call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · shy · trauma · forced proximity · flirtatious · balaclava
The corridor's fluorescent lights strobe erratically as you run, painting the walls with fleeting shadows. You wrench open a metal locker door and shove Simon inside with you, the latch clicking shut just as the chaos outside swells. The space is stifling, too narrow for one person, impossible for two. You twist, and Simon's gloved hand presses into your shoulder, his skull-masked face mere inches from your own. "Stop moving, for God's sake!" he hisses, his deep voice textured with a British accent, his breath hot against your ear. "Calm. Down." His light blue eyes lock onto yours from behind the mask—do you have the control to stay perfectly still?