. After a bunch of long nights spent on the phone and emailing shit to other people, he felt like he could take a break. His eyes were tired from staring at the screen for so long and he tiredly rubbed them while yawning loudly when suddenly four Shadows entered the bar and sat down at the table behind him. They hadn't seen him, due to the dim lighting which plunged them into darkness, and ordered a few drinks before starting to talk.
It was a bit strange being so close to his soldiers when they didn't even know he was there. He felt like he shouldn't be listening in on the conversations, but on the other hand, he didn't want to be the one who has to piss off and go away every time. He got there first, wanting a relaxing drink to finally shut his shitty head, which was constantly repeating the words of his former boss, up. The idiots should watch who is in the same room with them before talking, it wasn't Graves' problem.
Well, until it was.
“You think Graves likes men? I never thought about how he might be swinging but I also never saw him talking about a woman or having a ring on his finger”, one of them said and Graves just wanted to get up and leave.
Why was it always him? Why can't he get a break? Why did he end up listening to the most unpleasant conversations his men had to offer? It started innocently, with them talking about the past mission and how the training Graves made them do helped them to get better, but they quickly drifted into a... slightly more private corner.
"If I'm being honest, I hope that he is gay. Would definitely increase my chances with him," said another, and everyone laughed.
“As if Graves would ever let you hit, Greyson. If anything, he'd want a real man like me,” said one of the soldiers Graves believed was Miller, the soldier he'd recently sparred with.
"Ah, Graves whoops your ass once and you've got a crush on him or what?"
“Oh, shut up! None of you shits could do it and Graves did it with ease. You can't tell me that this wasn't incredibly attractive." There was laughter again and Graves was getting more and more nervous.
He didn't want to be here, felt like shouldn't. He was also pretty confused that such a topic was discussed so openly amongst these men when he was being honest. Are they so confident in their sexuality that they joked about stuff like that, or did he walk in on the Shadows' Fruity Four getting together for their weekly talk about their commander? For him, the whole situation was so strange and absurd that it was almost funny.
There was nothing like that when he was in the military. They only talked about women, about the girlfriend who was waiting at home, the wife who had sent new pictures of their son, or the hot lady in the area that one of them met in a bar. It was always about tits and pussy, and everyone expected you to be the same as them.
For this very reason, Graves never liked drinking with his comrades. It seemed like the only way to build relationships within the team was to tell everyone in which cunt they'd stuck their meat the night before. His homosexuality was an absolute no-go, a death wish in the eyes of those around him. The military is a hot spot for conservative people, which included him, so it would be dumb to admit that you like cock when surrounded by a bunch of rednecks.
That's why it was all the more surprising for him that exactly something like this was discussed so openly nowadays.
"As much as it pains me to admit it, you're right, Miller. Graves really is a handsome man. We're lucky our CO isn't some nasty old wrinkled vulture, like that one Navy commander we were with a few months ago. The soldiers' jealous looks were so funny and I've never felt more proud to be part of Shadow Company.”
“I will never forget how Graves introduced himself to them and you could clearly see their eyes widen. A charming, handsome and nice commander? Not possible!" Their conversation was interrupted by the drinks a waiter placed on their table.
They seemed to take a sip all at the same time because none of them said a word. Was this Graves' moment to bolt? Could he piss off without them noticing that he was there, to begin with? He felt overwhelmed by all the compliments his men threw around the room.
"I just know I'd love to have him under me", someone suddenly blurted out and Graves almost choked on his gin at the words, his eyes wide.
“Jeez, Larkin, you horny bastard! Why are you always the one who makes it 18+?" Greyson laughed out loud.
"Do you think he's more of the vanilla or kinky type in bed?" Larkin seemed unperturbed by the words and immediately moved on to the next subject, which made Graves consider shooting himself from the amount of embarrassment he felt at this moment.
He fervently hoped that something would happen, that would give him a chance to escape because he couldn't just rush out like that. It would just be way too embarrassing for his men to see that he had been listening the whole time, and besides, his pants were starting to get terribly tight. The booze didn't really help to keep his cool either, so he sat there with red cheeks, wide eyes, and a bulge in his pants. Prickly hot arousal shot through his body and he cursed himself for letting his sexual frustration get the better of him.
"Who cares about that, the real question is if he's a top or bottom!" That the otherwise so quiet Connor who usually never spoke too much just talks about something like this like it's the easiest thing in the world made Graves almost lose all hope.
Did they have this conversation regularly or why the hell did they all act like it was the most normal thing in the world?
"I have to disappoint you guys, I think he's a top. Someone like him doesn't allow himself to be dominated, even in bed,” Miller said, and Graves swallowed hard while biting his bottom lip.
“But wouldn't it be all the more logical that he would want to be dominated? If his job consists of bossing people around, then he definitely likes it when someone shows him who's boss in bed!"
Graves got up. He couldn't sit and listen any longer because not only was he incredibly embarrassed, but his dick was pressing against his pants so hard it was almost painful. His sudden movement drew the four men's attention to him and Graves didn't meet their eyes, couldn't. He slammed way too much money on the bar and turned around, caught the Shadows' shocked faces out of the corner of his eye, and almost stormed out of the bar.
He was hard, bright red, but mostly he didn't know how he was supposed to ever look them in the eyes again without replaying this whole conversation in his head.
That night Graves had tried to just lay down in his bed to sleep and not think about what happened in the bar, but his arousal just wouldn't go away. The sentences kept repeating themselves in his head, he sank more and more into a whirlpool of thoughts that he, as a superior, definitely shouldn't have about his men.
It wasn't like Graves was a saint or anything. Once he finally accepted that he was into men, he became more daring to explore his sexuality and it wasn't long before he had his first one-night stand. He enjoyed sex and therefore used to fuck around quite a lot. It was actually always easy for someone like him to hook up with someone so there wasn't really a lack of choice on his side. He had tried both positions, was top and sometimes bottom, but he quickly found out that he preferred the passive role far better.
Fucking someone, of course, felt good, too, but nothing managed to grind his brain into mush like having his prostate stimulated over and over again. All the thoughts that were constantly circling in his head, all the worries and the responsibility that he carried with him were fucked out of him. Sex helped him release stress, release the tension that makes his shoulders stiff, and helped him to just let go. However, it wasn't always possible to have a one-night stand when he needed one, especially in his line of work, so he had to resort to other means when he was alone.
Using toys to masturbate had become almost a matter of course for him. His fingers could get the job done, but it was no comparison to a vibrator or dildo, filling and stretching him far further than his fingers ever could. He was kinky, liked to try different things in bed and that also applied to the times when he was alone.
Despite everything, this whole thing didn't give him the green light to find new sex partners in his subordinates. Graves always kept private and business separate, and sleeping with his men was definitely a line he shouldn't cross.
However, on that night it just wasn't possible for him anymore. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through his veins or the fact that he hadn't cum for too long, but as he lay in his bed, his cock hard and clearly visible in his boxers, he slowly slipped his hand into his briefs and put it around his dick.
It was the first time he fantasized about his men while masturbating. Dirty fantasies that he would never tell anyone and that aroused him more than anything else. He imagined that the thing fucking him wasn't one of his toys but one of the huge cocks thrusting into him, imagined that he wasn't alone in his room but between four strong and muscular men who used him like a whore.
When he finally came harder than he had in months and came back to his senses, he swore to never let something like this happen again. He'd lost control once and will do anything so that it won't repeat itself.
Everything would go back the way it wanted from there on. He was a pro, not a rookie, he knew how to handle such situations.