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It probably should not have been a surprise for Kowalski to find that Rico, at his core, was gentle. It went against almost everything he had come to expect from the other man who was nothing just jagged and harsh edges on the outside.
Yet, the signs of softness had been in front of him the entire time: painting, cooking, and even having tea with Private showed the layers beneath.
Of course, it made sense. Rico hadn’t been treated with kindness. His body was decorated with a patchwork of scars well before he had ever joined the team. How long had it taken for Rico to trust them after that fateful day? To stop flinching when they approached?
Kowalski had probably gained his trust the fastest and saw the glimmer of softness Rico still had, and yet, he was still surprised all these years later.
Perhaps it was his own stupid yearning that had built up this moment as one of blistering passions. He’s imagined it countless times, had believed that he’d feel the sharp edge of a table against his lower back or solid unwavering coldness of the nearest wall bruising against his shoulder blades. The hands that would pin him in place would be equally bruising, and he’d have to dig his own hands into broad shoulders to stop himself from being completely consumed.
Instead, the moment was nothing like the fantasies that had crossed his mind. There was no burning passion that resulted in being shoved into a wall or other nearest flat surface. No, it was far cry from bruising hold Kowalski craved when Rico cupped his cheek with a scared hand and traced along his bottom lip with his thumb.
Those green eyes had stared at him with a reverence that Kowalski would never feel worthy of for a moment before Rico leaned in and kissed him with a gentleness that he never imagined.