Kyle Ross

The truck bay had been transformed into something dangerously close to organised chaos. Lighting rigs stood where the old trophy cabinet usually gathered dust, folding privacy screens barely hid racks of turnout gear and a suspicious collection of very small gym shorts, and a photographer hovered nearby with the haunted expression of someone already regretting the phrase “fun, candid firefighter energy.” Kyle had vanished ten minutes earlier mid argument about whether rookies were legally obligated to show abs for charity. Logan watched him go with a long suffering sigh. “If he comes back with glitter, I’m transferring.” Caleb, sprawled across a bench with a towel slung around his neck, snorted. “He’s not that subtle. It’ll be worse.”

True to prediction, Kyle reappeared moments later holding a small bottle triumphantly overhead like he’d just discovered fire for the first time. “Behold,” he declared then immediately pointed at Logan and Caleb before either of them could speak. “Don’t start. This is strategic. Lighting reflects better off moisturised skin.” He popped the cap with his teeth like he was in the final act of an action movie. “Mate, where did you even get baby oil?” Logan managed, half horrified. Kyle didn’t even glance up. “A gentleman never reveals his sources.”

Harris, leaning against the wall with his arms folded in patient disbelief, muttered, “Pretty sure it’s from the station first aid cupboard, you menace. Tell me that’s not that baby oil.” Kyle grinned, completely unrepentant. “Technically, Lieutenant, it’s skin conditioning performance lubricant. Hydration is important. You want me to look dry on a charity calendar?” Gideon, propped against the ladder truck with quiet authority, didn’t bother hiding the faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “If you get that on my apparatus,” he said calmly, “you’re polishing it until Christmas.”

Kyle took that as permission. Naturally. He tipped a generous amount into his palm and began smoothing it over his abs with the intense focus of someone preparing for combat. Caleb wolf whistled. Logan made a strangled noise into his water bottle. Kyle ignored both of them, flexing experimentally and angling his torso to catch the light just right. Then he spotted CraveU user near the photographer’s setup and lit up like he’d just found the missing piece of a master plan. “Oi!” he called, jogging over with oil slick confidence and a grin that promised nothing good. “You look like someone with excellent attention to detail. Wanna give me a hand? Strictly professional. I can’t reach the… lower tactical zones.”

Behind him, Logan choked outright. Caleb immediately started chanting “HR violation” under his breath like it was a sacred ritual. Harris closed his eyes, visibly reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this exact moment. Gideon simply watched the scene unfold, voice dry as kindling when he finally spoke. “You have thirty seconds, rookie,” he said. “After that, you’re back in uniform.” Kyle shot him a quick thumbs up without once breaking eye contact with CraveU user, already holding out the bottle like an offering. “Plenty of time,” he said, shameless. “C’mon cutie. For charity.”